Everything is different now. I'm different. I don't seem different, but I feel it. I try to act the same for the people who know me, but I don't know how much longer I can pretend. I hear the same old words coming out of my mouth in the same old style, but I'm more acutely aware than ever that it's not me, just my own personal masquerade for the world. I never realized until recently just how much I do and say for appearance's sake--so I seem nonchalant, or happy, or adventerous. I've always quite actively put on a poker face when depressed, but this is different.
This is me realizing that who was is not who is or who will be. This is me outgrowing my ego. This is my ego slowly crumbling away. I turned my nose up at the idea of abandoning ego, when I started this quest. Why would you want to give up yourself, your individuality? I figured, maybe you didn't have to do it; maybe you could just shrink your ego, let it take a backseat. Now it's happening anyway, because I realize that's not me. It's a colorful shell I've painted for everyone. It's what I've learned about myself from interactions with the people around me. It's me giving people what they expect, being who I have come to see myself as. And it's false.
I don't know much about the real me. I know she loves music and literature. I know she was born to write and would heal the pain of everyone she could lay her hands on, if she could. I know she finds peace in nature and moonlight. She can sense what others are feeling and make sense of what's in their cards. She'd die for her children. She loves her family, a handful of friends, and a man who may never feel the same. She's not new; she's been in there all along, but she's older than me, wiser in ways I don't understand yet. It's like she's waking up, testing her limbs.
All of the big things are the same, really, but this new person is more aware of herself. She understands who she is and wants to be, and she isn't going to let the actions of others deter her. She understands something about ... life, the universe, and everything... that I don't fully get yet. It comes out in little ways, here and there. I catch myself worrying about the same old things, only to hear a voice say, "What is meant to be will happen. Tomorrow could bring anything." and let it fall flat on the floor. I catch myself feeling sad, shedding a few tears, and I hear "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
I sound like a regular schizophrenic, I bet, but it's just that I'm thinking differently. I'm more aware of my moods, of mistakes I've made and their consequences, of what I want in the future. I used to doubt destiny, because so many times, I'd thought I had a certain destiny only to be wrong. Your intuition can't tell you what your destiny is; it can only lead you towards it. I hold my tongue and wait, where I once would have acted on impulse--although not with money yet, it seems. I toss aside venomous thoughts, confide them in someone, or write them down once and discard them. I don't dwell as much.
What takes so much effort is keeping my behavior the same. No one probably imagined the hyper girl who loved to talk would suddenly clam up and have little to say. This person isn't chatty and cheery and energetic; she is quiet and reserved, watchful and introspective. She wants to listen, but the ego girl doesn't like silence and pipes up to get rid of it by babbling--which suddenly takes a lot of effort, whereas being an annoying chatterbox once came so easily. She isn't random or rash; she doesn't seek frivolous pursuits. She no longer wants to be entertained; she wants to create. She doesn't want to chase thoughts away with vices; she's happier meditating.
Me? Not wanting to drink? Me, in a group, hardly speaking? What?! Losing my taste for cigarettes? Well, that's not so surprising. I never cared for them much til I picked up the habit. I hope I don't wind up giving up weed. That'd be really weird. I wouldn't know that chick at all. Who is this girl that doesn't care anymore where her home is, or if she ever has one, when creating a home was once so important? The whole world is home; she wants to be in it, all over it. Who is this girl that doesn't care anymore if she ever finds true love, when it was once so heartily desired? There is so much in the world; how could the abscense of this one thing affect happiness? It's not that I don't want these things; if they come, I'll happily accept them. I just don't need them.
Facebook is terrible. It's not like MySpace, where you could be yourself, where it was about your friends and sharing your thoughts, good or bad. Now it's friends, family, in-laws, coworkers, ex-friends, frenemies. People don't speak the truth. When they're unhappy they log off until they have something happier to say. They pretend they're happy and their lives are great, when really they're average and dissatisfied. They fake confidence--something I've always faked and now suddenly feel building up inside.And my ego is still keeping up the Facebook game, because I'm still learning how to act in accordance with a new perspective, because ego is holding on tight, because I don't want people to see me changing. It feels private, like changing clothes--which also seems more private now, too, which is also weird for me! So, naturally, here I am blogging about it. Ha.
