It’s incredibly difficult to write today.

It’s been interesting to acknowledge to myself that I hate the daily journal-writing torture. I think it has helped me in some important way to acknowledge it isn’t the experience I believe it is supposed to be. It’s not a slightly guilty but pleasurable act of self-love. It’s me trudging through the swamp of how dreadful I find myself. It’s horrible. It’s good for me, but I hate it.

Maybe I am realizing this is equally awful.

I just finished 20 minutes of a mindless computer game and I am now reading fake news. Two articles, because basically they are both not very interesting.

It seems as though I would rather do anything than be vulnerable.

I had some potentially useful thoughts. It’s not very coherent, I suppose, but it’s my struggle. Some days, I do the triumphant survivor thing, but mostly I don’t do triumph. This blog is about struggling.

I also ate 5 Peeps in a row.

Struggling in public is scary, even if all of you are basically really nice to me about it.

I was thinking it’s hard to acknowledge and cope with my vulnerability, because my vulnerability as a child was never recognized or responded to. My mother never stopped mid-beating because she suddenly realized she might break my head open or permanently damage my psychological development.

We learn what is real and what isn’t from other people around us. We learn through observation too, but a huge amount of what we know is communicated through other people’s behaviour. A part of how you learn traffic is dangerous is via your parents’ fearful responses when you wander out into the street.

If your body and heart are treated like play-dough, then your (my) vulnerable feels seem both irrelevant and confusing, and that tends to make them louder until sometimes–depending on the situation–you feel like you are going to drown in them. As I live more authentically, I think I am going to be experiencing a lot of vulnerable feelings.

I am just thinking it might not make sense to cope with it all by saying I am certain I don’t feel certain about. It’s okay to not know.

 

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