Confusion
A morning or middle of the night does not pass me by without my being confused about where I am, when I am, and who is alive. I sleep on the couch because Aunt Tudi calling for me is more unbearable when I'm in the bed. But then I wake up on the couch wondering where Aunt Tudi would be if I'm on her couch. It's a Catch-22. What's worse, is I'm getting half-woken perceptions that Granny is still alive too. When I'm finally fully awake, I see that I'm alone, and that just makes things worse in a way, because I can't figure if I'm being haunted in a parapsychological sense or if I'm being spooked by unformed, half-forgotten, and undesired memories.
When I first started going to school and being bullied at the age of 5, the advice my family gave me was "ignore them and they'll go away." They didn't go away, but it didn't stop my trying to make things ago away by ignoring them. It was like a habit. While I kept my head low, my thoughts would be racing on how I'd just love to get even in any way, shape, or form. Nothing really changed for me expect for creating a kind of stoic nature that abhorred any
Another example of this is the purchase of my current home. I never wanted this house; I have too much of my biological Romany genetic mish-mash. But Aunt Tudi and Granny wanted to make sure I had a home, not realising they were helping to build me a prison in which I just exist in order to ensure my animal-companions' safety and happiness until they pass away.
Therein lies my dilemma. For almost 44 years to the day, I was a practicing Stoic, never showing my feelings, never letting anything get to me. But this time I can't. I wake up unsure of my surroundings, unable to get my bearings, and it causes me to start crying. I have one found one thing that I'd rather cry in public than to ever do, and that is to laugh by myself. I have no one to share my off-kilter humour with.
I try to ignore all of it, hoping it will just go away. But it does not. It just seems to fester, like a gangrene of the soul. There's got to be some way to get through it, to get past it, to conquer it, before it conquers me.
When I first started going to school and being bullied at the age of 5, the advice my family gave me was "ignore them and they'll go away." They didn't go away, but it didn't stop my trying to make things ago away by ignoring them. It was like a habit. While I kept my head low, my thoughts would be racing on how I'd just love to get even in any way, shape, or form. Nothing really changed for me expect for creating a kind of stoic nature that abhorred any
Another example of this is the purchase of my current home. I never wanted this house; I have too much of my biological Romany genetic mish-mash. But Aunt Tudi and Granny wanted to make sure I had a home, not realising they were helping to build me a prison in which I just exist in order to ensure my animal-companions' safety and happiness until they pass away.
Therein lies my dilemma. For almost 44 years to the day, I was a practicing Stoic, never showing my feelings, never letting anything get to me. But this time I can't. I wake up unsure of my surroundings, unable to get my bearings, and it causes me to start crying. I have one found one thing that I'd rather cry in public than to ever do, and that is to laugh by myself. I have no one to share my off-kilter humour with.
I try to ignore all of it, hoping it will just go away. But it does not. It just seems to fester, like a gangrene of the soul. There's got to be some way to get through it, to get past it, to conquer it, before it conquers me.