Shroud me in pain

I try to be normal. I try to keep up with the marathon of life and not let down the cheering crowd. But I’m broken and I can’t heal and keep up at the same time. Something’s gotto give. I carry on stealthily through sheer grit and focus, but as soon as I relax, I’m bombarded with everything I’m suppressing. Stuff that I don’t have answers for. Stuff that I can’t talk to others about. People say that I can talk to them whenever and that they’ll be there for me, but it’s mostly vapid talk designed to make them feel better about the guilt of my pain. So it’s easier to smile and juggle half a dozen projects to give off an air of hopefulness. But I always look forward to sleep. In the cover of my blanket, I can let down my guard and for some hours I don’t have to be at war in my head. In my dreams, there’s always a happy ending. But the happy ending heralds an angst-filled beginning; a new day. A new day with more unanswered questions and even more demands for implementing answers. Every single day is exhausting. I spend every waking hour thinking, researching,reading – basically running away from my daemons that call me to just give up.
Every time I hear about someone who committed suicide, I think; when will I finally cave in? It’s a scary prospect but it’s always at the forefront. Always. Like it’s a default option. So if I don’t keep afloat with goals and projects, I fear I’ll sink like Jake Dawson in Titanic.

I’m starting to think that maybe I jumped ship too early with the recovery. I took my first major milestones and ran with them. I forgot where I had come from. I forgot that I had suffered from severe depression, C-PTSD (chronic PTSD), anxiety, agoraphobia, you name it, for over a decade. A few months in summer made me forget about all of that and I tried to catch up with everything I was ‘supposed’ to do. I tried to erase my years of suffering by filling my days with activities to show how quickly I’ve bounced back.

And now. I’ve been suicidal since late October. I spent the entire month of December in bed. And I do mean the entire month, in bed. I’d only get up in the middle of the night to get me a sandwich to have enough energy to stay alive. I’d forcefully sleep throughout the day because I didn’t want to talk to people. I didn’t have the energy to fake that everything was alright.

Recovery is a lonely process and the very mind that urges you to just give up is your only companion.  I try very very very hard to not let sadness seep in. I try very hard not to think about what I’ve gone through, and this means that I don’t get to process my pain. It lies in waiting.

“I didn’t want to wake up. I was having a much better time asleep. And that’s really sad. It was almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you’re so relieved. I woke up into a nightmare.”
— Ned Vizzini (It’s Kind of a Funny Story)

A Heroine’s Journey

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The title is a play on Joseph Campbell’s monomyth The Hero with a Thousand Faces. It’s been brilliantly depicted through an INFJs perspective here.

It’s very painful. I don’t know how to explain what’s happening other than through an analogy; it feels like I’m giving birth whilst having my skin ripped. Everything I’ve grown attached to and used as a crutch has been dissolved and I feel like I’m falling into a dark pit where annihilation awaits me. All my abandonment issues and repressed pain come out of the woodworks now that I have nothing to suppress them with,and it’s all too painful. Physically painful. In all my years in this heroine’s journey, I have never known a greater pain. And I think it’s because the very last part of my false self is dying. Ego death they call it. I feel nauseous, and a strong wish to just die. But then I realize I don’t really want to die, and that past suicidal thoughts and attempts have been desperate attempts at abandonment. I always jump ship before anyone can abandon me. Always. I have a knack for seeing when someone’s turning on me, growing sick of me. I sneak out like a thief in the night. They’ll never know what hit them.

In a way, that’s what I used to do to myself when it got overbearing. But I’m sensing a fundamental change; a separate identity from the one in pain has emerged, so the pain is compartmentalized. I can feel that what’s dying in me isn’t me. I don’t know how to explain it.

Now I know why most will never undergo this transformation. Why unconsciousness is so alluring. Why people prefer to be comatose.

Not only is everything I’ve grown accustomed to dissolving in the light of consciousness and maturity, but my true self is emerging.

Mothers, is this how giving birth feels like? Excruciating pain and being torn apart to give way to another life. I think I’ll opt for adoption.

It’s my fault. I have this morbid curiosity. I keep prying into my unconscious, when it nudges content my way either through dreams, intuition, or crossing paths with others.

If my soul was a person, it’d be covered in tattoos, be a chainsmoker, pierced all over, but a really kind person. LOL

I just turned 26 this month. I haven’t had time to pause and reflect on all the shit that my unconscious has thrown in my path. It’s like a videogame. I choose to go to the next level, and the next, and the next. I can’t stop. Like, in the past, I’d be lying on the floor, with blood in my mouth,and pills in my system and the first thing that crosses my mind is to analyze my suicide attempt. I.keep.attracting.lessons. No wonder I couldn’t hack school; I’m enrolled in an intensive crash course in life!

Simplicity is the most difficult thing in life. It involves searching,sifting,choosing,discarding. I feel that the more pain and metamorphosis I undergo, the more child-like I become. You’d expect that with everything’s that happened that I’d become more cautious and closed-off. Nope. I laugh at the silliest things, I’m very naive in that I can’t conjure the evils of others, I give and trust unconditionally, and I believe everything’s possible. But I’m also very fearless when it comes to standing up for what I believe in, in asserting my own truths. Maybe it’s my fearlessness that allows me to be child-like? Because I don’t have to watch my back?

