Children who know about going without are very quick learners indeed.
They understand contempt and resentment. They understand it when they see it, when they hear it.
They understand the bitterness. It washes off others in waves.
And for a child who has learnt to go without, the poison is the reason they stop asking.
The poison means, you’re not worthy, an inconvenience.
The poison means GO AWAY.
“Why can’t you just vanish? Are you still here?” “What are you looking at?”
Drink the poison. That’s what they want. To keep you quiet. So they don’t feel bad.
I’ve been in a bubble.
It’s quiet there and my thoughts come and go.
Not bad. Not good. Just flowing through me.
Without judgement I’ve learnt about fear.
Fear inside me, fear of perfection and my inability to find it, has created a deep dark pit.
It’s a bottomless pit that I’ve filled with self loathing. Everyday, spooning a little more in until the blackness reaches the top.
The hole is so full. And so now I’m spooning that hate out into the world. A little dollop for you. Plop plop plop. I hate myself. Let me show you how hateful I can be.
Everyday I pray for change. I pray I can hold on to the understanding.
I pray I can pull myself out of the depths.
I don’t belong there.
This year, after years of knowing him, I looked the devil in the eye. I stopped running, stopped scrambling and stood up.
I stood in a place I’d asked others to stand because I was too scared.
I was a coward for so long, convinced of the lies that were whispered in my ears. They rang loud, louder than the cries of innocents.
But the devil is just a man. A clever man. A liar. A trickster. But still just skin and meat.
As powerful or weak as anyone. As me.
He reaches out sometimes, with words that twist my stomach. But I’ve faced him and survived. And I will do so again, for as long as we both shall live.
Lately, when I look in the mirror I see my mother’s face. I see her mouth, her eyes, the pores of her skin.
I don’t hate my mother, nor do I resent her. But I see my relationship with her more clearly now.
As a child I felt flawed, like a mistake inside me made me unlovable. She was distant and cold.
As an adult (and I’ve been one for a while now) I realise that my relationship with her is the same.
And I’m still taking the blame for it. I’m older now, I have the life skills to really create a proper close relationship with her. And it’s just not happening. I’m waiting for her approval, her interest.
She’s a new age hippy type. She loves crystals and talking to angels. But her heart is closed. And I am confused.
For as long as I can remember I’ve been waiting for her to save me from drowning, but her back is always turned. She’s looking the other way.
And so, I’m letting her go. Which is strange, as I see her everyday as I put on my makeup, as I do my hair.
I don’t feel bad, or sad. I feel free. And maybe she does too. Maybe the burden of my expectation has been weighing her down. Maybe she just wants to fly away.
Fly away mumma. It’s ok.
I’ve prayed for help. I’ve asked God to make me strong, asked my spirit guides to show me the way. I’ve beseeched the Universe to open her heart to me – to see me, and make me whole. I’ve stood under countless full moons begging for guidance and release.
There’s not another human being on the planet more open to change and healing than me.
And yet – there never seems to be a reply.
Reminds me of this joke I heard years ago.
John, who was in financial difficulty, walked into a church and started to pray. ”Listen God,” John said. ”I know I haven’t been perfect but I really need to win the lottery. I don’t have a lot of money. Please help me out.” He left the church, a week went by, and he hadn’t won the lottery, so he walked into a synagogue. ”Come on, God,” he said. ”I really need this money. My mom needs surgery and I have bills to pay. Please let me win the lottery.” He left the synagogue, a week went by, and he didn’t win the lottery. So, he went to a mosque and started to pray again. ”You’re starting to disappoint me, God,” he said. ”I’ve prayed and prayed. If you just let me win the lottery, I’ll be a better person. I don’t have to win the jackpot, just enough to get me out of debt. I’ll give some to charity, even. Just let me win the lottery.” John thought this did it, so he got up and walked outside.
The clouds opened up and a booming voice said, ”John, buy a f*cking lottery ticket.”
You have to be willing to do the work.
I have to be willing to do the work, that’s what I’ve learnt.
I can ask for all the help in the galaxy. I can ask someone else to show me the way, but the truth of the matter – the bare bones reality, is that the help I need is already here.
I have everything I need.
I’m not a good friend.
I don’t know how to be.
Sometimes I see acquaintances smiling at me, uncertain.
Like I’m a simpleton, or a fragile egg.
“Do you even want to be here?” “Are we an inconvenience?”
No, that’s not it.
It’s just that I’m just pretty certain you don’t like me.
And I don’t want to waste your time.
I was having a sneaky read of The Guardian at work today. The topic was death.
More precisely, our fear of death.
A lot of the comments suggested that what people feared most was dying a painful death.
I don’t fear pain. I sleep with pain, wake with it and have lived with it everyday day for the last 8 years.
And no, I don’t mean spiritual existential pain, but actual physical pain.
Pain I can come to terms with. Yes, it grinds you down, can make you numb. But it’s known.
Pain is not the thing I fear about death.
I fear the idea that I will cease to exist. That the thing that makes me me, can and will vanish.
Where will I go? Where will my thoughts go? How can I just not be here?
To vanish into darkness, how is that possible? I mean really? How can the sum total of all our experiences and feelings over the course of our lives just disappear in the blink of an eye?
Maybe there’s a heaven, or at the very least an afterlife.
But maybe there’s not.
What if there’s not?