A low place

I just don’t know how it’s got this bad. I am bamboozled.

The analogy of a single cell came to mind. Chemical reactions on its membrane can show it that one direction is more conducive to its flourishing than the opposite direction, and it has cilia which can move it in that direction, though they will not save it from being swallowed as by-catch when a fish eats another. I feel my cilia are just waving me randomly, or the wrong way.

How are you? she said. I demonstrate physically: I curl up in a foetal position, then straighten out and lie flat. I am traumatised. I am exhausted. I hide behind the chair, scared. I then ask to open the blinds. It is a beautiful sunny day, and outside the window the tree has many leaf-buds developing. Beauty matters. I doubt I can be seen from outside, the window is just slightly too high.

No matter how I express myself here, part of me is monitoring, aware, making sure all is alright. I say that as I spread a tissue on a cushion, as I would not want spittle on it, then scream at it.

I pick up a colourful tangle from the shelves. I had not seen one before. It is designed for fidgeting, to help with smokers’ cravings, ADHD or other conditions. I open it out then curl it up as small as it will go. I am, here, investigating: not merely in a funk.

I look up at the shelf, and see the grooves in it do not match the pegs on which it sits. Ah, that’s what is wrong: I take the picture off the shelf, and turn the shelf round. I put the picture back. This pleases me. I have accomplished something very slightly worthwhile, made my world slightly more ordered. It is genuinely better, if only slightly. I like things Right, not Messy. I feel pleasure in it.

God, this is a weird thing to do. I go to a room with a stranger, tell her my misery and start to cry. I want answers, but have none, just anger and misery at the dullness of my existence. Well, I might as well come here, it gets me out of the house.

I want not to impinge.

Thinking of trans people. Those trans men who say transition helped them discover their feminine side- transition appears obviously wrong for them, but they seem satisfied. There is a battle for our rights on. I said I felt driven forward, and a trans woman told me she checked every step, hormones, transition at work, operation, was right for her, and friends told her without prompting how feminine she was. I’ve been reading about Why is Suffering? and What is God? and am no wiser.

I don’t know what I am doing wrong. It is not just luck. I must have done a great number of things wrong for things to be this bad. And I just don’t get it. I don’t get how it’s got this bad.

it’s not fair!

Well, thinking that is not always completely useless.

4 thoughts on “A low place

  1. Bad time of year? Crap politics and lousy politicians? No way to escape to Europe and earn a European passport? I do know that the more often I say, “This is awful…” etc, the more awful I feel – though I know, too, that sounds simplistic. Perhaps it would help if we were more able to acknowledge the reality of biorhythms. Whatever it may be, have a hug from me. I have been thinking about you. ((xxx)) ♥

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    • I am not sure I would want to escape to the EU. Even in Ireland, where there would be no language difficulties, there would be differences of culture. The politics is awful, no-deal is possible, and I have more personal things making life difficult. And some cause for hope.

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