Kids with autism.
Have issues with language.
They don’t connect with it.
If they have a mental disorder that they could not have made through language/thought.
Then mental disorders are not created from thought.
They do not connect to life, and it is not from trauma. There is no gene for it. It involves an impact of genes interacting with the environment.
I realized this two days ago. It matters so greatly the world seemed to crack and breathe and my skin vibrated to the thought until it felt like it was trying to float off in a great ecstasy woosh.
I had another thought.
They aren’t separate.
The feelings we get from trauma and the feelings we get from food cause the same reaction.
That is why people cannot separate the two. That is why people find this hard to believe.
They cannot separate the two because the two are the same.
The same feeling and neurological reaction that the food causes is the same reaction you get from life trauma.
All I have to do is scan this.
It might not even be true but the similarities and differences could change mental disorders as we know them.
With this thought I finally feel it.
I finally feel that I’ve accomplished enought in this lifetime.
I’ve reached the end of where I wanted to go for this life. The planning that has occurred for so long of just needing to publish a book or just needing to do…something.
I knew I was reaching for a feeling or a moment. There was something that I had to do on this earth.
The feeling I’ve finally done it comes with clicking Publish on this blog post.
I can finally die, that thought occurred automatically this morning upon stretching to the floor. There was no cheating but for two tiny shots of beer and a bit of a flaky dessert we are coming out with. My body needed stretched out but none of this could account for the level of desire.
The thought was a want
and I don’t know why
Actually…I do know why
It’s because I’m scared.
I’m still so scared of the unknown. So much unknown keeps happening…I heard a voice cry out my name last night. It felt so real and like it was trying to reach me and needed me. I called back and lent it all I could, worrying I was being delusional and just wanting more of life.
I was still at work so I couldn’t concentrate on it, but the need to escape was strong. I needed to leave and find this human…in my darkest and automatic of mind it felt like a child. My child…and Dustin’s. She was screaming out on another plane…I felt it so truly and then … what if …. I tried to imagine it seperately from Dustin. I tried to discount the feeling and obsession and need that ripples through my being at his name.
What if it was just created in order to startle him? What if I just formed the thoughts and feelings in desperation to have something to connect with, that he would…listen and care about?
The feeling started without any thought of him. I heard my name lay across the air and float into my ears without anyone saying it twice that night. It was a melody without a speaker and I feared yet loved it. This me. The me that lives in this body, has been scared of such possibilities all of my life.
My first experiences with the magical possibilities involved demons and death of my most beloved twin. Otherwise it has always been a formation of fear and having to survive, but I have also seen things and felt nails, and had nails etched into my door as something came for me. I’ve seen to much to believe what we see is all there is. I know that religion stifled magic because it wanted power.
I know that fantasy and magic were the first times life felt real. That when I would ask people, or tell people, that I would most likely believe anything they said it would work. Despite awareness I would believe their tales of fantasy they would spin out of ‘nowhere’. I remember a vivid moment of a human that said he was 100,000 years old. At first this me said no, but then he explained his other lifetimes and it felt real. It felt real to a depth…
Now past lives are so apparent from the times I’ve tested them. I’ve asked people if they felt we knew each other, and then I would get an image. I would remember random moments of our lives and then ask them if they could see them. Sebastian remembered stabbing me without me telling him, barely getting out the words and barely believing in past lives himself. Suddenly we felt those tingling shocks rip through us and remembered more moments, but couldn’t reach much more.
The deeper I go into my depths the deeper it feels there is something there. There is…a type of ethereal or other wordly wonderings.
The thing is…I don’t want them. I never have and have always rebeled against this realm and the possibility it even exists. It feels real. It makes me feel real, but it also rips me because others don’t believe in it. Others are stifled from it. I am the other. I exist for the other. So as long as the other remains scared and does not feel the possibility of reality I can never fully feel it.
The separation of me from the other is irrefutable.
I wanted to allow myself to finally die and run from possibility.
I am scared of being scared.
I still want to animate this and make a cartoon, but the need of it is falling off. I genuinely no longer feel a deep earthly strain to create change. I’ve finally accomplished it…and parts of me want to stick around…but it will have to be an entire reformation of desires that take all of the suicide of my entire life, and all of the pain from the rapes, the mental abuse, the rejection, the anxiety, the energy drinks and so much pain that has not fully left me…I have to actually want to live in order to keep doing so because the reason I have been living, this savior complex, no longer works.
The table has new thoughts on it.
P.S. If you are a first time viewer to this blog I request you begin at the beginning.