This daily archiving series is about organizing and dating my journal collection, as well as acknowledging the self-directed violence as important therapeutic shadow work. Processing my projections and darkness.
Trying to figure it out.
How can today’s journal be 7 years ago?! How can last Saturday be a week ago already? How can it be 53 years since I stood trembling in Kindergarten?
“Time is rhythm: the insect rhythm of a warm humid night, brain ripple, breathing, the drum in my temple—these are our faithful timekeepers; and reason corrects the feverish beat.” ―
Today: Journal Start Date April 20, 2013
April 20 2013
I hesitate to start writing probably because I don’t trust my ability to tell the story. Or even draw it out properly. All I know is I can’t feel this way anymore. The hands along the railing. The ground coming towards me. The change of heart as the wires break the fall. The sense of failure.
April 23, 2013
Was it good to leave the house today? It was actually. For the first time, I woke up with less anxiety and managed to get up early in the sun daylight and get work done at a leisurely pace.
May 2 2013
The living room. Our relationships with the dead continue as we move on. They are still alive in us. Introduce the loss. My immediate default is to talk about Dad, but I need to talk about Mom. It is coming.
May 26, 2013
BIG VISION: “I no longer drive around heart in throat trying to figure out where I can find money to cover debt. I am debt free. I earn more money per month than goes out. I am saving money. I am enjoying a blissful, peaceful, sorted out life.”
In this moment, in this particular Starbucks, that reality could be true. In this moment all is well. I no longer want to anticipate events. Just be.
I am starting the
difficult delightful chapter, developing a financial plan. I feel that familiar sense of shame, fear, low self-esteem, lack of trust. Lack of trust that the vision will work.
June 26 2013
Feeling like I have no skin. Feel like the boundaries have indeed eroded…
“To investigate that part of myself that refuses to take birth fully and hops about as though it still had one foot in the womb… But when the heart acknowledges how much pain there is in the mind, it turns like a mother toward a frightened child. – Stephen Levine