The many levels of grief

I've been writing the blog posts in my head lately. There has been few good ones. I don't bother type anymore. Living has become extremely tiresome. The daily tasks of survival have become the utmost challenge of my life. I ramble with myself inside my head all the time. I shout and cry too. I cry a lot actually, still, despite the time passing. It's doing fuck all, this time thing! I'm so tired of it too.

I now have an imaginary person. He's a buddy, a partner, a companion, a friend, a lover. He asks me what he could do for me when I'm losing it and sobbing uncontrollably, or after a long rant with myself inside my head. I almost never know what to answer. I have to remind him that I was never asked what I'd like or wish or want or need in my life, he now knows he needs to be patient after his questions, I usually need quite a bit of time to figure out what I need or desire from him. It's intimacy for sure, it's why he's there, but the kinds and ways change and vary. He has a lifetime of lack of intimacy to make up for, the poor guy! But he's patient... He gives me cuddles, he plays with my hair, he gives me ASMR sessions, he holds me tight, he spoons me and rocks my body, he massages my legs, he gives me foot rubs, he makes beautiful love to me, he communicates with me and tunes into me every step of the way to create a most harmonious experience. He listens to all of my torments and pains, he understands, he knows. My favorite thing is when I don't have answers for him, I sob while saying I don't know, and I simply let him lead the way.

He cried with me this morning as I wept again over the missing of my daughter and the most harshest reality of the lifetime shared with her being burnt like so. I cried as I looked at the terrace floor and was overcome by the rush of all the memories of her child self playing on that floor, and our days with Chris. I cried Chris too, the memories, the love, the moments, the movies, the arts, the songs, the aspirations, the hopes, the dreams, the plans. I cried the dissolution of it all. I cried their giving up, I cried their heart coldness, I cried my desperation. I cried over all of our traumas, the distractions, this fucked up reality, and the amnesia. 

I felt burning in my heart as I thought of how they burned it, we don't say heartbreaking in Arabic, we say burning of the heart, and rightly so. There is come back from the breaking, you can put things back together, but once burnt, it's gone forever. I thought of her father and my sister, and how much pain then inflicted on me, in my lifetime, but especially recently with the daughter situation and the actions they took. They're totally oblivious and unconscious to it all being a projection of their own pain. What did I ever do to them? Being born, for my sister, who couldn't overcome the emotions she felt as a pampered 6 years old child, whose family attention went to the new baby, whose mother didn't bother help her regulate her emotions. And the dear ex and father of my daughter, well I happen to be a woman who moved him so deeply, and by so activating all of his childhood trauma of the main woman in his life, the mother who abandoned them all, children and father, for the sake of money. 

How dare I speak the truth, how dare I attempt to heal, how dare I confront them, how dare I question their actions, how dare I point out to things, differentiate between right or wrong. I was supposed to remain unconscious inside the trauma bubble like them. But I dared make a crack, against all odds, and I have became the alienated scapegoat since. 

Fuck them all! 

My imaginary buddy asked me to come and lie down in bed next to him after this exhausting session of anger and grief. He asked me to take it easy and reminded me that it is indeed the full moon and that we're in the eclipse season again. 

"Fuck!!!" 

I am now laying down on my floor bed, the sun shining through, and he's besides me waiting for me to finish this post so he can cuddle and comfort me.

I've finally found an antidote to all of my toxic people, dynamics, and relationships. 

If I can beat loneliness, I can overcome any and all of this most distorted reality and whatever its makers throws at me. Fuck em too! Fuck them the most!!!

Soon I will start another imaginary relationship with imaginary food, so I could tackle my food addiction. 

I was up in the middle of last night during my sleep to a very loud banging sound, I thought Israel hit us close. I checked the news on my phone, there were hitting baalbeck, quite far. It must've been some neighbours door, or my dream. I almost wished it was indeed bombing near and here, I haven't felt so ready to depart! 

Perhaps things will escalate, I watch in anticipation. 

I am not depressed, 

you are. 

Trauma coma

My days are spent in a continuous attempt to put myself together again, to recollect the memories, to hone the narrative. 

Recurrent nightmares are invading my nights, increasingly so as the days go by. Same people, same daunting events, situations, and places. 

In my waking time, I have started to forget things; details and moments. The invasion of nightmares messing up with the already tainted reality isn't helping. 

Between the forgetting, the dissociation, the ascension, and the haunting nightmares, I feel as though I have already left this body.

I look back at the past with disbelief still. Did it all really happen!? How did I let it all happen!?

It feels as though I'm awakening from a lifetime coma induced by the initial trauma as a child, and maintained by the real time trauma that I had allowed / created with my auto pilot existence as an adult. 

I keep checking out info, reading relevant literature, I'm not letting go of myself, I'm wanting to learn how to love and assist myself in these most disorienting times, against all odds, but there just seems to be no stopping that ever increasing spacing out... 

I'm giving up a little though, not sure on what or whom. 

I didn't know there would need to be so many endings. In fact, I didn't know much at all. I was simply floating, like everybody seems to be still doing. 

I miss everybody... 

but I just can't seem to be able to bridge the gap anymore. 

Return to sender

They beak my heart,

They steal my money, 

They waste my years, 

They ruin my home, 

And yet they dare call me "sick" and "crazy".

There's a hundred phenomena that points out to the cataclysm and the end of our days the way we once knew it, that was one of them.

I now know, beyond any doubt.

I've never seen eyes as dead,

I've never witnessed hearts so cold. 

I rather be called sick and crazy and "need therapy" a million times than close the door on my conscience.