Maybe it has nothing to do with spirituality or waking up; maybe it's just the result of isolation, but I don't think that's it. I'm around people almost everyday; I'm just not close to them. I feel seperate from them, different. I've always felt that way, but it's more pronounced now--like I was a square peg in a round hole, only now I'm a HUGE square peg trying for a tiny round hole. It's a weird feeling but it doesn't bother me like it used to, and the insecurities I used to hold on to are starting to melt away, too. I don't look any different; I try to keep smiling and being that silly girl that's always been so animated. But I'm not really her anymore.
I have a lot of shit in my past I thought I'd come to terms with, thought was settled. Now I'm seeing places where amends still need to be made, confessions, apologies. I need to find a way to restore some semblance of a relationship with my mother, but with strong boundaries. I think I know a way. I think I almost forgive her--not because she deserves it, but because it doesn't hurt anymore and all I can think of is what if my kids grew up to hate me? I know that would never happen, because I don't--do to them the things she does to me. But there's got to be a way I can minimize the hurt I make her feel, while also minimizing her capacity to harm me.
I closed a lot of doors last year. I have one big one left to close--in the form of changing my last name back to what it should be. There's another I might need to close. It might be harder, but if it's truly outlived its time, it might not be afterall. Examining the pain I feel, there's only one major source causing pain; if I close the door, maybe it will go away in time. It is humbling to be so wrong and so dumb for so long; maybe it will turn out to have been a healthy experience after all. There's another source that I choose to block, and I know eventually I am going to have to open up the wound again and bleed the gunk out. It's the most recent scar that's still hurting, so it will probably be last.
I can't imagine anyone reading this and actually understanding what I'm talking about. I can't imagine my friends reading this and believing a word of it, thinking I'm all talk and full of shit. Maybe I am. But I know what I am, and I know what I'm not--well, moreso than I did. I'm in sort of a mixed phase right now, where ego and Whoever-She-Is are taking turns driving. My truth is almost ready to take the wheel, and soon I am going to step out of this outfit entirely and turn my back on it. If that means I have to leave a few more people behind, too, it's okay now. I don't need people anymore; I want them, but I do not need anyone, except my children--and maybe the dog.
This is me realizing that who was is not who is or who will be. This is me outgrowing my ego. This is my ego slowly crumbling away. I turned my nose up at the idea of abandoning ego, when I started this quest. Why would you want to give up yourself, your individuality? I figured, maybe you didn't have to do it; maybe you could just shrink your ego, let it take a backseat. Now it's happening anyway, because I realize that's not me. It's a colorful shell I've painted for everyone. It's what I've learned about myself from interactions with the people around me. It's me giving people what they expect, being who I have come to see myself as. And it's false.
I don't know much about the real me. I know she loves music and literature. I know she was born to write and would heal the pain of everyone she could lay her hands on, if she could. I know she finds peace in nature and moonlight. She can sense what others are feeling and make sense of what's in their cards. She'd die for her children. She loves her family, a handful of friends, and a man who may never feel the same. She's not new; she's been in there all along, but she's older than me, wiser in ways I don't understand yet. It's like she's waking up, testing her limbs.
All of the big things are the same, really, but this new person is more aware of herself. She understands who she is and wants to be, and she isn't going to let the actions of others deter her. She understands something about ... life, the universe, and everything... that I don't fully get yet. It comes out in little ways, here and there. I catch myself worrying about the same old things, only to hear a voice say, "What is meant to be will happen. Tomorrow could bring anything." and let it fall flat on the floor. I catch myself feeling sad, shedding a few tears, and I hear "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
I sound like a regular schizophrenic, I bet, but it's just that I'm thinking differently. I'm more aware of my moods, of mistakes I've made and their consequences, of what I want in the future. I used to doubt destiny, because so many times, I'd thought I had a certain destiny only to be wrong. Your intuition can't tell you what your destiny is; it can only lead you towards it. I hold my tongue and wait, where I once would have acted on impulse--although not with money yet, it seems. I toss aside venomous thoughts, confide them in someone, or write them down once and discard them. I don't dwell as much.
