What I do

I heal, love, perceive, connect.

Imagining meeting people new to me, in two contexts in the coming week, I think of the “What do you do?” question, which I dislike- “What work did you do?” is worse. “I am a recluse,” I have said, and imagine other possibilities.

I fantasised, thinking of this post, a hostile questioner. Why should you imagine you are “hypersensitive”? What do you know of the feelings of others?  Most are not hostile. The challenge is from within myself, so I project it onto others.

My challenge is too harsh. Question with the desire of knowing, not of battering down.
-Never just accept!
-well, look for the truth in the assertion. What part is valuable? In tearing the wrapping from the present, do not damage the gift itself.

I have not learned to be comfortable with my feelings. I am not alone in this, and others feel inadequate, imagining everyone else has. I suppressed until I could not, then I fought and feared feelings, my fear making them more unmanageable. Now I seek to let them be, know them, use their energies: transmute my ball and chain into my chariot. Still I fear: I cannot show my feelings, or I will be Condemned.

I heal. And I Love, seeing beauty, wanting to nurture it, not knowing how. I want to do this creative thing, and when I get the chance it delights me. I could search out people needing my Care: I have been aware of such Carers before, and of people who enthusiastically offer them the chance to Care. A fbfnd did this, now hates herself for it and calls it dumping her vulnerability on others by trying too hard to be protective/ over-helpful and other subtle configurations. Possibly she judges herself too harshly. She certainly did me good, and probably that other woman I saw her with, and if she made mis-steps or gained herself when blinded or thirsty it is still generous and lovely of her.

I am not the parasite I might imagine.

I perceive. “You have fantastic emotional intelligence” said Anthony and I treasure that comment. I don’t see people immediately, and castigate myself for it, but I grow to see them. Allowing myself the time for this would make me more comfortable.

I connect. In the gender clinic on Thursday- as I write, that’s tomorrow, I have written ahead because I have been (past, as you read this) in London having fun- I will start conversations, and learn about someone, and enthuse, value and sympathise. God is in these connections.

This is what I want, to release my remaining bonds, to give these gifts where I may because they nurture me. I heal. It is the work I do.


Walking in the park, I was imagining ways that phone call could go, trying out phrases to find what I wanted to express, and how to express it. It really matters to me. I want to hide the bits which might irk or upset her, to be that person who will captivate her: and it could all go completely wrong! This afternoon!

(exaggerating the thought into clear absurdity liberates me of it; and yet-

Thoughts turned to a particular case, in the DAT last century. It was all there, but it was my particular brilliance in putting the case together that got middle rate care- something like £40 a week, then. That thought shocked and moved me and I felt pride and anguish: repeating Me! Me! I did that! It was ME! Pride that I did it, and anguish that I had not valued myself for it. Really, I am the most beautiful, complex, wonderful thing I am aware of.

Is there any way I could get back into law?

Thoughts turned to the Green Party. I did no work at all for the Green Party in the election. I did not push a single leaflet through a single door, I did not support Marion in her work, I would not be a paper candidate in a ward. There is a disconnect. I see something good, imagine I would like to do it, and do not.

Misery. I do not know what I want to do!

Then- I wanted that. Not just to clerk a business meeting but to clerk it in that way with that result.

All these wonderful jobs! Don’t want any of them.

How will I support myself? What will I do? I don’t know. I pray a way might open, some time this year… next year…

EAF Prynne, Jesus is taken down from the cross

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