Coastguard

Feel all of your Self all of the time without trying to make the stream run into the ocean of your mind
Stop trying to control, confine, retain, manage, analyze, postpone, protect, mitigate, quarantine what flows through each moment for the first time ever in the existence of everything

You’re expending your all holding back an inevitable tide from coming in
Meanwhile you’re dying to be cooled, to be washed over with the new, to be swept away
You’re dying for the very thing you’re fighting.

Dust ball

Scrolling through timelines aimlessly. Alternating between apps and websites endlessly. Drifting around like in a car in an empty parking lot at night, circulating the same block until it’s safe to feel again. Dissociating is like hiding under the bed from the monster that is sleeping in your bed. It should be the other way around but I’m always the one punished for the terror that drifts through me aimlessly like a heavy fog that closes in unannounced.

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.

Nobody

Rid me of the ways of the world

Roles can’t replace meaning

And yeah, you say you intended well

But your impact says otherwise

Don’t strangulate me with wishful wires that aren’t grounded anywhere

Not even

I just discovered Mitski and at once I feel like the young girl in me was given the long longed for permission to be without having to entice others. She just screams wild woman and I love it. It’s difficult when you go all your life feeling out of sync and nowhere to recalibrate.

I’m convinced that emotions are revolutionary, visionary and yet reassuring. Like they’re saying it’s ok, you don’t have to rebuild the Tower of Babel to feel divinely connected. Close your eyes and hear the susurration of time as it was passed onto and through you.

No hiding from the light

Love is an initiation that is far more dreadful than war.

At least in warfare you get to protect yourself and hide in trenches. You get to exert your strength against the other. But in Love, there is no other. There is no hiding. There is no showcasing of strength like on your best days. It’s to let an inner war rage through you while you stand in the middle of the crossfire without flinching. Naked, alone, vulnerable. The sight of another in that state feels like a burning bullet but instead of death you feel more intensely alive.

May 31st 2018

I go cold. I didn’t think I’d have to return to these memories. They’ve been haunting me for years, breathing down my neck. Felt like running on treadmill, trying to get away but not getting rid of it. And now it got triggered by watching a trauma survivor put words to her experience and woosh. Tears welling up. I rarely cry. I’m so emotionally disconnected from myself. When I do it’s always sudden.

The flashback of being robbed of self-determination. Being put through physical and mental torture. Torture. Cries and pleading falling on deaf ears. Mum blocking my dad’s attempts at intervening. Eventually he zones out and mutes it. It becomes a part of life. The worst thing is… when your trauma is so over the top that you’ve never come across anyone speaking of it and you lack the outlet and ability to frame the experiences. Every time I think about it, I turn away because it’s so much. So dense. I’ve been going to therapy for 2 years and I still haven’t gone into it except for a few times broaching it. I guess I wasn’t ready until now. It’s times like this I turn on myself. Become frustrated and angry with myself for not being able to understand it or conceptualize it. I feel like a prisoner to my past. What I hate most about these memories, these clusters that ran for a good ten years at the very least, is that suicide is always around the corner. That’s another reason why I had to dissociate and disconnect. I wasn’t capable of digesting and processing it all and that’d cause my psyche to overload and crash. Suicide then was just a power button on a computer that’s completely froze and the mouse isn’t working so you’re like fuck this.

Talking or writing about it conjures the worst feelings of helplessness and hopelessness in me. It feels like trying to empty the ocean with a spoon. A tea spoon.

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