My whole entire life has been one big traumatic event, with all sorts of people in all shapes and colors, at all sorts of different timeliness, in sheep clothing, biting on my very flesh and breathing away my own captured breath. 

But I learned my lesson, there is no bigger teacher than pain.

Distortion. 

Distorted. 

Disturbed. 

Disturbing... 

Let me see the back of you now going back to where you came from, 

wolves and foxes, 

with your trickery and delusions. 

لكم دينكم، ولي ديني

Quotes

"

Comfort is the worst addiction. 

Most academics know how to take

something apart, but not how to assemble it.

The most potent muse of all is our own inner child.

What we have to learn to do, we learn by doing.

The study of philosophy is to learn to die. 

Action is eloquence. 

Art matures spasmodically and

requires ugly-duckling growth stages.

I don’t have a lot of respect for talent. Talent is genetic. It’s what you do with it that counts.

When people show you who they are, believe them. 

اخشوشنوا، ان النعم لا تدوم

لا تحزن، ان الله معنا

القلب النقي هو الذي لا يسمح لآفات هذا العالم ان يشوهه

ارتقِ، ان القاع مزدحم

الاناء ينضح بما فيه 

"

Orchestrated chaos

A rare moment of total silence

A full moon sky, a misty air 

The usual constant shaking 

Tremors that never stop. 

Rockabye baby in the treetop

When the wind blows the cradle will rock

Everything feels more dystopian by the day

The sensations, the realizations, the seeing, the remembering, the knowing, 

The cognitive dissonance, 

The denying, the escapsim,

The faces, the eyes, the narratives... 

Solar flares and full moons and chemtrails and nanoparticles and fake everything, 

But things have gotten serious, 

This surrealism has gotten real. 

This is the end of the beginning, 

or the beginning of the end... 

Nothing more to do at this stage but wait, 

Witness, 

and take note. 

A parallel world

On 6th February, the one year anniversary of the Turkey earthquake, I wrote a blog post but I ended up keeping it as a draft. I had grown so tired from my own voice, my own thoughts, my own perceptions, introspections, and reality. There was no point typing these out, but today, I feel different.

I just wanted to touch base, I haven't lost myself in the hustle and bustle of life, quite the opposite. I haven't been blogging much because I'm too busy being inside my world, feeling, sensing, understanding, knowing. It takes a great amount of work to do the energy work required to get centered, grounded, and remain aware, most especially during these exceptional times.

I came to a realization that I'm writing only just for me, truly. This isn't a battle of me against the system or the norm imposed by the society, or any person and their actions or words against mine. This isn't to repel the messed up traditions or to fight the backward ways of thinking, living, being. This truly is me with me (not even againt me). Me and me don't always need words, sometimes it's merely a knowing, a feeling, simply.

I don't bother say much these days, I very rarely and occasionally encounter people, and when I do, it's constant work inside. I've grown so accustomed to the energetically hygienic way of existing; clear thoughts, loving and accepting feelings. I can't tolerate the messiness of people's emotions anymore, and their accompanying toxic thoughts, and sheer lack of awareness. I require presence these days, and when it's not available, as is often the case, I keep myself scarce.

All the pain that I have ever endured in my lifetime was strictly caused by people's lack of presence. It is no surprise that I can't deal with abscent minded people anymore, with their shriveled souls...

But I don't judge anymore either, nor this is to put myself on a higher level of any sort, or in a better place of any kind. I just truly need to discern and identify things, and keep clear my energy and space, so that I can keep doing this and not lose myself totally again like I have done so repeatedly and ever so often since this adult life journey has begun.

The book remains to be written, but only if I manage to find the voice that I can use to write it with. There can be no judgments, victimhood, blaming, shaming, or anger. Once and if I ever find a way to use the tool of words to reflect exactly the presence and peace I currently live through, then it can be done. There are many stories to be told, the question remains if I could become the storyteller, without the need for the old bruised self to step in for wanting to be seen or heard.

So many stories to be told, and I wish to remove the I from them. I might be able to achieve that, perhaps with more time spent in this solitude and minimalist living.

The story of this post was supposed to be originally about the continuous tremors we've been feeling for a year now, since last February and the Turkey earthquake. The ground is constantly shaking but nobody seems to be bothered, thought the significance of this is quite huge, and very symbolic. The original post that I had discarded back then had somehow turned into a bitter one, as I contemplated on people's unconsciousness and oblivion to the dangerous happenings to our lives, the constant tempering with our lands, skies, and bodies, and all of the big picture! 

I got angry at people like I often do, and so I stopped myself from finishing or posting that post. I was not going to do frustration, judging, or seperation any longer. I do however chose to constantly and regularly detach myself, for the work or effect I used to think I might be able to do or have on people was all a mere imagination, I can be dangerously creative this way. Everyone's still indeed in their own bubble... 

Minutes prior to writing this post we had a stronger shake than the usual. Although it's a bank holiday, the streets are mad with traffic this morning and the sounds of incredibly angry people. I wonder if they noticed the shake, or if again it was just me versus me. 

Twelve Years on Blogger

Today is the anniversary of the blog. Twelve years ago same day I wrote my very first blog post ever, on February 2nd, 2012. I was randomly going  through some of the old posts recently and the date struck me and stayed with me. I had never before celebrated the anniversary, but here we go. 

It all started where I am now in a way, just another cycle on the spiral; art and transparency and personal life, and art again. It seems that the written word somehow always catches me and finds me, even when I myself have problem finding me. 

