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.