I wanted to first thank all my readers, what few they are--there used to be more--for entertaining my eccentricity. I've gone from motivated to a lack of motivation, from deep depression to slowly putting the pieces back together, and from 'I'm going to do this' to 'why bother?'
It all points to the same thing...this blog is my voice when I can't seem to get my physical voice to work, and my head is a line of shit storms as far as the eye can see.
I knew I was at least a little crazy. That I thought this blog would swell to the size of my ego fit right in.
But I'm beginning to understand the way my insanity works believe it or not, and I've begun to get flashes of how life works, too,
regardless of where I fit into that design.
The following is from an excerpt of a journal entry I wrote last night in about twenty minutes:
'I knew it didn't make sense. Not in the way I know that one plus one equals two--does it?--but in a more distant, nagging way.
There exists a Limbo. On one side are those fallacies we only regard as such on a subconscious level. On the other, those fallacies we recognize for what they are and continue to actively ignore, led on by the (strange) notion that this time will be different.
For our purposes, the Limbo is a world wherein the fallacies coexist.
For a long time, the concept of 'resetting' sat in my Limbo jar and festered there like a boil. Today, I unscrewed the lid and peered excitedly into the jar.
Surely a holy shit moment lay in wait!
A short pause for dramatic effect and---
Holy shit! I found exactly what I thought I would...a solution that fed right into the problem.
'I need to reset,' I would say. (my mom is going to start moaning it in her sleep soon). Then I would march upstairs and do absolutely nothing, but I would also be no closer to eliminating the need to escape.
When I opened that jar, I realized that I had
always regarded 'resetting' as elusive, well out of my reach and stressful rather than restorative. On the heels of that realization came the image of a bottle of CBD oil, and a word:
tincture.
A tincture. What if I regarded my reality as a tincture instead of a data center that must be purged for several hours at the introduction of a new stimulus to function properly?
A tincture. A mixture, if you will, of coping mechanisms to which I can add, and from which I can remove (or purge if you will) as needed, instead of blowing the whole thing away and starting over?'
The clarity, as indicated by the amount of time it took me to write it, and the wistful, creative, comedic approach I chose to express myself, comes on the heels of cleaning out my room, my closet, and
bit by piece, little by slow, my car.
I've begun to realize that the amount of stress in my life all comes back to how much work I want to create for myself. For example:
Every time I ignore something that needs to be done, I add that something to the list of things I need to do the next day.
By contrast, the more crap I clear away with the understanding that I don't need to make more work for myself, the more crap I can prevent myself from ever needing to clear away...like piles of dirty laundry on the floor of my room (everything in my room is where and how I want it. Leaving a pile of dirty laundry from the day before will compromise the sanctity), recyclables from my car (for the last few days I've removed several miscellaneous items from my car just to say I did it, in addition to any trash and recyclables I've accumulated on the day), and...
Holy shit. Trying to 'reset' when I know for a fact that it won't work!
See you on my new Facebook page! theintrovertexposedcs@gmail.com