It isn't just important to me to create, it's equally if not more important to me to narrate how I go about doing it. Maybe the writer in me gets caught up in the fear of being lost, and so in interferes every now and then.

A lot has happened since that first post, I could fill books if I was to write all about it. This blog as a whole seems to be writing its own story about me though, even the gap years of silence, they too tell their own little story. 

I don't have a plan for the blog, I never sat myself out to write methodically or with a certain goal in mind. It has always been about therapeutically expressing myself through giving me a little and space and a break.  I am grateful I kept it this, most especially since I have discarded many different accounts of mine, platforms, and projects during those years.

I can't imagine where I would be in two years from now, let alone in another 12 years. I suppose I'm just  keen on keeping that venting with words thing, this truly seems to be my my art and passion. 

The very first blog post

Here and there

I waited all day yesterday for the quiet evening; I so wanted to write and prepared the tiny desk(ish) corner for it. The day was extra charged energetically and emotionally, but also my senses were overwhelmed. I can't tell for sure if it was me or if it was really noisy, I just know that I felt totally frozen from too much stimulation. 

Come evening time I got ready to get writing, turned the netbook on, got to Blogger, started a new post, had an attempt on few words, until I realized the E key wasn't working. I disassembled it, cleaned it, cleaned around it and underneath it, checked for anything odd looking, assembled it again, still nothing. My frustration grew so big I started to cry, and then I shushed my mind.

I turned everything off and lied in bed, I needed to rest from the chaotic day, but also readjust and recenter. Reading Mahmoud Darwish's Journal of Ordinary Grief was not a good idea on that day, and perhaps binge reading it all day long contributed in my gloom, though reading was initially my idea of escaping the senses overwhelm. 

I cried again, I wasn't sure if I was crying for Darwish, for the Palestinians, for the made up conflicts, for the apathy of the world, or if I really was crying over my E key. I think it was everything, and then some more... 

There is freedom in writing with a keyboard using full hands and all 10 fingers, sitting up straight, and looking at the words forming on the screen. My mind works in a specific way that's needed for writing, things flow differently, unlike when I'm blogging from phone. 

Was it another new thing I'm to lose now!? Perhaps it was, though I have been preparing myself for a long time. This netbook after all is ancient, it's a miracle it still works and I'm very grateful evey time I use it. I'm a minimalist through and through, and I resist technology quite a bit, I like sticking to whatever works, never was crazy about getting the latest gadget, the latest update, the newest or trendiest anything. The phone still works, I thought to myself, and I murmured a little gratitude prayer, then got down to starting a new book as I drifted to sleep and called it a day.

The phone is quite old too and is cracking up. It was a cheap make that I got at the start of lockdown back in spring 2020 when I lost mine out of the blue. I had to grab whatever cheap phone I could afford at the time and while the shop allowed me in, as they were pretending they were closed down, only sneaking one or two customers at the time. It's been almost 4 years already, and I'm still playing catch up. 

I'm still inside my own head, battling between thriving and surviving, confused about the time and whether to consider this a beginning or an ending, and whether all the losses were beginnings in disguise, and if indeed I have been blessed, or just plainly stuck in a rot. I'm still trying to make sense of things, not just what happened since spring 2020, but since, well, the beginning... 

The photos for work I'm taking lately with the phone are emarassingly low quality, the camera in my phone has gone really bad, the screen doesn't allow me to see perfectly either to when I'm attempting editing, and I seem to be still in this forever catch up to be out there. Everybody's so very natural at it, that showing themselves thing, photos, videos, voice, their face, ideas, style, the trend, the it!... They have the fanciest phones, the latest apps, the best resolution everything, and it's on 24/7, as though they're broadcasting their life, let alone their work. And here I am all l truly wish to do is to hide. Perhaps that outdated technology of mine is helping me achieve that, one way or another... 

Still, I gotta sell, people and customers are only to be found on their phones these days, mustn't I play the game?! I'm still trying to find that balance between a world that's so very physical and materialistic - in which I feel total alienation and experience complete detachment from - and an existence that's merely passing by, hovering over it all, simply witnessing.

Perhaps I overwhelm my own senses myself too from being too much in both worlds, and simultaneously thinking about them. I dream of peacefully existing in the middle, having established a newly found harmony and a wise enlightened way of being, forging this into that when and if needed, minus the narration... 

Just maybe. 

Perspective

I live inside a a matchbox, and a useless one at that, as it's been dampened. All that fiery potential of old is now totally wasted. 

This used to be solace, home, safe, cozy, and warm. Now it's simply small, suffocating, cold, and moist.

When Jade called me on the day before new year's eve and asked me what are my wishes for the new year, I answered without much thinking: acceptance.

To accept that the very same walls that once housed me and kept me warm and content are now limiting me, pressing down on me, threatening my health, both physical and mental.

To accept that I had spent all of my life in the futile pursuit of Home, and that I had been delusioned every time I thought I had found it in a person, on a land, or in a place. 

To accept the very fast pace of things of late, the very changeable quality of people, my very slowed down or sped up ebbing and flowing.

To accept defeat, and not try to embellish it, nor sugar coat it for the sake of avoiding the shame monster, or that silly bruised ego.

To unravel the rotten scars, to face the damages and their repercussions, to look directly at the withering away of my deepest hopes, and to watch my expectations of old disappear into thin air... without flinching.

I am no longer charmed by tiny anything. I've expanded so much to be contained within narrow walls, and under a cracking, rotting away ceiling. To accept that I had indeed grown too much to be contained at all...

Another vision came to fruition, a lot of info has been passed down. I have to accept the density of that too, and transform it into gear for my next travel. 

