One of a Kind, Just Like Everyone Else.

An Additional Note About Healing

This is all my personal experience like everything else I ever post – this is a disclaimer I want to include because it would be pretty myopic of me to speak from some “galaxy mind” POV and think this is all completely universal when people are all different so I may not be the most learned as far as all the possible modalities that might work.

I just know that I’ve spent years and even decades dissecting shit that was only exorcised by actually feeling every micron – or let’s say at least the part of the wound that presents itself, because I am finding that while people are super-into talking about “The Dark Night of the Soul”, they all sound like they mean this is a one-time thing, and maybe it is for them, I don’t know.

Feels like I go through Dark Nights of the Soul more often than I do my nails.

I should probably do my nails more often.

I want to add to the healing thing that surrendering to that primal shitty feeling doesn’t mean sitting in it, and I’m not sure how to describe the distinction between surrendering to it and sitting in it… surrendering in the way I mean is really about acceptance of the fact that feeling is there and letting it run its course – that course is outward, not burrowing. The burrowing comes from fighting it on some level, like, being all ‘Fuck, this hurts’ but at the same time, there is some form of denial, however subtle, and that seems to me to result in, “Who’s your buddy, who’s your pal? THIS SAME FUCKING ISSUE, THAT’S WHO!” again and again.

I used to think the “talking cure” would wear out the welcome on that, but that isn’t shit if the talking – external or internal – isn’t accompanied by the part where you feel everything, and in fact, absent of that part, can be a fabulous way of imprinting the awfulness on your mindset so that you get cognitive distortions borne from the original issue – bastard little hydra-headed things – and then the whole thing ends up Sorcerer’s Apprentice and Brain is like, oh, fuck this immediately, and runs away from the whole inner discussion, which is now running on its own accord in a loop – then Brain will be watching this from the sidelines like a cat watches its prey, will get more and more into that predatory mode and before you know it, this hamster wheel that was unknowingly self-installed and Brain start the debate once more, cause somehow Brain wants to involve itself in this shit instead of something fun.

This is because a brain can be like J. Robert Oppenheimer in that it will chase an intellectual challenge no matter the long-term impact because the problem has been presented to it and it can’t help itself. It follows the chain, just like Oppie did. And then, just like him as well, decides that it has become Shiva, Destroyer of Worlds, and you spend the rest of your life getting dental work without anesthesia (the metaphorical equivalent) because of guilt or shame or regret or any other negative emotional, mental and/or spiritual impact of this self-flagellation.

Not that I am attempting to over-simplify nuclear warfare. Or under-simplify mental warfare, for that matter.

Not that that matter matters, because I don’t even know if this will ever be read by anyone. Or like an old friend used to say, maybe it’ll be read by the French 50 years after I’m dead.

I sound like a Sour Puss with bite, but I’m actually all big yap and Pixie Stix.

Earth-shattering information, all of it, I’m sure.

Yes, There Will Be Word Vomit

I’m going through old posts to separate wheat from chaff, so there’s not much to see at the moment.

Also, if there’s a writing chakra, mine is blocked.

I have so much inside and I have no one to communicate it to and so it’s losing the form of something that can be spoken and turning into the hieroglyphics of the intrinsic translation, becoming “How do I even say anything at all about anything that matters” because it’s now in a language I understand but am not fluent in.

That alone took forever to translate and get out. I’m cold and I don’t know what time it is.

Also, the line, “The transit to and from the magazine is stopt by the sentinels, they see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust” runs through my head a lot lately, so, you know, there’s that.

(So, much like I say “Imma take a break” and then never shut up, above is “I’m blocked” but beneath is the word vomit. And I feel like Kitten on Father Knows Best, “I’m surprised I can eat, as upset as I am.”

Stand back, you might get splashed.)

People always say how important healing is, but no one ever actually describes how you heal. They can lead you up to it, but it has taken my entire life to understand that the big secret is you have to feel that shit to the very core, the whole problem is thinking that avoiding feeling that feeling, pushing it away, trying to tame it, is the way to go because it’s as simple as letting it out and not fighting the fact that it hurt, dropping the Stoicism and the putting-on-a-brave-front-to-yourself and the kicking-yourself-in-your-own-ass and just very honestly – like the chick that played – I had to stop and think about what the name was and now I’m embarrassed – Annie (ugh) did in the Rob Zombie version of Halloween – say OW OW OW (metaphorically, I don’t mean out loud), if that makes any sense which I am sure it doesn’t, but everyone else in movies Hollywood-screams when they get stabbed, but fucking A, I am pretty sure I would actually say “Ow” if that happened, too.

That kind of honesty gets down to the child that’s hurt.

And it just now occurs to me: It is always the child that’s hurt. Okay, fine. It’s not the inner child if you get stabbed. Let’s not look too closely, please, Brain, get on with it…

I will be straight up honest and I don’t give a fuck because I’m a cliche in a Simon & Garfunkel song now so who cares what anyone thinks of me, I have had moments where I literally sat and cried and the overwhelming thought was just, “I’m bad”, like I was 3 years old and got yelled at for something, and THAT is what healed whatever issue it was at that moment I was purging, because I just gave in to that thought and I didn’t try to make it not true somehow in my head or argue with it or deny it or analyze it or intellectualize it or put it in adult-fucking-language, I felt every inch of that bastard and it sucked horribly and I guess that is the point. That the suckage cannot be dodged.

(Obviously your predominant thought doesn’t need to be “I’m bad”, it was mine as an example, I’m saying go with the guttural. Whatever that predominant, primal feeling is. That.)

I don’t care for the way that’s designed, frankly. But – I wish I could remember who said this, or whose therapist actually said this, I’ve a feeling it’s Anne Lamott – “that just appears to be the way we are made”. Which is the most comforting fucking sentence on Earth sometimes. I have these moments where I am so unbelievably grateful for all the great literature and art and music and cinema that has kept me alive, and so, oh, goody-goody-gumdrops, more tears.

I don’t believe in crying unless I have enough tears for the whole class, I guess.

How fun.

PS/If there is a Writing Chakra, there had better be a Using a Stamp Twice Chakra, or someone is getting a nasty postcard.

PPS/Groupon just sent me an email with the subject, Was That A Cry For Help? You Deserve a Massage!  If this is a harbinger of like, computer overlords or some shit – OR if I see a hat on the bed – I’m outta here.

Gilding the Lilies

Mirror, mirror, on the wall
I’m not beautiful at all
Mirror, mirror, tell the truth
What’s the price of pleasing you?

A living doll
A surgeon’s dream
A vision made of plasticine
That skin-deep sleep
is so routine
for a simulacra glamour queen

All the beauty that money can buy
Gilding lilies until they die
Shiny candy for the untrained eye
All the beauty that money can buy
Gilding lilies until they die…

The road to cosmetic perfection
is paved with chemical peels and toxic injections
Just make a new face
for the faces you meet
let your appearance show
your success is sweet

All the beauty that money can buy
Gilding lilies until they die
Shiny candy for the untrained eye…

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
I’m not beautiful at all
Mirror, mirror, tell the truth,
What’s the price of pleasing you?

 

 

from EXPERIMENTS IN LO-FI, copyright Annie Vox/Bastard Child Music(ASCAP)

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