About a week ago, I fled my appartment due to noisy visitors (my landlady’s family of four). As there is no other place I can go to or am comfortable asking, I had to ask bio family. Not exactly my first choice, if I had had any, but I brought myself to seeing this as an opportunity, too. (I had meant to see landlady’s family stay as an opportunity to further desensitize myself to acoustic triggers, but failed miserably and after the second night with poor to almost no sleep, I knew for a fact that this was beyond me. I accepted this finding and took action. P.S. This just in through a friend: A list of Not-to-Do things for the chronically ill)

There is no more doubt: I am a completely different person from the one that had been living here – another lifetime ago, or so it feels. More accurately: I am en route to becoming the very person I always was to begin with, but wasn’t given room and opportunity to be. The gap between them and myself couldn’t be any more pronounced. Although they tell me different, they don’t see me, the ‘me’ who I really am. They are incapable of that as they lack imagination as well as empathy – you could say that their emotional vision isn’t finetuned enough for that. Much like Kimberly said in one post, I’ve been banging my head against the wall set on making them see me – and I still revert to that mode while being here. It’s my share of OCD behaviour. But it is a futile undertaking. Even one of my former therapists agreed on that with me. It’s like trying to blend water and oil: While those two liquids might sit in the same vessel, you’re still not going to see the blending happen. I will have to bring myself to an understanding and acceptance of that instead of going on sabotaging myself in trying to move a mountain that can’t be moved.

I am left to a path of continued withdrawal to the point, where we can’t talk at all any more. But the truth is that I am conflicted about that. It actually gets me into a major moral conflict as in other ways they had and keep having my back. (the latter already happened with additional conflict on my part as it stands for incoherent behaviour of mine… not good, but there were no other – acceptable – options).

The other night, I stopped by my sister’s and her family. We sat on the porch and enjoyed the balmy, breezy night and night sky, while having a conversation about music, the daily challenges of work life and all sorts of things. I didn’t explicitely say it – or not all that often, but everything they uttered on behalf of any of these issues no longer aligns with where my beliefs are. And it’s beyond that: All the things that seem to enchant them are for the most part repulsive experiences for me to imagine, all the things that I appreciate or am passionate about, they don’t feel very much. It feels easier to find things in common with total strangers. Bizarre, to say the least.

Alienation. Complete alienation. I have been on a much different trajectory and the curve will bend away even stronger. I am probably conflicted about that, because I’d have loved to see myself giving back, something I’ve been trying to do with my previous career: I had bent myself out of shape in order to satisfy what I perceived as the hopes and dreams they set into me. I’ve been doing this to the point of collapse and losing not only my equilibrium, but physical health and sanity. They can’t even see that, not really. They say they do, but it doesn’t feel this way to me. Bizarre, awkward, isolating.

I think, I’ve travelled the path of the martyr long enough. Time to be more selfish (and maybe even a little snobbish, too, here and there and whenever it feels too stressful to deal with other people). As I’ve come to know myself by now, I reckon that the pendulum will swing all the way back to the opposite extreme…. Ok, then. I’m not going to beat myself up for that – or for anything any longer. Why would I?

P.S. I get by here only on account of an ego-less state. It isn’t about me. If anything, it’s about building and reaffirming compassion. That is their journey. This is mine.

P.P.S. Some well-remembered visceral reactions have remanifested over this: Stomach’s cramping up and makes me feel sick as well as weak, not to mention the mood going south. I’m a stranger in “my” own house.

P.P.P.S. (how many can there be? LOL): I might have to go back to my flat. The visceral reaction gradually grew and worsened over the past few days. It has become apparent in my behaviour, too. After that full blown chaos is about to ensue. Again, I’m left with a choice of pest and cholera, like caught between a rock and a hard place. I need – NOT WANT! – NEED a place, where I can have peace and quietude. This might have to involve a more drastic relocation and change of lifestyle altogether.

And since we’re at it (i.e. adding P.S.s to end P.S.s): That patch of lawn didn’t work. And emotions are bullshit. All of them. Just slowing us down and keeping us from the important stuff, which is: Feed, fuck, sleep. Ok. That’d be feed and sleep for me.

And I won’t flee to here again. Maybe I needed to be reminded in order to know that it simply isn’t working and that it never will.


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