For now it will have to be OK to have a diagnosis to explain the dysfunction. It’s just another obligation to HAVE to TRY and get better or (just listen to the very word) “OVERCOME” depression. I will do no such thing. I am. That’s enough.
All I have is Now. Right? And if NOW is heartbroken, I will NOT try to lighten up. Because that would be a gross judgement of my NOW experience. I will just respectfully sit in it and feel the despair until it has imparted all its wisdom, healing and direction to me NOW. And I think my counselling job would become redundant anyway, if people would start seeing sadness as one of the multicoloured beads in the caleidoscope of life. So what if some of us are mostly dark in mood?
No more difficult choices here – the budget has decided for me! Now I need to do exercise in other more affordable ways if I am at all serious about fitness.
Sometimes the dream alone is what keeps us going. I think I’ll keep this in my awareness as a fantasy, for now.
Had to face the inevitable. I can’t. I don’t really want to. I’ll have to wait. And then decide if I really want to earn my daily living from a daily dose of suffering.
Today I find this to be appallingly outdated. It doesn’t leave room for what I want and it makes light of attributes I actually treasure and keep in trust.
Unless you do the dishes – in which case you’ll be carefully kept functioning on the motivational principle of reward…
I stick to my man, baby, but only ever after some commitment from his side and only ever after I have clearly proclaimed my boundaries and personal freedom rights! This indicates that I also know how to carry leeches myself! Let the blood flow… it’s always been good for covenant purposes, and all sorts of high pressure. Yikes!
But that means, I know how to live on little when I have to, and go on a spree when I have to, too! With me, you’ll have money AND life quality!
I’ve done a lot of soul-searching, but it remains important: you have to be special in some way, any way, all the way, to be the catch of the day. Good for you!
Today I realize (again) that what I want in a mate is (still) a projection of what I want in myself.
So help me God…
To first love myself. (Even if I can only see it as some perverted duty to you, anyway).
I want the peace and quietude of spirit that acceptance, support and loyalty can bring. And togetherness.
Show me how to be together with my Self.
And then please provide someone to be together with, so I can learn how it feels.
Today I did what I always do in a rough patch, but what is not always optimal, or effective: I self-isolated. I didn’t answer the phone. I didn’t visit anyone or allow visits from anyone. I didn’t go to work. I didn’t go out to buy anything.
Normally, this would be counterproductive, as I’ve so often proved. But, today, like some other miraculous times before, I acted on my core truths. I knew I had to listen to my body, my soul and my spirit. I had to consult with the feelings I had obviously buried for such a long time in order for me to have become so depressed again ‘out of the blue’.
And I found it: it was anger, mostly. Raging, searing, raw, primal ANGER!!!
I lay on the bed for what felt like ten minutes of unbearable rage and wrath. But it went on for hours, as I listened to the loud protestations of a suppressed spirit… and the faithful body delivering the cues in a process called SHIP (see www.ship.org.za)
Not done by far, but new energy is flowing in. Later today I could write entries here in 43T, which I don’t often do. Therapeutic release. Great to have an audience. Great to have my sanity back.
But I’m vulnerable. I need to take care tomorrow, the day after… And I need love. My own love for myself. First and foremost.
so, here goes…
My sell-by-dated body with its tired posture and worn facial features will be your cue to pursue. The well used and partly mutilated gyneacological regions, are the allegorical external symbols betraying the presence of and guiding you to the deeply hidden treasures of the soul – a heart that knows how to love.
My thinning hair leaves lots of space for your soothing fingers to softly stroke my hysterically analytical thoughts all back into submission to your firm love.
The furrows on my wrinkled face channel my post-coital tears of joy and release, in a gleaming silvery line, over my cheekbone, down to my ear, onto your chest where some stay behind in little diamonds strung into your breast hair and others flow down onto your pillow, where they leave a little white circle for you to remember me by…
My sagging breasts mold like soft white porcelain clay in your creative hands… they fill your mouth with creamy richness and ripe nipples stroke your palate with the sweet promise of fulfillment and the comfort of warm flesh in your nostrils. Nurturer and nurtured become indistinguishable…
My flabby, chubby tummy allow your breath to make little whirlwinds in the hollow of my navel as you rest your cheek on my abundance…
My dimpled thighs and paper skin are specifically devised for the breathtaking revelations you disclose as your fingers read my poems in braille…
My unattractive feet with the gnarlish knobbles, coarse soles, horny toenails and bluish veins, show that I’ve walked the talk in close contact with the earth. You’re safe as long as you stick with me – I know the road. Authentically so.
