The kind of fatal confusion seems to cause me some kind of a disconnection and dissociation. What life after death, what is death. Today it is not a feeling of dissociation, as it was two weeks ago. But rather a kind of an external loop, and trapping kind of repeated program. It’s not that life is constantly repeating itself, sure the sunset follows the sunrise. Those duties are followed by those, and those with those. Things seem quite to repeat themselves without any kind of a break, or an end to the program. Slowly craves a kind of boredness of that all. A kind of mental lockdown. I don’t want anything, not even a Bible or a holy book. Not others, nothing. Would that make your inner voice more authorized then? It’s not that actually, it’s just I’m fine with where I am. I’m sure feeling trapped, under the killing repetitively of things, but I’m better out without expressing them piddly with a family member, with a friend, with a therapist, or praying it away. Sure praying it away is quite an option, but I would also like, as I reached to that point of being settled down with my phenomena, and my attitude. I would like to consume it all by myself, feeling the grief of it, the unexpressed sorrow, the unexplainable discomfort.
By consuming them all, I got fed by my kind of emotions. I take responsibility for them. They, although might be out of my league. I will weep if I had the chance too, sometimes I don’t weep, and it’s innerly painful from the inside, but rather my mind and my soul is quite disconnected to that all. My heart and autonomy and my spirit are aching, while the physical, the mind, the brain is zoning out from that all.
It’s quite fun though, that dilemma hah, once said. It’s the last way to copy, to navigate with it, not to fully take it. Not craving into it, but somehow just welcoming those episodes that come to visit from time to time. I won’t say that we gotta make things comfy and settled for those episodes of up and downs, which are so-called sorrow and sadness. But just dealing with it as a gentle host with their guest, even if their guests are unbearable.
Dealing with things within those manners quite make things less intense, less full of pity and intensity, and it’s just another phase in life. It quite can color the whole canvas of life as we see it. It can color it with lots of dark spots here and there, along with the gloomy kind of life view that started getting colored by that life filter as well.
It was a long road, wasn’t it? A long journey to realize that the killing road of dealing with one’s mental conditions don’t have to be a war in specific. It was a long journey till I settled down my relationship with my pain and sorrow. When I, over time, stopped, less intensely hesitating and freaking out about the way things seem to be. So blue sometimes during the day, the month, the years. I’ve run into them, constantly taking a part in a battle against what so-called an enemy or insanity, that far was wrongly labeled.
Foucault in his book; the history of madness shows nothing but the danger of the authority and labels, as a powerful tool that can be placed on the hands of the wrong people. Much more with its dangerous effects on the person, on a personal, more individual level. How come those words seem to define us, to maintain one’s existence rooted built attitude and takes and concerns on things, based on just a label; anxiety, bipolar, and depression.
How come that the very thing which liberates our minds; pain and experience, can simply be labeled and classified on one verbal label. A label which will later, own its privilege, and its strength, both to disown people, or to chase their conditions. I’m not here to discuss Foucault’s whole encyclopedia on “The Order of Things”, but rather to point out that linguistic liberation frees us from just minimizing us in just a label or a condition. But rather to celebrate our sorrow and pain.
Not like a psychoanalyst that will jump right into labels and classification within the first seven minutes of our session, leading us to either undergoing the path of a wrong diagnose or the side impact of the giving meds. But rather as a stoic that quickly undergone his intense emotional responses, to a more settled in, elegant way of undergoing pain and sorrow. Not to blindly acting over it, not to pity oneself and adopt the self-victim mentality. But more to have a kind of fixed mindset of dealing with pain and sorrow. By unwillingly taking it, without a slice hesitation. Not to look at things, as their core value, but rather what’s beyond one’s misery. It’s a kind of self-discipline towards challenges and one’s undertaking path of on things.