Mundane through insane

Three liters of water is what I shall be consuming from now on daily, as opposed to two liters. I also consume a lot of fluids via herbal teas throughout my days and evenings. Body is doing much better than weeks before, though I have come to believe that many of the chronic pains and ailments are directly related to my emotional state. Self care doesn't come naturally nor easy to me, but I'm teaching myself new habits, attempting to break old toxic patterns. 

I had my usual cold shower in the morning, followed by stretching. I cried in the shower, I cried when I was face down on my yoga mat, I cried when I was back down on my yoga mat, I cried when I stretched my shoulders, I cried when I cracked my back, I cried when I massaged the back of my neck. I cried when I made my bed, I cried when I squeezed my orange juice. When I sat on the balcony with the sun shining on my face, I was finally at peace, and quiet. I was soothed and comforted by the warmth, the light, nature sounds, and the bliss of finally being able to catch my breath, and for a brief moment, I was thoughtless, emotionless.  

I am so not doing well. I haven't been doing well in such a long time that I can't even remember the last time I was OK - truly being well and not just coping. I haven't realized just how fragile my mental health is, until I was forced to come face to face with my wounds again, those very wounds I thought I have healed, in several different stages too. 

My wounds are still open, and seriously bad. The more I threw myself into life, work, action, people, relationships, the more infected they've become. I have gotten so used to the infection and the numbing that I thought I was doing just fine. 

I no longer care about proper writing, impressive style, good English, proper grammar, or decent vocabulary. None of this is good for my mental health, pushing myself even more to be better in any new way is going to be detrimental on my overall health. I am to express myself and process things as often, as frequently, as much as I need from now own, zero fucks given to the outcome.

I no longer care about being perceived this way or that way. 

I am sick. 

I need to heal. 

That's just the way of life. 

Fuck people and so called friends and family. 

Fuck pretentious lovers and lost zombies. 

Fuck beggars, leaches, vampires. 

Fuck humans who have lost their humanness. 

Fuck all the pain that was ever inflicted on me. 

Fuck shame and guilt. 

Fuck gaslighting. 

Fuck enmeshment.

Fuck my silence...

I shall teach myself how to roar!

Flashback

I slept long hours and very deep, though the thunder was waking me briefly every few hours. It was a perfectly stormy night. I felt engulfed by the clouds, the rain was crying my tears for me, the mighty thunder was roaring on behalf of my pain. 

I saw Chris in the dream, it is exactly 4 years ago since I decided to call things out on our marriage. The love was gone long before I could notice it, I was too busy pushing through like my usual traumatized, survival mode self. If anybody I cared for was struggling, I would take it on me to rescue them. In love, I was the hopelessly romantic, dedicated, devoted, passionate kind. I like to believe I am different now, but alas all the pain, old and new, has only affected the romantic part. Romance isn't for me anymore, I am however still all about passion, fire, commitment, investment, fulfillment, dedication. 

Four years later, and the man whom I loved the most in my entire existence is keeping me hanging, zero effort and no apparent intention in sending me what is needed to settle the divorce as we have agreed several times already. Four years in distance has made me see and learn about Chris and our relationship more than I ever thought I knew or understood in the 10 years of knowing him. The pain gets messy; my mind is utterly confused by my heart, I weep for myself and for him equally. To cause so much suffering for another human being, knowingly, neglectfully, is beyond my understanding. I ought to stop, but I simply can't bring myself to cease this constant nudging desire to understand the true happenings of the heart of that person, whom I wrongly thought I've known so very closely all those years of being together. I sometimes wonder whether or not this coldness of heart, in this way and form, is considered an illness of a sort.

I read and learned a lot about chord cutting, in my desperate attempt to release him even more from my system, on a deep spiritual level. I have done every little thing, thought every little thought, and took every little action I knew that could help with overcoming this attachment of mine to him. In my waking, I know it's been done, but every now and again, he appears in my dream, and I'm anything but loving and missing and longing for him. 

If I play out the entirety of my lifetime in front of me now, there are two moments that stand out the most; birthing Yasmina, and meeting Chris. 

Yasmina is teaching me every new day how she wants to be treated, how she wants this relationship to be, what are her rules, her boundaries, her needs and wishes from me, and I'm adapting, changing, accommodating, and it's working for both of us.

