Isle of Skye

Loving ourselves means loving what we believe, loving where we came from, loving our quirks and our handicaps. Repeat, "I love myself as I am." (from Debbie Ford FB page)

For the past two, three weeks, I've been self-sabotaging. The binge eating, the extreme ill health, the being unable to do the things I really wanted, the living in the clouds and major procrastinating, it's all been pear-shaped. I managed to meditate on the moon yday and had some sort of clarity. I keep becoming airy and hyper-energetic - the unproductive type, that leaves me dissatisfied about my lack of action but not being able to do anything about it: I forget, I forget, I forget. J'oublie tout le temps. I lose things; important things. So my random ramblings are thus, today: I have become less self conscious about myself. I am so surprised at how I can talk about almost anything now and really make other people uncomfortable. I hug trees, dammit. Although, of course, I sneak a peek to make sure that no one is there. Nowadays , I see sex and marriage as just filling up a hole in the futile attempt to make oneself become (W) hole. Also, for all the bloody Paki / desi...

... especially after the horror I have escaped from. I am immensely grateful for the fact that I can express and articulate once again. That I am here. So everything else pales in comparaison . Nonetheless, how come everything I try to do goes all pear-shaped? I keep falling ill. So last weekend I wanted to go to the Bastille Day celebrations and it was a complete washout because I was so sick and so is this weekend (the Shoreditch festival). The binge eating has started again, the fevers just don't leave me alone. While I'm being 'me', I get irritated with the things I do or don't do, feel or don't feel, say or don't say. Never ending existence.

I now go beyond other peoples fears and limitations. It is my mind that creates my experiences. I am unlimited in my own ability to create the good in my life.

Enough said. I hate living on this planet. Vraiment.

The empty feeling returned this evening - it's been such an alien emotion. I actually haven't felt empty since April. I honestly don't have a clue how it came back. This time, just trying to be with it and repeating that it's not who I am. Just an emotion. Everyone has them. I'm just laughing at myself. Loneliness creeping up on you. And you went back on Shiamatch . No biggie. Just go off of it again. But why does it always hurt me so deeply every time I hear about someone getting/being married and actually being happy? It's not only that, just talking to people in general leaves me feeling so empty. Possibly because I know I'll never have it. It doesn't really feel like a choice. Although, it obviously is. I suppose this is London finally worming it's way into my psyche and dragging me down - again. But why am I choosing to blame a blank city when.... I just hate myself for expressing myself and no longer being a 'good girl'. I detest mysel...

Since the council decided to shut down the Wimbledon JobCentre - which was a stupid thing to do - we have to go to Sutton. I'm a little stingy, so I choose to walk every two weeks - it's 45 minutes each way. It would be lovely, you see nice houses and not too many people. I met a good looking policeman two weeks ago who smiled at me, so it's not all bad. If all else fails, there's always my MP3 player play list . But, for the past three times I've been there, I've had someone or other act like a prat and I know it's because I'm a visible Muslim woman and brown in skin colour. No other reason why people act like prats and look me up and down as though I was the weird one, I was the uncivilised brute. I mean, drinking, sleeping around, driving like maniacs and obsessing over football, that's progress, right? So let's count the instances: 1) walking back from Worcester Park, some random white prat leans out of the car and hurls abuse. Funny thing ...