To accept that indeed the only thing ever constant, is change itself, and that I may or may not have created the concept of Home around trauma, for nothing has ever been a better home to me than my own self. 

Double earth fire creature needs air and water too, and so another territory is calling. 

I have to do a lot of work to bring myself to accept that very fact too, and prepare myself to the next phase, and a new horizon. 

Imaginary friend

I have constructed my whole life around you. Changing, moving, adapting, adjusting, learning, growing. It is why when you decided to walk out of it, I started to really struggle. Still, I wanted to facilitate even that, so I worked with you on the exit plan. Prepared you for the real world, for independence living, for the workplace, for self sufficiency. I was withering on the inside but I was teaching myself how to do the new seperation part through the loving still.

When you came that day last year, on that Tuesday on the 13th December, and took your belongings away, it was as if you snatched a valve in my heart apart. Like a totally mad woman I went to your room trying to hold on to anything at all, I cropped the top of your pathos plant, a little stem with 2 leaves, one bigger than the other. I kept them in water until summer. Before I moved, I planted them in soil. Four new leaves have grown from it since. From 2, came for, always the 1 being source. 124 baby girl... This is how I make room for hope, one way or another. Something somehow always stems and grows... from even the cuttings!

My reality shattered, my mind going awry, my heart getting broke, my whole reality shifting and smashing is not on you. It is on your father, on Chris, on my sister, on her boyfriend, on my brothers, on our "family", on your father's "family", on my friends, on all the people I met and became part of our life. Nobody has ever done the work of doing their part of being in their role, all they ever wanted was to waste time and suck energy. I didn't know that, my lack of experience in life did that. 

Other people seem to be fine with how life was going and whom filling what role in their life. For me it was just never enough, I needed containment, I needed presence. The more absent they were the mare shame I felt the more my mind acted up. 

You felt it and knew it all, I didn't. You wanted out, I understood. But to do it in that most harshest, brutal way, that was on you.

The lack of empathy you showed, that was on you.

The inability to meet me half way like I was you, was on you. 

The fighting me like I was your enemy when was anything but that, was on you. 

But I'm not rubbing this in your face, the result of all of that must have affected you too. I told you it didn't have to be done that way, but you were 17 and wild, and thought that was the solution to the pains you had.

It's okay too, here we are. The more we know, the more we know. 

I'm to release you fully from my system since what you represented towards the end was eating me alive. Becsuse I had little boundaries, I did not know where I begin, where I end, how much to give, and for the life of me, never knowing how or what to receive, if at all. 

I told you on one of the last few times we met, "I don't know if it's I driving you crazy or you driving me crazy".

The truth is, we both did. You're crazy and sane in many different aspects and ways, so am I. 

Our life to the out looker could've seem perfect and sane. They envied what we had, but you and I knew the struggles. Year in, year out. Battling loneliness, deception, being outcasts, abscense of true loyalty in people, lack of effort and integrity in others, the nonexistence of our tribe / family / group. Many hardships too, but we battled through.

Perhaps you thought that if you things totally differently now, that the outcome would be different. Perhaps you sought happiness in I dependance from me. Perhaps splitting yourself from me would take away the you that was my daughter and pride, so you can create a total path of your own, unlinked to me. 

If that's the case, then I sure hope you got what you wanted. 

No effort being put to truly address the problem of our seperation was not on you, it was on the family. The very family who never gave two fucks about us truly. So, nothing new there. It was always going to be just me and you, they couldn't even reach the level of depth we use in communicating our issues, or the things that we address. 

I think I am only just starting to make peace with things. 

I think of you now as an imaginary friend, for the way it all vanished and disappeared as if it never really happened feels very much like that. 

Thank you for your visitation, it was nice while it lasted. 

Adios, my friend.

Sail away

Perhaps too I'm writing in an attempt to face the shame that I lived with my entire life. The shame of not being loved, wanted. It began with my mother who kept offloading me as a baby, though I had extreme health problems since birth. Going through my sister's rejection, then her and my friends betrayals, then my husband's constant cheating, his repeated abandonment, all of the failed relationships afterwards, leading up to the latest that exploded the can of worms... My own daughter's rejection.

I am writing so that I look at that shame monster in the eye, and tell it you don't scare me. Let it be known and out for people to see. 

I havent been loved, I don't even know what that feels like. My mind has been so messed with that the only safe territory for me in relationships is manipulation and abuse. That is familiar to me. That feels home to me.

I'm not ashamed for being mentally disturbed because it happened to me. I didn't do it. 

But then I started seeing what I did do myself, and I wanted to stop doing it. But it upsetted all those who were benefitting, and my waking up from my shame induced coma didn't suit them.

But fuck this shit because I grew so fucking tired from chasing a dream, an illusion. Burning myself trying to give value so that I am approved, so that I am validated, so that I am wanted, so that I am loved...

Even the most default love that should come in naturally, the most basic, the most instinctive one, the love of a mother, the love of a daughter, I had to keep chasing it, burning myself, to no avail. 

It ends here, it ends today. Enough bleeding. Enough pleading. 

I'm just going to have to make do with imagining what it would feel like, look like, being appreciated, been taken care of, been truly loved, and receiving, so that I can start going towards that direction, and leave that most dried up, scarce shore. 

Ahoy! 

Whacko

The most ideal thing to do for my mind currently is write again. Somehow when I write I seem to understand things better. I also open my heart which is needed, for I had been closing it unknowingly, for living alone, in an eccentric and rather extreme way.

