Lost, Lonely, Lame Duck
It's nearly 3.00 a.m. I've awoken, nauseous and disturbed. Agitated. Depressed. Overweight. Over hot. Alone. Part of the nausea is caused by all the comfort food I've been indulging in to give myself a lift.
Why have I decided to make this rather dull misery a shared something? Because I find myself wondering how low I will let myself get before I make some change. Change I already made, years ago, with all the benefits that came through taking certain actions. When I took those actions and experienced those benefits I never imagined I would lose my grip on that worked for reality. I believed I had walked away from this sludge; climbed out of the bottom of my bucket of mire. I thought my head could stay in the zone of light, my body mind content with opportunities to be. But I gave up on those changes, those beneficial activities.
What has brought about this disappointing, anti-life?
I've had some painfully revealing Gestalt therapy sessions over the past 4 months. Those sessions have been illuminating. It's not easy to share with another what the bottom of the bucket is like, because it is experienced in isolation. Any mirror - the attention of another person, for example, makes the bucket invisible, yet still there, waiting for the dark of aloneness. My Gestalt therapist amazes me with her speed of insight, her memory, her caring. My next session with her is my last and I'm not ready to have this NHS funded therapy withdrawn.
Well, it's not difficult really to say why this trough of despond has come about.
I do not sing.
I do not dance.
I do not play.
I do not improvise.
I do not discover.
I do not make.
I do not risk.
I do not collaborate.
I do not aspire.
I do not breathe fully.
I do not live.
I do not imagine
I let it all go
I let myself go.
Isolation in the Creative Zone
When I was leading the workshops I felt a frustration with having the experience of isolation of the leadership of things. There was a sadness that I could not bring the POWOW vision to reality through the lack of numbers of people wanting to bring it about with me. I couldn't face or accept the loneliness of having a vision, an aspiration that could be understood and admired yet not funded, aided. I wanted to be led, inspired, positively challenged, encouraged. But being an older woman graduate, the 'system' is not set up to cheer on the products of my journey or artistic endeavour. It was hard to accept the rarity of what I was doing; of what I dreamed of.
I have found out more about my style of intelligence - Detective Brain - 5% of the population has this brain, apparently. I found out my IQ. 6 points off of being 'genius' - if you can believe these measuring devices.
Anyhow - I'm here now wondering what I can do to live authentically as me, to live fully and not just be one of the walking wounded, mooching in some less than half-glow life, wasting the privelege of peace, the protection of shelter, the comfort of food and drink and the kindness of a few good people.
It's nearly 3.00 a.m. I've awoken, nauseous and disturbed. Agitated. Depressed. Overweight. Over hot. Alone. Part of the nausea is caused by all the comfort food I've been indulging in to give myself a lift.
Why have I decided to make this rather dull misery a shared something? Because I find myself wondering how low I will let myself get before I make some change. Change I already made, years ago, with all the benefits that came through taking certain actions. When I took those actions and experienced those benefits I never imagined I would lose my grip on that worked for reality. I believed I had walked away from this sludge; climbed out of the bottom of my bucket of mire. I thought my head could stay in the zone of light, my body mind content with opportunities to be. But I gave up on those changes, those beneficial activities.
What has brought about this disappointing, anti-life?
I've had some painfully revealing Gestalt therapy sessions over the past 4 months. Those sessions have been illuminating. It's not easy to share with another what the bottom of the bucket is like, because it is experienced in isolation. Any mirror - the attention of another person, for example, makes the bucket invisible, yet still there, waiting for the dark of aloneness. My Gestalt therapist amazes me with her speed of insight, her memory, her caring. My next session with her is my last and I'm not ready to have this NHS funded therapy withdrawn.
Well, it's not difficult really to say why this trough of despond has come about.
I do not sing.
I do not dance.
I do not play.
I do not improvise.
I do not discover.
I do not make.
I do not risk.
I do not collaborate.
I do not aspire.
I do not breathe fully.
I do not live.
I do not imagine
I let it all go
I let myself go.
Isolation in the Creative Zone
When I was leading the workshops I felt a frustration with having the experience of isolation of the leadership of things. There was a sadness that I could not bring the POWOW vision to reality through the lack of numbers of people wanting to bring it about with me. I couldn't face or accept the loneliness of having a vision, an aspiration that could be understood and admired yet not funded, aided. I wanted to be led, inspired, positively challenged, encouraged. But being an older woman graduate, the 'system' is not set up to cheer on the products of my journey or artistic endeavour. It was hard to accept the rarity of what I was doing; of what I dreamed of.
I have found out more about my style of intelligence - Detective Brain - 5% of the population has this brain, apparently. I found out my IQ. 6 points off of being 'genius' - if you can believe these measuring devices.
Anyhow - I'm here now wondering what I can do to live authentically as me, to live fully and not just be one of the walking wounded, mooching in some less than half-glow life, wasting the privelege of peace, the protection of shelter, the comfort of food and drink and the kindness of a few good people.
