I began journaling again. As I attempted to let the past few years flow chronologically onto the paper I realized how utterly fucked up it’s been. How long has this shit been collapsing? Did I notice it was going down? Had I spied satan as he pulled the strings? Naw. I just kept rolling with the punches. Until, that is, that last knock out. That blow split me open. I layed there bleeding out with each pump of what was left of my heart. That one almost did me in. It took a long ass time to even wanna get up off that dirty blood layden place. Once I got up, I had no desire to clean myself up, get stitches and move on. I was comfortable. I knew this. It was how my childhood felt. I hated everything and everyone. All the years of therapy, all the hard work, all the fucking books I read. Everything, gone. Back at square one. The system failed me. I wondered if this was the hopelessness mixed with rage those crazy people on the news that shoot up places for no apparently good reason. Is there ever a good reason to shoot up places?
It began slowly. A quick almost playful jab. The kinda thing that occurs and you say to yourself… “really?” Do they think I would fall for that? Did they expect me to be bullied? Please. I would have to be extra crazy and stupid to do as they advised. Obviously, they did not have my best interest in mind. I moved on, stayed grounded. Looked for a different resolution. The hits just kept coming, with added magnitude each time. I thought surely the worst is over, things are looking up. I was wrong. It didn’t and hasn’t stopped.
I read this quote that basically said my outter world is a mirror of my inner world. Thus, I figure if I can find the big fat asshole inside me that hates my guts and seemingly thinks I’d be better off dead and evict it from my beingness I will be golden. Right? Or do I have to love it?
Enter the paradox. How the hell do I love something that is trying to systematically destroy me?