I keep forgetting where I am and how I got here, so I’ve decided to type out my diary. The last few weeks have been very low, which is seemingly counter-intuitive as I’ve been coping very well with lots of changes without a panic attack in sight. I hate writing that. Makes me feel like I am willing bad luck; like there’s some bad witch out there watching for the slightest hint of a smile on my face, just so she can point that spindly finger and vanish all my dreams away. That’s a crazy notion I know, but something I need to deal with. That’s the fear talking, saying Don’t shine the light on me, don’t. Because you know what will happen when you shine the light. The fear tells you that your recovery is impermanent, that if you blast that torch in its direction your tentative little life will fall apart. But what really happens is that shining the light, speaking your fear, extinguishes the darkness.
The fear is fearful of its demise. After all, it has been your companion for so long. It whispers, What a lonely life it will be once I’m gone. Maybe that’s why I feel sad: it’s the end of an era. That sounds so strange, doesn’t it? Like the Beatles breaking up or the death of Monet. Like suddenly you’re not going to see another vision of those water lilies again; whether they’re purple or that lovely orange-brown they descended into as Monet became blinded by cataracts. To feel upset for a time in your life that has been hellish doesn’t (on the surface) make sense. What people don’t realise is that when you peek through the bars of the dungeon of your own nightmares you see a key that is so luminous, your quest can become like that for the Holy Grail. If you have spent your life searching for a cure, what do you get when you finally clasp the cup in your hands? Once you’ve drunk from it what then?
The fear is fearful of its demise. After all, it has been your companion for so long. It whispers, What a lonely life it will be once I’m gone. Maybe that’s why I feel sad: it’s the end of an era. That sounds so strange, doesn’t it? Like the Beatles breaking up or the death of Monet. Like suddenly you’re not going to see another vision of those water lilies again; whether they’re purple or that lovely orange-brown they descended into as Monet became blinded by cataracts. To feel upset for a time in your life that has been hellish doesn’t (on the surface) make sense. What people don’t realise is that when you peek through the bars of the dungeon of your own nightmares you see a key that is so luminous, your quest can become like that for the Holy Grail. If you have spent your life searching for a cure, what do you get when you finally clasp the cup in your hands? Once you’ve drunk from it what then?
~sigh~…
Not to forget the “sow and tell part”, These pics were taken last saturday while I was going to the dance class with a friend of mine. Funny was that we were talking and I could also check out the way in order to focus on something. The intention again is to let you guys know a bit of where I pass by. Just to mension, from my home to dance school is about 10km. Nothing compared to the size of my city… Take care.
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