I got my period today! Yeah, now I can go back to being a little more stable. A great relief. Why does PMS have to be so mood-swinging? Funny...
Thinking back on the past three days, I actually can't remember much. It feels like I have been inside a loop that will never really end, like walking in endless fields where nothing ever changes. Just the same high grass that keeps me from seeing any horizon, keeps me from seeing anything period. Anything but the sky, but that is a monotonous grey. It feels a little frustrating and at the same time, it ain't that bad. I have been through worse times. Maybe it is that waiting thing you talked about. It's not bad, but it isn't good either. It just is.
That of course leads me to thinking that if the waiting is self-made. If this monotonous landscape is of the mind, can't I colour it, make it into something else? Couldn't I make flowers grow in the endless fields, big, bright red flowers, like roses, that fills the air with a sweet smell? With one stroke over the sky, I could make the sun appear, white clouds rushing across the deep blue sky. I can make it into whatever I wanted, and yet I seem to be satisfied with grey skies and tall grassy fields that keeps me from seeing anything. Why is that? When I can really make anything happen. Put one word after another until they make sense. I could listen to the wind, instead of complaining about it. I don't have to walk against the wind. I could turn and it will blow me forward.
In my mind, I could travel anywhere I want. I can go anywhere I want, even to distant realms that no one knows about, only me. I could colour the world in the most fabulous colours. I could paint with the colours of the rainbow. And yet, I stay inside the little box of familiarities. I don't challenge myself. Maybe I don't, because I don't know how to do that. I have gotten so used to this life of grey that I don't know how to do it differently. I don't know how to shake things up. I don't know how to unblock me, to get unstuck, to move forward. So I stayed in the same place until I believe that it was all there ever was. That I was outside looking in, dreaming of what I could do if only... If only what? If only I was better, brighter, more beautiful, more clever? If only sneaks into your system like an invisible poison, slowly killing off the spirit, drowning that voice of beauty and colour, making everything into grey encounters that just fades into the background as soon as they have passed. And all you are left with is if only. If only I had this, or a little more of that... The poison is working its way through the whole system until your spirit is numbed into believing that this is all there is.
That sounds really depressing. I am not saying that because it is completely like that. For a while it was, yes. I believe it was, but even though the poison is there in the system, there is always a cure. Not all poisons kills you... Positivity is a cure, but it is a long and painful cure. To believe again is a difficult task. I can believe one moment, and the next I just can't travel to that place where I see myself succeed. It's like hitting an invisible wall. It is flexible and at first I can't see it, but when I do, it shoots me back like a sling shot... See? The wall is still there. But it's not solid anymore, and it is not misty either. It is like its made of jelly, sticky and wobbly...
I know I should go to bed now. It's almost 4:30 am. But I don't want to sleep even though I am tired. That means I am finishing a new day that feels pointless, wasted on nothing. Why is that? Why do I end up without doing anything? I get energy from feeling satisfied, like I am doing something. Why don't I do something? Because I don't know what I want to do? It really is a vicious circle! I feel like the clock is ticking now. For what, I don't know. I feel that is my sentence these days. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Maybe I will know tomorrow... Ah, it reminds me of this thing in The Artist's Way:
One way we listen is by writing our morning pages. At night, before we fall asleep, we can list areas in which we need guidance. In the morning, writing on these same topics, we find ourselves seeing previously unseen avenues of approach. Experiment with this two-step process: ask for answers in the evening; listen for answers in the morning. Be open to all help.
I will try that tonight I think. Get ready for bed, ask a couple of questions and try to get some sleep. Then see what happens. At least I have written something today, in this blog, that is at least something. I don't really think it's that bad, I just wanted to write and see where it led me...
2 comments:
Yeah, it is raining! I'm going to the library tomorrow and hoping to get a window seat so that I can watch it better. I love it so much. I think I'd even love the snow if it weren't for the minus 8 degrees you're talking about. I think that would make me feel like not doing anything. Not that I want to discourage you, but it's true. . . It's hard to do anything when it's so cold and you don't want to move. :) Maybe you're transitioning to the weather?
PMS IS weird. You know what I'm noticing for me? My PMS seems to be worse when I'm the least active and unhealthy. I mean, i know it seems obvious, but it's strange to see the pattern.
Some questions you might think about asking. . . What do I want? What will make me feel like I'm being released from the loop? Or why do I feel so grey in the loop? Why do I wait, if I'm waiting?
I don't know. I feel stuck myself, trying to revise an essay I never felt like writing in the first place. Small, compared to what you're feeling, but I think there is a little similarity.
I feel like all I can type is what I've been trained to type or what is easiest to write. It makes me cringe to think that I will probably write another essay that I could care less about. I don't like to do that. I want to care. I want to want to write. But I don't. I feel like I'm going to wait for a day where I'll feel like a writer. You know, wake up and suddenly know what to write about, what I care about, everything. I won't have to beat my fists and curl up in a fetal position. I'll just set to work and when I'm working I'll know what to write and care enough about it to revise it until I love it.
And I would love it.
I get so desperate and irritated with myself. Actually, it's worse than that. I pass into a state of "i don't care, let's just get this over with." Things become grey, monotonous, this is what I think is similar. But something I realized when I read your blog is . . . look at us. . .
If we hadn't been desperate in the first place, we wouldn't have met. We've picked ourselves up a long way in the few years we've known each other. We've done things. We've changed. We're not the same that we were. Things are still changing. If it weren't for you, would I be able to push myself through a painting until I was satisfied? Or an essay? I don't know. Maybe. But I doubt it.
I've learned how to be dedicated from you, to see something through. You are dedicated. I have no doubt in my mind that you can get whatever it is you want. Or if you are looking for what you want, you'll find it.
You have to let go AND push yourself into doing things that are beyond what you ever thought capable.
We're starting small. Today, morning pages. Tomorrow, an essay. Next year, London?
Who knows?
Find what you want and you'll find a way.
When the critic says "No, that's impossible," just remember that every time you insult yourself, you insult me. Because we have to prove to each other that we can do it.
;)
Love ya. . .
Fun:) I was just at the social office thingy, and talked with someone who is in charge of mental health there:) Coincidence, nah, don't think so. But she said that it would help to have someone to discuss thoughts and such with. And I thought: I have that. I have Sheri:) So I guess you already are helping to heal someone)))
Love ya too)) Big kiss))
I can't wait to talk to you again)) Take another small step together)))
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