I've known with time and as I was getting older that there's something wrong with my mind. It took me very long to start understanding that the extremity of my emotions, my intense reactions, my boundaries, both the lose and the rigid ones, and the way I do relationshops, all relationships, was not ordinary. But then I understood with time and aging too my true making, so that being intense and what I thrive on and my standards and values made perfect sense when considered in the mix.

And then there was the well that was the traumas, which I only started to discover and truly understand in the recent years. Meaning that physically speaking, my brain could've have went through a lot of damages as a result, from a biological point of view.

Given I'm eccentric and crazy and whatnot, I always respected people's boundaries. Those who felt uncomfortable with me were given their space. I would always try to communicate my thoughts and my feelings and intention to make it clear and keep it straight forward and direct. The rather sad thing is that people would stick around despite that, because all of these screamed mental illness, and so people did what people do, they take advantage... 

Of course if I was to have any family at all, there would have been some sort of containment or a sort. Not having family, losing parents, then most narcissistic psychopathic abusive husband... I accepted everything and anything after that. I would accept and settle for breadcrumbs because guess what, I was famished by then. Any affection at all, any closeness of any sort, any kind of intimacy, any sight of loyalty, and hint of commitment, presence, continuity.... 

Of course, that was on me by that stage, I fucked myself up, by settling for anything at all. 

Even daughter, she would admire other totally brutal mothers, and I would be shocked, thinking what's wrong with that picture, she had a safe and pleasant childhood because of my softness, why does she admire these wild and manipulative sick mothers! I get it now, I represented the breadcrumbs mother. I was very insecure, very anxious, very traumatized, very scared and fragile deep inside, that the outside appearances meant nothing to her. She detested my guts towards the end. (Though I was a true protective and genuine mama bear through and through... But what I do I know, I seem to be always inside a world of my own, different priorities and different objectives and different values.)

Of course there's always the argument that our strong reaction to others is a direct reflection of what we are rejecting in ourselves.

And the argument that there is no you and I, whatever you do to others you do yourself... 

Etc. Etc. 

But I don't need to get there... I'm passing by, just wanting to say really, that my pain is very big, battling mental illness is extremely painful, I have dealt with it my whole entire life, not even knowing that there is an alternative, thinking all people feel so much like that, and get frozen.

But recently and after getting rid of more addictions, bad habits, weak decisions, wrong people, I am more able to see through it all, my mind isn't well. 

And when for the very first time ever I said it directly last year to her father and my sister whom were supporting her in her actions because of their own issues with me personally, they just didn't care. 

I cried and I begged them not to let our personal issues to get them to support her split from me, and that if they cared about her at all, they should keep our tie because she still needs her mother, and her age and situation is sensitive. 

Oh what a naiive I have been!

They pursued with it, until the very end. And I was cut back... 

And her, she has her own mental troubles too, of course I was on it on my own too, they just want to deal with her shell, for fear of having to face any of the real deal or their own shadows! 

But then there were all of them demons uniting, and what power did I have?! What powers do I have!? 

I've lost, they won. 

She got freedom from my "imprisonment". 

Her auntie got to live her motherhood fantasy like a lousy little child with her baffoon of a boyfriend whom she's using for her wife fantasy... 

And her father, well he saved himself some 5000$, simply erasing all the money he owed me over the years for child custody, just like that, because he can, like he did all the atrocities his entire life! 

I don't give a damn about her father or my sister, let them rot in hell for all I care. 

But her... She was always my concern, I was always committed and dedicated. 

But then she freed herself from me, and I do honestly hope she's at peace. 

My pain is mine, however, my mental illness is mine, my problems, my pains, it's on me. It's not her fault she was born to a damaged mother, but it is her fault to cause me more pain when I was pleading... The lack of empathy is on her too, you'd have more compassion to a nanny that looked after you, almost alone, all those years, or even a pet... 

I didn't beg her for money or to stick around or anything at all... I only just cried out to allow me to lover her still, but even that even then it disgusted her. She wanted to control how I thought of her, how I felt towards her, how I handled her, what I said about my feelings, what I thought! She would come around knowing how desperate I am to keep our bond, but would only ever take and take and take, not even throwing breadcrumbs at me. Instead, wanting to hurt me to teach me, to change me, so she could feel empowered and good about herself, so she could make up for all the years when she couldn't stand up for herself. 

I have become my daughter's main enemy and burden! If this in itself isn't mental illness, I don't know what is. Distorted realities through and through... 

And I did lose her, and I loved her too much to be able to see her turning into a total sociopath... 

But I accepted it, because guess what, not being able to see it much earlier was my own doing, because of my unstable mind, it was on me! I blamed me again and again and again. 

A stable mind would've been able to spot it, recognize it, and alert me.

A stable mind would've preserved its person from being used and abused. 

A stable mind wouldn't have gotten me into her father, or back to him after all he did. 

A stable mind wouldn't have allowed my sister in my life again after all she did in the past.

A stable mind would have seen through Chris and all his games. 

A stable mind would've managed to keep my daughter with me... 

But I was outcast, because of that unstable mind, by the crazies themselves! 

There is nothing left to do, but to move on now. 

Find people and things that are good for my mental health and my nervous system. 

Try to stay away from manipulative and abusive patterns whenever I can. 

Write because that's the only time i get to truly love myself, by giving myself the space to express my thoughts and feelings, uninterrupted. 

Write because all I ever have is myself. I write, I read, I feel, I reflect, I heal. 

And if not, fuck it anyway!!!! 

