When I can’t be real

Presence of condition means I can be disconnected at any time. I turn against myself in anger for not wanting or being able to meet those conditions, because I feel suffocated by anything that splits or fragments my energy. So I retreat into isolation, every time. At least I don’t have to choose between me and me when I’m alone. And yet, that means I’m not flowing. I’m stagnant. It’s not long before the suicidal feelings set in. After all, what is the grave but the ultimate isolation.

Feel in between the lines

People who feel suicidal or end up committing suicide are people who don’t feel that to live is safe. They feel an inordinate amount because of what those with robust egos have discarded or pushed away from their awareness to retain control and their worldview. And because others aren’t engaged in the bigger reality that unites us all, they can’t connect with them – these canaries in the coalmine-in the trenches to at least keep them company as they g(r)o(w) through encountering new facets of reality.

There’s no mental acknowledgement of the process of spiritual alchemy that transforms the individual through uniting the opposites that clash. There’s no interstitial space afforded those initiates called to go deeper into the spiritual abyss on behalf of humanity.

It’s like seeing the faint outline of raised waves on the horizon, and going towards it to explore what this anomaly is signaling to then warn the others of the inevitability.

Because what’s causing people to feel so suffocated that they opt to go against every natural desire to live is a symptom that affects us all collectively, whether we tune it out or not. And it’ll steadily eat away at the fabric that holds us together and keeps us sane until it reaches monstrous proportions that we no longer can avoid. We realize what the waves were when the tsunami has already crossed the shore.

Alienated from my light

Sometimes I like to hum loudly to drown out the howl of the biting wind whipping me in the face like this. I pray for an emotional calm as I trudge in this blizzard, seeking a faint light in the distant, a reassurance that I haven’t been swallowed whole by this storm. I stopped trying to warm my hands, curled up with cold, and I can feel my body slow down as a fog of despair starts moving through my mind ; what if I never find a way out of this? Am I just trying to postpone the inevitable?

Life, for me, is the most critical in these moments because if I stop I don’t think I’ll be able to recover the momentum to start back up again. Frantically searching for even a wisp of hope, a sign of life, flicking through the archive of my mind to see if I can recall if anyone has mentioned pushing past this threshold before. In my ears, my heartbeat is pulsating with the poisonous doubt that has entered my blood stream. I slow down as I’m flooded with the memories of all the times I persevered in vain and my efforts were for naught. I feel like a knot in my stomach shot up to my throat, like an inverse punch. Warmth spreads through me as I create a light out of the certain futility of trying. My tears well up and my nose is tickling with a cold sensation. I don’t see the blizzard anymore or hear the ferocious winds whipping past me. I feel like I’ve arrived, and I know I don’t have to suffer the expansive loneliness of this unending blizzard anymore.

I was not swallowed whole by the blizzard, but I helplessly succumbed to it. I calmly walked towards what had snuffed out my light.

Image : Cottage on an island near Nora, Sweden. By Jonas Loiske.

Hide & feel

I’ve internalized the incessant question I’ve been asked over the years : why can’t you just fix whatever is wrong and get back to life? What’s taking you so long?

I’ve tried everything and I’ve flipped the question every which way looking for an answer. Nothing. Only intense shame smiling back at me. I feel so disgusted by me. I feel so destroyed that I don’t know what to do. I compartmentalize time to keep from being buried too soon. One day at a time. The shame is more bearable that way.

No help. No support. No paved paths. I wish I could be invisible but the comfort eating I’ve been hiding in left indelible, undeniable marks on my body and now I can’t even blend in no more.

What’s worse than a tragedy? A plus size tragedy.

The collapse of a nation is the birth of another

“That’s incredibly fascinating and an unusual account”. He leaned back with his arms crossed and looked at me across the small round table where I sat, along with my psychologist.

I had an appointment with my GP in the same building as my psychologist’s office. He was to renew some prescriptions and update my medical certificate that details the conditions of my disability. I had explained to him why the sleeping pills he had prescribed me months ago stopped working after a few days. He said it’s normal because the body gets used to it. What we’ll do is increase the dose. I objected to this by saying that the dose is perfectly fine and my issue isn’t pharmacological. I’ve had severe depression and ptsd which I’ve battled since I was 16,17 and I’ve adapted to the symptoms. Merely correcting the sleeping patterns disrupts me and triggers intense anxiety because it exposes me to the daily routines and the emotional unsafety I encounter in being awake during the day as well as sitting with the expectations that come along with a normal circadian rhythm.

He said, ah, because it makes you face everything you hadn’t dealt with while it was just as easy as taking sleeping pills?

No. This is the only way I can remain alive. When I’ve faced these systematic battles without sufficient resources, understanding and support it’s led me to such desperate extremes that I’ve attempted suicide. That’s why my psyche reacted so viscerally to being snuffed on its only safe space : the peace of mind the night affords. I don’t live in conditions conducive for emotional security. I’ll have to deal with the underlying system before I pull the plug.

“I’ve never heard this before. You’re unusually conscious and aware of this.”

She’s an unusual woman, my psychologist quipped, to which we all laughed. I was beaming because I was believed and relieved that a man of his stature saw it fit to concede to my self-knowledge. It was a validation I could believe.

I’m not disabled by my inability to adapt, but because the system isn’t equipped for someone like me. And it’s easier for people to put that on me than jeopardize their blind trust in the infallibility of the system. If it’s all you have it’s not unusual that these cognitive dissonances arise. No one wants to live in existential uncertainty. But I’ve had to. That’s why my insight and vision is so piercing – clarity is all I have to survive, to avoid being exploited and deceived.

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