I’m here because I want to be the most healed person ever. I am aware this thought is coming from an ego place – ‘the most’ – healing isn’t a competition – but fuck if it was I would want to win at it please. My intention is to heal all my emotional trauma. My intention is also to be my authentic self. My intention is also create beauty. Figure out a way to create that doesn’t involve the ego. Or if does involve the ego – it’s somehow in a good way. I dunno. I intend to be inspired to make stuff.
I’m at that point in again where I know I need to create. But am blocked.
See I get glimpses of ideas but then can’t get it on the page. Like that image was cool and would love to figure out how to put it into words.
I wrote this.
A tear falls down the face of a 38 year old woman. The tears they fall down her cheek. She reaches for her journal and a pen. The tears fall from her chin to her hand as she sits frozen ready to write something anything if only the words would come to her. She used to be creative. Ideas, words, music would pour out of her uninhibited by anything. But then the world got to her. She began to listen to the criticism and then she took everything negative everyone ever said about her to heart. She internalized every negative thing ever. And now she is a shell of a person and thinks of killing herself every single day. But how does one un-internatlize that shit? If only there were some surgeries to remove all the emotional pain. Maybe death is the only cure for this type of pain. If this were a story with a happy ending then those tears would mix with the ink and become something beautiful and that beautiful something would touch other souls and help heal those other souls. But for some reason this story won’t do what the writer wants it to do. The story is stalled and has no idea where it’s supposed to go and it does not trust it’s creator to get it to the beauty part of the equation. And so the story struggles. The story repeats itself -endlessly and never gets to the point. Cause maybe that isn’t really the point. The story hurts itself. The story is a thing.
The negativity that I’ve internalized over my lifetime has become a monster that I call my inner critic. It is trying to kill me. I haven’t let it yet and trust me it’s made its intentions known.
Tomorrow I’m doing a past life regression. Going to see if some of the internalized trauma is from a past life or something. Cause my rational brain thinks there’s no way all this pain could be from this lifetime. I want to heal for those past versions of myself. I want them to be good too. I want to be good.
Waking Dreams Up 