 

 

A late night plea, and simple maths

42 - 24 = 18

When I remove the last 24 years of my life from my current age, 42, I'm left with 18. The age when my father died, the time when your father conquered! 

24 is the age I was when I gave birth to you. 

18 is your current age. 

I am soon to be 43, I was 23 when I got pregnant with you. Almost half my life with you...

But, I thank you, for wanting to put an end to what your father started. You're not game, I was not your choice, you're out, you've got it. I get it. 

The past 24 years chunk of my life is to be ended and removed indeed, and I am to restore my 18 years self.

But my father has just died, I'm 18, and you have just died, I'm 42, and I'm left with so big a pain inside of me that's shocking and choking. I'm not truly 42, I can't truly handle this, I'm an orphaned child, though my mother was around... But you know the story, big part of it anyway.

I will miss you so very badly, I miss you every single day, I cry every single night. 

This isn't for you now, this is for God: 

Won't you please help me restore whatever is salvageable of me. Either that, or please please please take me away... 

I can't take the pain any longer. 

Or at least make me forget. Remove her and the memories from my head, remove the memories from my heart. Remove those ties from my soul.

Remove the longing, the missing, the thinking, the feeling, the hoping, the wishing, the idiocy! 

Give me faith, give me strength, pretty please. 

Please... 

Please, 

Please!

It's not personal

Another heavy Sunday is here, I am grateful I haven't lost it. Though my mind is often wandering, though the thoughts are often destructive, I managed to not lose it. I managed to contain my own self. The emotional heaviness however, of a typical Sunday type, is quite a lot. I'm just processing it all...

I haven't had time to contemplate lately, the pace of life is very fast, the city life is very chaotic. On top of all, I don't have the luxury of wasting any more time. It's still survival mode, but a next new level now. And while I managed to do a mighty come back at work out of thin air, and despite all the troubles, setbacks, and turmoils, I am still to make any money.

I've sold the very few bits and bobs and tiny furniture pieces I have brought with me here to keep, after selling all of the house furniture back in Fanar. I got few more books, curtain rods, and some shelves, those have to go next week so I can survive until the end of the year. 

I am not hopeful nor excited, I don't allow myself to let any emotions in when it comes to work these days. I just work, methodically, routinely, often time with total detachment. I risk losing a lot if I don't, for instance, getting back to Instagram! The followers, the stories, the likes, the tags, oh man, how are people still doing this shit!? It drives me mad! (More than I already am). Honestly though, Instagram is a number one cause of anxiety, all jokes aside. It's why I'm limiting all activities there and not investing much time on it. 

There is no avoiding the interacting with people when it comes to work, and so, begrudgingly, I am doing it. I feel utter exhaustion and overwhelm after the littlest of interactions, be it in the physical world or virtually, but I keep affirming myself that I am safe, and all is been taken care of. I only just have to take these very steps I have set up for myself now to come back to life, and out of that rot and emotional / mental mess. 

It didn't help much lately that, in order to deal with the stress, I had many binge eating sessions, mostly involving junk (basically crap!). In an attempt to balance my life out now, I sat with myself last night, and journaled, took notes and action steps to bring back some sanity again. I think the more I create and release things to the world, the more I will be confident again in what I am doing. But I won't worry myself too much with how what I make is being received, for I could very easily fall back to the whole mental and emotional chaos of it and I being seen, received, validated, accepted... or not. I certainly can't allow my mind to go into that terroritory now, I must preserve my mental health in whatever way I can! 

I have also been giving myself the occasional time and space to connect with others and have company. I can't say it's been always rewarding, and maybe perhaps because the triggers are so strong when I encounter others - I had grown so accustomed to being on my own. 

I often catch myself talking about the past, I haven't been able to be in the present yet still! The poor men who care about me even just a little, or just about our encounters, have to sit and listen through it all. I can't even remember anymore whom knows what details and how much, I just speak out aimlessly, it's probably a clear sign of my PTSD. After all, I haven't and I don't get to ever talk to people in my life, like normal anything, as usual... For there is no family, no friends, no nothing, so these guys basically end up getting their share of my pain processing in real time. 

I don't think any of them know the depth of the scars I am trying to heal, and that's fine, we come from very different backgrounds and life experiences (and expectations), and I am grateful when they show empathy, listen silently and attentively, and when they try to give me their own insight or piece of their wisdom, compassionately. Still, the pain isn't lessening with the passing of time or with all the actions taking place. In fact, sometimes I worry that all the distractions of life might be getting in the way of my healing. 

Sometimes though I just have to drop that weight and let go a little. Today's focus was on a plan to get back to my old routines. The 18 hours fasting again, my qi gong practice, my movements and dancing, my hobbies, my discipline with working hours and house chores. I started with the fasting today, and I get back the routines starting tomorrow. I gotta try to find a loop hole through that extremely noisy building and neighborhood. I don't know how, but I got to give myself a little bit of silence so that I can create, otherwise the stress from all sorts of outside simuli is really getting to my nervous system and stopping me from functioning properly. 

The sun is after setting just now, we had a clear sky finally after a very gloomy week. I am often finding myself missing my previous place, I visualize it, the details, the corners, the smells, the sensations, the feelings, and I cry. Not wanting it back, not stuck in the past, just reminiscing of a place that I truly put so much time, effort and energy in making it home, so much time, effort and energy in welcoming and hosting people, a place that was my most favorite of them all, but then having to walk away from it all, while I take it all down by my own hands, all that has made it "Home". 

The one year anniversary of her moving out of that house and my life was exactly 2 days ago, 8th November 2022, I have had a lot emotions creeping up on me and crippling me this past week, I am not sure if it was because of that, but what could I have done anyway?! Haven't I been processing shit since that day, and dealing with all the many hazardous repercussions? 