Chris simply abandoned me, our love, us, me, with zero desire to help me through any of it whatsoever. 

My soul has been deeply wounded since my realization of just how reckless and careless he was towards it all. It was never the separation that pained me the most, but rather his lack of interest. That shouldn't have hurt either, we change and evolve, so do our feelings. Love is either there or isn't, and I am mature enough to accept whatever is, because free will is very high up in importance for me. What saddens me however was that he was role playing everything out, just enough to keep me hanging, dedicated, and going, year in, year out, so that it works out for him in the best possible way. In the 8 years of being together as a couple, I changed my life upside down so many different times to please him. He worked on my insecurities, childhood trauma, abandonment issues, and I was repeating the very painful abandonment scenario by being unconsciously a perfect match to him.  

There is no therapy in the conventional way that would offer me what I am giving myself through intense inner work. The mere fact that I could express my thoughts and feelings now means that I've come a long way from hiding and feeling shame and guilt because of things happening to me. This here is my therapy, and I get to finally say the truth in the way I see it and lived it. The truth of my heart and soul, without being interrupted, silenced, belittled, wronged, or called crazy. Chris called me crazy in a humiliating way oh so many times, every single time I spoke the truth. 

My opinion is never needed; they hate me when I speak up, they love me when I take action. 

I've been called all sorts of things in my life, including not so long ago, supposedly playfully: "stupid white bitch" by a lost soul. A tormented little boy inside the body of a grown man, who's so consumed by, and failing at, performing the role of some macho man in his head. I was fooled there too, though for only a short period this time around. These gorwn boys and their mommy issues, I cursed them and their lousy mothers a hundred times for a job so very badly done.

World cup 2018 was very revealing, the contrast between Chris's carelessness towards our relationship and me, and the extreme passion, excitement, dedication and effort to a mere game on the screen, told me everything I needed to know about our relationship, and my true place in it.

Four years ago I used to think that a little time will heal all, and that life goes on. Now I know that there is a chance I might not be able to heal the wound my relationship with Chris has left in me, during this lifetime anyway, and I think I am OK with this notion. 

I keep praying though, for myself, for Chris, for all the tormented souls, for humanity. Everything and everyone is so very interconnected...

If only they see it.

 

Scaredom

I'm scared from my daughter. 
I am scared for my mental health. 
I'm scared from the truth I see in the dreams. 
I'm scared from the people, from their demons.
I'm listening to Sudani music, it's bringing solace to my aching heart.

I quit

I can't tell exactly when it happened, I just know now that I have officially surrendered. It must have been a little while back, or maybe it took a long time, breaking and crumbling a bit more every new day. 

I no longer fight, push through, persevere, contain and hold the light. I barely get by waking up and doing mundane living things, then sleeping it all off, and then repeat again. 

I have managed to salvage a lot of what I used to think valuable in the past, these days, there isn't anything worthy of any effort. Not my mental health, not my heart, and soul is barely keeping up. 

I've never experienced such extent of loneliness in my life as the one I'm experiencing lately, it isn't caused by aloneness, quite the opposite. I'm so lonely for being surrounded by so many people. It isn't for lack of self expression either, I'm the master of that. They just don't see me, get me, hear me, know me, and I keep failing at connecting. 

People and I, we do all sorts of things together, I host, I entertain, I nurture, I support, I help, but that's as far as it goes. I must be too stupid to create anything, anywhere, that could bring reciprocity in my life. Although I'm abundant, I seem to be only able to attract scarcity. 

Even the fight between my mind and my soul, each trying to convince the other of my worth - or worthlessness, is starting to lose its importance, and I'm starting to listen less and less to their arguments. 

The heart has been fluttering like crazy lately, I'm learning to ignore even my heart and the centre. 

What difference does it make whether or not I did a good job as a mother, or if I ever was a good daughter. 

The truth has always been straight and clear, I'm a motherless child, I'm a childless mother, despite what has ever been said and done. 

I will keep teaching myself quitting, inspired from all the quitters I've known in my life. I ought to quit even the writing, for there is nothing worth my words, my thoughts, my feelings. Definitely nothing is asked of my pain, it can exist or not, my suffering too, useless as I am. 

Here goes nothing, echoing in the nowhere.