I tried really hard not to call myself names yesterday while writing in my journal. I did quite well, until the very end. I called myself a loser face.
But, this too shall pass.
I'm turning 27 years old in approximately six weeks time. Still in the same place I was a year, two years, three years, 6 years ago.
It's literally unbelievable. I just can't believe it.
I keep bursting into heartfelt tears. Usually while in the shower (well, hey, at least I'm showering daily).
I need to find a way to have computer and Internet access for 16th March, Wednesday night for my clearing call. I can't afford to miss it. I can either ask Sameera or Aunty Aziza. Shame it's a weeknight, but I have no choice. I can't afford to miss it.
What a loser.
A whole week and my mood is the same, I'm doing the same things.
Well, actually, not true.
I'm crying a lot more. I'm feeling sad more often. I'm noting what I lack more frequently.
I'm avoiding contact with people more frequently. I can't speak to people anymore with a clear voice. I'm looking at the floor while walking. There's a lump at my throat.
I've even lost my appetite (and that's something I never thought possible after the past year and a half) and my physical health/energy levels could be better.
Classic symptoms and signs.
And there's not a thing I can do any more.
No doctor to show my symptoms to. No spiritual healer to show my symptoms to. No parent to talk to.
And it's okay.
Such is life.
I'm going to try being British and keeping a stiff upper lip.
God knows I've asked for help. But... sometimes, you can't get help. Sometimes there really aren't any answers or solutions.
I can't go see my doctor. I can't go see Sidra. They've all done what they could.
It's me against this. Twelve spirit guides or not, if there's a God or not. Whatever the case.
There's only me. Again.
I should fall in love more often. At least it gives me something to look forward to.
I'm joking.
Love sucks. Especially when you still love the person and you know he never did and you don't understand why you still do. Because you knew it was doomed from the start, that it was never going to be.
When you still are as you are now. My own thoughts and Sidra's own words.
Oh, sigh.
The library computer is going to shut down soon. And thank goodness, don't know how much more of this drivel I can serve up.
I don't feel venomous, aggressive, defensive.
Anything that was worth fighting for was illusion.
Him, me, my sanity, my life, any imaginary job or career or means of earning a living, any woo-hoo ideas of being creative, or humanitarian, or being a counsellor or anything else.
A slight whimpering and that's it.
I admit defeat.
Some of us just aren't cut out for this mortal life. Some of us never really get it. Never really are that strong to begin with.
I can't even value myself enough to keep up with the EFT. Or do my waxing, or get my threading done. It's those small things that make humans feel dignified and worthwhile.
And I chose my parents.
I chose my father.
He's going to break me.
In all senses of the word.
But, this too shall pass.
I'm turning 27 years old in approximately six weeks time. Still in the same place I was a year, two years, three years, 6 years ago.
It's literally unbelievable. I just can't believe it.
I keep bursting into heartfelt tears. Usually while in the shower (well, hey, at least I'm showering daily).
I need to find a way to have computer and Internet access for 16th March, Wednesday night for my clearing call. I can't afford to miss it. I can either ask Sameera or Aunty Aziza. Shame it's a weeknight, but I have no choice. I can't afford to miss it.
What a loser.
A whole week and my mood is the same, I'm doing the same things.
Well, actually, not true.
I'm crying a lot more. I'm feeling sad more often. I'm noting what I lack more frequently.
I'm avoiding contact with people more frequently. I can't speak to people anymore with a clear voice. I'm looking at the floor while walking. There's a lump at my throat.
I've even lost my appetite (and that's something I never thought possible after the past year and a half) and my physical health/energy levels could be better.
Classic symptoms and signs.
And there's not a thing I can do any more.
No doctor to show my symptoms to. No spiritual healer to show my symptoms to. No parent to talk to.
And it's okay.
Such is life.
I'm going to try being British and keeping a stiff upper lip.
God knows I've asked for help. But... sometimes, you can't get help. Sometimes there really aren't any answers or solutions.
I can't go see my doctor. I can't go see Sidra. They've all done what they could.
It's me against this. Twelve spirit guides or not, if there's a God or not. Whatever the case.
There's only me. Again.
I should fall in love more often. At least it gives me something to look forward to.
I'm joking.
Love sucks. Especially when you still love the person and you know he never did and you don't understand why you still do. Because you knew it was doomed from the start, that it was never going to be.
When you still are as you are now. My own thoughts and Sidra's own words.
Oh, sigh.
The library computer is going to shut down soon. And thank goodness, don't know how much more of this drivel I can serve up.
I don't feel venomous, aggressive, defensive.
Anything that was worth fighting for was illusion.
Him, me, my sanity, my life, any imaginary job or career or means of earning a living, any woo-hoo ideas of being creative, or humanitarian, or being a counsellor or anything else.
A slight whimpering and that's it.
I admit defeat.
Some of us just aren't cut out for this mortal life. Some of us never really get it. Never really are that strong to begin with.
I can't even value myself enough to keep up with the EFT. Or do my waxing, or get my threading done. It's those small things that make humans feel dignified and worthwhile.
And I chose my parents.
I chose my father.
He's going to break me.
In all senses of the word.
Comments