My problem is not that my daughter didn't want me after 2 decades of dedicating my life for her, lovingly so (not conditionally). But that the fact remains; she wasn't just my daughter, she was my sole and favorite companion, my confidante, my best friend, my only family. I also believed I was to her more than a typical mother, I was her therapist, her coach, her mentor, her companion, her friend, her cook, her number one fan, her art advisor, her business manager, her confidante... Was I family for her though!? Because, the irony! She never had it, they never were part of our life, and I filled up for everyone. She then goes out and drops me as well... And she never listened when I said repeatedly, I'm not her problem, if anything, I was the only constant and consistent person in her entire life. 

But then she slipped away... 

But maybe that too was all in my head, and I was blinded my whole entire life, for all she ever wanted truly was to get out of it all, and take and use as much as she can in the process until she does. She had to make use of it, you see, having me being a big part of her life and constantly around, when she couldn't love me. In her own words at one point, "she felt imprisoned"... It hurts, when all I had set myself to do since before she was born, was to love her. I grew with her, for her, for us. I don't get it, I still don't. I keep asking myself and others questions, they say, she's just a kid still. How very wrong they are, but nobody could ever fathom that thing that was and that had happened, not even I fully, but it definitely isn't just her being a kid! 

It is so very painful and against human nature to do life alone like I do these days, most especially after having dedicated most of my life anyway to the people I loved and cherished. This isn't a lesson, this is a spiritual cataclysm. 

I feel like a total failure every single day. How is it that everybody I know and around me have figured life out, and I'm the only idiot constantly shocked at people's behaviors, words, and actions!?! Why am I so thick?! Why is it not hitting me yet?! What on Earth am I missing!?!? 

Still, I can't complain, I shall heed the call. In fact, it's been done, I had no say in the matter whatsoever. Now I just ride the wave...

 And when there are ebbs and flows, I just observe, for I'll be taken whenever it takes me. 

The truth of the matter is that I could never make those, 

nor do people ever really make them themselves... 

None of it 

ever 

is 

personal!

The Letters

I thought and somehow have hoped life would end around now. It seems I was delusional, but you can't blame that weary mind of mine. Still, I am around and I am trying to make the best out of the situation, any situation at all really. 

I have been very watchful of how my mind loses its balance, ever so effortlessly, at the mere interference of emotions and the matters of heart. So I have been applying myself, doing all I could to try to self regulate. Mind, nervous system, thoughts, actions... 

In an ideal world, there would be switches you could flip to turn off one's feelings, or a simple wire cutting when ending an emotional contact with another being. But since that isn't the case, and since I am done reaching out sickly to people who have done me more damage than good, I am coming up with ways where I could feel the feelings I need to get in touch with when the emotions arise, and go with notions, and then release them. There is no need for the other to know about it, being contacted, or be part of this at all. This is after all merely my system processing what has been unknowingly to me at the time very traumatic events or periods. The signs of all I am and been going through being the pointers. 

I don't un-love, but I am learning to detach. While the latter is practical steps to take, follow, and stick to, the former is hard to live with. Not being able to unlove the ones we once loved so very dearly, means that it's still there inside, we've just decided to bury it. We is me, as they simply don't care, nor live the same experience as I do - or have done in the dynamic of whatever relationship or context that was. 

I have loved and still love oh so many people, most if not all had to get out of my life, for the way the lack of reciprocity and the extremely imbalance give and take dynamic we usually have set up is detrimental to my health, on all levels. 

I think that Letters would work as a mediator between my broken and injured attached self, and my newly born detached and free self. I am currently in the middle, and I feel a huge urge to connect with these people or the aspect of me that was alive and activated when I had them in my life. It is also a series of goodbyes, making since of what I was mostly unable to make sense of. And if it all fails, there would be at least the short visit of our memories, but also, most importantly, love flowing their way, for that heart of mine still does its thing, and what can a wearied human body do but oblige. 

The Letters are going to be a new series of posts I dedicate to the special people whom I encountered and cared very deeply for. It is a hello, and how are you, when the sensible thing is to not do that at all. Thankfully, writing comes once again to the rescue...

Spiraling with ARDH

For my sanity's sake, I released the work blog officially today. 

In my attempt to reconstruct something new, and my hope to be able to get back in the flow of work, I had to organize and tidy all the many different bits and parts of what I am currently doing and have been doing, so that I can pave a clear path for the future and my next steps. 

Of course I'm fully aware that by so doing, spending a huge amount of time editing, tweaking, modifying, changing, I would be wasting a lot and missing out on so much. Who in this time and age needs a blog to sell products? They'd laugh at you in the days of Instagram and Facebook shops, but, it's the only way I could do it. I had to build clear and proper foundation, and so help me God! 

I couldn't make do with the fragmentation from the last 5 years, I had to at least weave things together in a way where I can treat all parts and stages as a whole, so I could focus my energy on the honing process. 

Here I am, having (almost) done it. It took a whole lotta mental work, and boy am I tired! But, I shall release it for now, and will simply start building on from that. 

At least I could say I got myself a safe and somewhat stable "ground". 

Here's to ARDH124 my calling, my passion, my home. 

