Writing from the OUTSIDE

http://www.aadip9.net/zoe/author/zoe-chan/2010/02/

I want to apologize for my cold or even flippant manner of speaking about my current level of suffering.  I am awkward in speaking about the fact that my mind is being shredded from the inside out.  I feel uncomfortable because of the fact that for the most part on this blog I've written from the "OUTSIDE" looking in.  And when I've been unable to maintain that perspective, I've simply been silent. Well, this time down the Rabbit Hill my descent has been long and slow..Meaning I'm still not  quite at hte bottom and I' m Still not in the hospital (despite my pdoc's disapproval of that fact)  ...so I'm out on the loose, still the possessor of my computer (or "the one possessed BY my computer" ) and thus free to post my lunacy and my grapplings with the muddy slopes. I also though am struggling with something that was recently said to me by someone whom I can 't recall right now, but i know that it is someone of an authority or at the very least , someone whose opinion I value...And they said to me, that as a writer of a blog whose purpose is to encourage people who are struggling with this illness that I have a responsibility in what  I say here...A responsibility to them and one before God.

This fact, while I know it to be true has caused some small bit of resentment to rise in me lately.  Because it seems like everywhere I turn I must hide. I must be appropriate.  And if I am not: "jangle jangle," I hear the keys rattling.  Being appropriate is not always easy.  Nor is it always possible (thus my frequent silences in the past month or two)...Years ago, prior to my maintaining my blogs, I kept extensive and compulsive journals....And they were satisfying and also served the purpose of being relatively secret...[until my daughter, following a major psychotic break of mine, in an effort to understand my motives for doing what I did, got into my computer files where some of my journals were kept and read some entries.  While I was horrified that she did this and at the time of her confessing it to me I was quite angry...now I kind of understand and have definitely forgiven her...  And I hope that she was being truthful when she told me she only read a few entries.  But anyway...]

I had my journals.  And I had my secrecy.   But I did NOT have you, my readers, whom I've befriended and whom I occasionally encourage and more often am encouraged by.  And that emptiness is one that makes it hard to go back and blather onto a silent white page.  I'm used now, to writing for an audience.  But then comes that "RESPONSIBILITY" issue again.....

so do I tell you of my Golden Gate fantasies?

of my assurance that the FBI has broken into my computer files and has record now of all the info I have and the less than favorable things I've said about some public officials?

of my confusion? of the fact that although I was taking my meds regularly in the beginning of my slide, now because of being more confused and out of it, I've occasionally been forgetting to take them??

of my terror of going into the hospital and why?

of my assurance that others can read my thoughts?

of the fact that demons are speaking to me constantly and  I KNOW THEY ARE DEMONS?

that I worry that I'm the spawn of Satan? that I 'm terrified that Jesus finds it foul to reside in me and of my constant worry that he doesn't?

of my suppressed rage and recent sporadic animosity toward people I deal with?

of my despair and sense of hopelessness based on my mental and physical prognoses?

And of my simultaneous denial and refusal to believe in its severity or permanence.

do I tell you that I HATE to get into  the shower and that I only do it when I absolutely have to?

That my diet has ranged from non-existent to the most unhealthy things? (for exaample, today, the only thing I ate was an entire box of Cheez-its)

And do I tell you that this entry is the most coherent thing to come from my mouth or keyboard all day???

And does ANY OF THAT MATTER ONE IOTA???
I'm convinced it really doesn't.
I'm quite sure that very little actually does matter.
or maybe everything matters to such an intense degree that it doesn't matter in the end because we are powerless in the face of its power.