 

The unconscious is not a demoniacal monster, but a natural entity which, as far as moral sense, aesthetic taste, and intellectual judgement go, is completely neutral. It only becomes dangerous when our conscious attitude to it is hopelessly wrong. To the degree that we repress it, its danger increases. But the moment the patient begins to assimilate contents that were previously unconscious, its danger diminishes. The dissociation of personality, the anxious division of the day-time and the night-time sides of the psyche, cease with progressive assimilation.

— C.G. Jung (The Essential Jung: Selected Writings)

But if we understand anything of the unconscious, we know that it cannot be swallowed. We also know that it is dangerous to suppress it, because the unconscious is life and this life turns against us if suppressed, as happens in neurosis. Conscious and unconscious do not make a whole when one of them is suppressed and injured by the other. If they must contend, at least let it be a fair fight with equal rights on both sides. Both are aspects of life. Consciousness should defend its reason and protect itself, and the chaotic life of the unconscious should be given the chance of having its way too – as much of it as we can stand. This means open conflict and open collaboration at once. That, evidently, is the way human life should be. It is the old game of hammer and anvil: between them the patient iron is forged into an indestructible whole, an ‘individual.’ This, roughly, is what I mean by the individuation process.

— C.G. Jung

Karma, can you keep up ?

I’ve felt pain to learn empathy
I’ve been lonely to be humbled
I’ve been betrayed to learn the importance of integrity
I’ve been deceived to cherish authenticity
I’ve been played to embrace vulnerability
I’ve felt suicidal to learn how to live life on my own terms
I’ve been loveless to learn how to love myself
I’ve been burnt to be purified
I’ve been terrified to practice courage
I’ve been stranded to discover tawakkul
I’ve been destroyed to develop resilience
I’ve been ridiculed to uncover creativity
I’ve been bullied to learn to stand up for the truth no matter the cost
I’ve been stuck in troubles to learn how to problem solve
Pain’s a bitch. A good bitch. I’m a bitch. A bad bitch. In a good way 😉

A misty morning overseas

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It was a way I had
That I’d be consumed by the fear of losing
-Love
-Security
-Comfort
-Him
Unable to withstand the corrosive effect of witnessing fears play out in my mind’s eye
I’d lose myself to retain him
And I’d eventually lose him too
But now that I’ve come to realize that I’m all I’ll ever have
In this world
I’m ready to lose you
To retain who I am
And if you’re truthful, you’ll withstand the corrosive effect of witnessing a rebirth of my being as I shed yet another layer of untruth
and you’ll eventually realize that you never really lost me

You gained all of me.

Ablaze

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There’s power in pain
There’s healing in suffering
I’ve lived my life in hiding, afraid of that pain
So inevitably, I lost my only hope: the power to withstand the convulsions of repressed energy surging through my consciousness, seizing my mind.
I gave up the freedom to endure a bit of death before I could become alive in the truest sense
I was afraid of death so I did not live
I was afraid of the fire, so I never evolved into phoenix
I was afraid of disappointment so I did not hope
I was afraid of rejection so I did not love
I was afraid of tomorrow so I didn’t even get out of bed this morning
I wished the summer could last forever, but of course it couldn’t, so I came to loathe it for its transitory nature 
I wished the earth could stop spinning for a while, so I could be still for a little while and find my footing.

The worst feeling of loneliness is when you’re desperately trying to escape pain within yourself and there’s nothing anyone can do. It’s like being burnt alive.

This time I’ll endure the raging fire and let the searching flames find my fears, so I can become whole again.

To live you must die

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I watched an interview with Common who won the 2015 Academy Award for Best Original Song for the song Glory as he recounted some memorable moments in shooting the movie Selma which centres on the civil rights movement, spearheaded by Dr. King and he mentioned that Ambassador Andrew Young spoke to the actors on the first day of rehearsal. Young made a potent statement that jolted Common awake; said Young; ‘Their [ civil rights activist ] philosophy was; What are you willing to die for? Live for that.’  Common continues; . “These people were willing to die for freedom and voting rights, so they lived for that. Each day was put to that.”

 

It shocked me, the way it did Common and it made me re-think my life; what was I willing to die for? Did I even have anything I was willing to die for? The answer I found sent shivers down my spine.

I was willing to die for comfort. I am willing to die for being sheltered from pain and fears. And surely, my life reflects that.

Death is the ultimate fear. Life is the ultimate sacrifice. So these are the parameters that I have to contend with in defining my life. I let past tragedies and traumas distort those parameters and I did die; I sacrificed my life to fear, begging it to leave me alone. In turn, my passion, the fire of my soul, died down.

Some people die at 25 and aren’t buried until 75.
= Benjamin Franklin=

Indeed, I let a life of safety and comfort fool me into thinking that because the pain was now dull and not sharp, as it had been before , that it was absent. But it simply slowed down a notch or two, and it was eating away at me whilst I did nothing.

It takes courage…to endure the sharp pains of self discovery rather than choose to take the dull pain of unconsciousness that would last the rest of our lives.
= Marianne Williamson =

When I want to face something I’m really scared of like telling someone a painful truth or being vulnerable with another, I ask myself what the worst thing that could happen was, and I prepare to face that worst-case scenario. The fear immediately vanishes in the absence of doubt.

Perhaps I should extend that to the bigger obstacles I face and try so hard to avoid; what’s the worst that pain can do to me? What’s the worst missing out on something I desire could do to me? What’s the worst the boogeyman in the closet can do to me? 😛

“You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, ‘I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.’ You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”
= Eleanor Roosevelt =

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