ARDH124

Layers of madness

I live in endless cycles of building up and distruction. I'm so tired from my mind getting in the way of my every little action. I get obsessed over the most minute detail and can only let go after having beautified and perfected things, when all I need to do, is earn the fucking money. Not to mention the gnawing fear of when will something come from outside and knack the whole thing down. If it doesn't happen, then I myself might do it, like history has proven. Cycles of repeated traumatic scenarios, with new added ones, almost on a regular basis lately. The priorities are not right in my head, the traumas are crippling my very move. It doesn't suffice that I'm aware and conscious, it's not being enough that I see, process, acknowledge, accept. There's still the most important phase, the final release, through which any hope of healing can happen, but I haven't yet fathomed how to do it. 

Everything inside of me is longing for the embrace that would make me feel safe and warm, just a little break, just a little reward to my weary mind, just a little pause, then another push. I can then make it, the forced loving pausing touch will help me achieve that. The slowing down, the pull of the bow, the stepping stone. A breath of oxygen, and an exchange of reigns of leadership. 

In-Sanity is a most fitting title indeed. Someone get me out of here. Either that, or get inside my head with me for a little while!

She might have been the biggest drug of my life, and I am suffering from the withdrawals still. 

Gimme gimme gimme, mine mine mine, that's how the world goes, and how humans seems to do it, and I'm supposed to survive when all I am is give give give, yours yours yours, and have become so fucked up that I can't even take what's already mine. 

New people owe me more money, how is that even possible, what kind of retards am I!?! 

I'm starting from square one again, working my way up in the business, nobody cares about my stupid creations, but in a battle between mind and money, where I seem to almost always lose the money, at least making things is keeping my hands busy and distracted, and the mind briefly at bay, and temporarily safe from going gung ho mad. 

A farewell march

My body was the temporary property of my big man penetrating me really good and really deep last night. 

My heart was owned by my daughter's hands since her heart was formed inside of me. She would pull the cords as she pleased, but then one day she let it slip away from between her buttery fingers.

My mind has been tinkered with by all the men who broke my heart time and again, and all the women who just wouldn't care. 

I am both here, and there. 

I'm inside my body, and outside of it too. 

I am being done to, but I'm watching it being done too. 

After the pleading has long ago ended, there remained the bleeding. Now it stopped and is drying up, leaving behind the most deepest scars. 

"I've made it here!", they shout loudly, proudly. But I count the days until I'm here no more.

The day all earthly actions and sounds will cease to exist, once and for all. 

No more humping, no more thumping, no more drumming, no more humming, no more him's, no more hymns... or lullabies.

Only just a farewell march. 

A summary

Orphaned

Abandoned 

Used

Abused

Disregarded

Attacked

Deserted

Repeat

Repeat

Repeat

Repeat

Repeat

Repeat

Repeat

I am not crazy, you are

Whomever is going through life and witnessing all that is happening in the world at large at the moment and haven't lost their mind, they themselves are the crazy ones. I am not crazy. 

the level of awareness I have and with my eyes wide open, heart and soul on point, it's very testing and quite a challenge having to do the survival things, and focus on the small picture, and the distracting day to day actions. Everyone's distracted, so many distractions. They glorify their gain in the system, well done you, what a genius, devil approved for sure, keep selling your soul away. Don't you bother attempt deciphering what is what, keep watching the news, keep taking sides, keep sharing stories and posts, keep calculating the good deeds, that should get you to Heaven for sure. 

All the ranting aside, I really must work, I need to make money. I don't know how to move from here when the only thing I've managed to do effortlessly for the past year is to write. Everything else has been forced and a real struggle. I can't keep on being the violinist in the sinking titanic. I got to help out, scream, shout, attend to someone, do something! I can't go on with my life as though nothing is happening or is going to happen, and get busy with a business or an art fair, or a stupid social media account, and handle ignorant customers. I need for my art to speak for me, I lack the courage to write and make / sell what I truly wish to share. I'm torn between the pressing need to share my art and allow creativity to flow through me and out, and wanting to be left totally alone, not be seen, not get exposed to the mass. 

There are a lot of daring thoughts and daring words and daring art projects in mind that need to come out of me, but I don't think I can handle the attention. I wish to do all of that without it been linked to me, I don't want people, period. This is a mixture of childhood trauma and deep rooted insecurity in a crowd, and a true knowing that such work would give people even more reasons to get in touch with me which I don't wish to attract or allow. I see through all people's bullshit, though I can't communicate with them on their high level of absurdity and superficiality!

I am wanting to write the book, I have never felt more ready, there are many different approaches to doing it, I've been brainstorming, and I can't decide on or settle for only just one style. The blog can be easily deleted by google any time, I want something printed, a tangible work, that should become my biggest craft. Something I can and people could hold with their hands. I don't only just have one book idea, there are several books in me. 

I am thinking about Chris a lot lately, he's crossing my mind frequently. I wonder if that's him thinking about me and me picking it up. It happens often that I get that from people. It was the anniversary of our first meeting not so long ago anyway, this is the time of the year when everything is so alive and sentimental. On 10th October 2010 I saw him for the very first time, when he came to spend a week with me, after having been very close online friends for a year and a half, and after expressing his feelings for me, and I reciprocating it. That day was the official start of our journey together. I don't think I ever loved anyone more than I did Chris.  

My mind is very erratic because of all of the bad stuff I binged on yesterday. I got to stop, there isn't much time left now for my stupid emotional eating. Better shape up and stay alert and on guard. Also, create and keep creating, the only way I could tolerate this living and make sense of it. Through my own creation, to counteract all the evil, hallow, and shallow energy sucking contents created in the world every split of a second.

Perhaps at least then I would be able to say I did my part. 

Perhaps then, I would have indeed turned the page. 

And detached, 

so I can ascend, 

ready for the end.