Remembering the static

When I was little, I was obsessed with collecting crystals and I was also drawn to meditation.  I remember my favorite meditation was to imagine putting all of my worries into a hot air balloon and blowing it up and away with my breathing.  I would do it every night.  Even then, anxiety was a struggle.  The causes, I guess, were a little less complicated.  I was stressed because I was convinced I wasn’t getting an A or I was tired of being called names on the bus.  There was, however, something else eating at me.  Even as a little girl, I was convinced that none of this made sense.  I tried desperately not to let myself think on it too much, as I suspected I could go crazy.  Inevitably though, I would sit and think that there has to be more to everything than just doing what you are told.

I could never understand the seeming myriad of rules that had nothing to do with love.  I couldn’t understand why one life is supposed to be dedicated to ensuring you have the best afterlife.  I had always wondered if the very concept of heaven and hell existed solely in your own mind.  I could never visualize this cloudy, pearly gates scenario or flaming inferno.  I had always thought of religion as a metaphor; a way to attempt to explain the complexity of the universe.  It always seemed to me that man/ego mucked it up by creating unnecessary rules to establish hierarchy and inferiority, and creating reasons for ego to do what it does best – divide and conquer.

I had read somewhere that this year is pivotal; it is a time of great change and tumult. It does seem like, anymore, reality is somewhat difficult to believe.  Maybe it’s just me.  I once said I would go down rabbit holes, figure things out, and come back up.  Lately, I seemed to have tumbled into a bottomless rabbit hole.  I remember, though, when I was in the hospital, it had seemed everyone was having the same exact struggle.  For whatever reason, these memories are randomly returning to me.  Part of the reason I could not sleep was because my ears wouldn’t stop ringing.  In addition to my nightmares, random sleep walking, etc. it seemed as if my ears were screaming at me.  Multiple people said the same while I was in the hospital.  They, like me, hadn’t slept in days.  I was with a lot of people struggling with addiction, and all had said they started using again.  They had been sober, but somehow lost control of everything.

The hospital was over capacity, and people just kept coming in.  Several had said they kept hearing a woman talking and they could not shut her up.  My brain wouldn’t shut up either.  I should not have left the hospital when I did.  I was too scared, though.  People kept reacting to me.  Either they would talk to me about everything and act as though I was special, or they would see someone else as they looked at me – someone that upset them, and begin screaming at me.  One woman screamed “You are a freak! Get away from me!” while another said, “stop making everything so hard on yourself and write.  It would take you years to write all of this, silly girl.”  She’d just come in to the hospital and had no idea who I was or that I wrote.

At the time, I was convinced everything was my fault.  What was everything? I have no idea.  All I knew, then, was that I had messed everything up, I am a failure, I am evil, and everyone hates me.  In a sense, I had flashed back to being a child.  That was how I always felt, and that was how I journaled.  Sitting here, I wonder now if meditation had connected me with the reality of my core beliefs/wounds and forced me to live the reality of my delusion.  Jung said that one must be careful with their shadow self, as they could project their shadows on to the collective consciousness.  While I realize, I can easily create a self affirming vacuum depending on what sites I follow, etc. it would seem I am reading reoccurring themes almost constantly:

-This is a time to rest and allow blockages and constraints to come to light, versus tearing at yourself

-To grow, you must embrace your shadows.  You cannot focus only on the light, or you will not be whole.

-Embrace your fears and make them your strengths

-Embrace the true nature of love completely, because that is the sole/soul purpose

-You cannot find peace and contentment unless you serve your higher self and purpose

In the meantime, I am exhausted and sleep constantly.  My dreams have been vivid and lucid again.  This is the stuff I’ve been wanting to write about, but I’ve been scared to, because I feel crazy.  However, if anything I’m reading is to be believed, I am not the only one losing their marbles right now.  Paradoxically, admitting that I’m losing my marbles feels like the most sane thing I can say.

A friend had told me this year was going to force a lot of people “awake”.  I think, what I am struggling to understand is I don’t know the difference!  This life has always seemed like complete and utter bullshit to me.  I’ve never felt as though I belonged. I swear though, the harder I attempt to understand my thoughts, dreams, and meditations, the more bullshit happens in my life.  Sometimes, I really, genuinely think Stephen King is not writing fiction.  Between The Dark Tower, Insomnia, 11/22/63, and even kind of The Stand, that feels more like my life than CNN.

There continues to be a peace in not giving a fuck if I’m crazy anymore.  If anything, it alleviates my writers block.