What takes so much effort is keeping my behavior the same. No one probably imagined the hyper girl who loved to talk would suddenly clam up and have little to say. This person isn't chatty and cheery and energetic; she is quiet and reserved, watchful and introspective. She wants to listen, but the ego girl doesn't like silence and pipes up to get rid of it by babbling--which suddenly takes a lot of effort, whereas being an annoying chatterbox once came so easily. She isn't random or rash; she doesn't seek frivolous pursuits. She no longer wants to be entertained; she wants to create. She doesn't want to chase thoughts away with vices; she's happier meditating.
Me? Not wanting to drink? Me, in a group, hardly speaking? What?! Losing my taste for cigarettes? Well, that's not so surprising. I never cared for them much til I picked up the habit. I hope I don't wind up giving up weed. That'd be really weird. I wouldn't know that chick at all. Who is this girl that doesn't care anymore where her home is, or if she ever has one, when creating a home was once so important? The whole world is home; she wants to be in it, all over it. Who is this girl that doesn't care anymore if she ever finds true love, when it was once so heartily desired? There is so much in the world; how could the abscense of this one thing affect happiness? It's not that I don't want these things; if they come, I'll happily accept them. I just don't need them.
Facebook is terrible. It's not like MySpace, where you could be yourself, where it was about your friends and sharing your thoughts, good or bad. Now it's friends, family, in-laws, coworkers, ex-friends, frenemies. People don't speak the truth. When they're unhappy they log off until they have something happier to say. They pretend they're happy and their lives are great, when really they're average and dissatisfied. They fake confidence--something I've always faked and now suddenly feel building up inside.And my ego is still keeping up the Facebook game, because I'm still learning how to act in accordance with a new perspective, because ego is holding on tight, because I don't want people to see me changing. It feels private, like changing clothes--which also seems more private now, too, which is also weird for me! So, naturally, here I am blogging about it. Ha.
Maybe it has nothing to do with spirituality or waking up; maybe it's just the result of isolation, but I don't think that's it. I'm around people almost everyday; I'm just not close to them. I feel seperate from them, different. I've always felt that way, but it's more pronounced now--like I was a square peg in a round hole, only now I'm a HUGE square peg trying for a tiny round hole. It's a weird feeling but it doesn't bother me like it used to, and the insecurities I used to hold on to are starting to melt away, too. I don't look any different; I try to keep smiling and being that silly girl that's always been so animated. But I'm not really her anymore.
I have a lot of shit in my past I thought I'd come to terms with, thought was settled. Now I'm seeing places where amends still need to be made, confessions, apologies. I need to find a way to restore some semblance of a relationship with my mother, but with strong boundaries. I think I know a way. I think I almost forgive her--not because she deserves it, but because it doesn't hurt anymore and all I can think of is what if my kids grew up to hate me? I know that would never happen, because I don't--do to them the things she does to me. But there's got to be a way I can minimize the hurt I make her feel, while also minimizing her capacity to harm me.
I closed a lot of doors last year. I have one big one left to close--in the form of changing my last name back to what it should be. There's another I might need to close. It might be harder, but if it's truly outlived its time, it might not be afterall. Examining the pain I feel, there's only one major source causing pain; if I close the door, maybe it will go away in time. It is humbling to be so wrong and so dumb for so long; maybe it will turn out to have been a healthy experience after all. There's another source that I choose to block, and I know eventually I am going to have to open up the wound again and bleed the gunk out. It's the most recent scar that's still hurting, so it will probably be last.
I can't imagine anyone reading this and actually understanding what I'm talking about. I can't imagine my friends reading this and believing a word of it, thinking I'm all talk and full of shit. Maybe I am. But I know what I am, and I know what I'm not--well, moreso than I did. I'm in sort of a mixed phase right now, where ego and Whoever-She-Is are taking turns driving. My truth is almost ready to take the wheel, and soon I am going to step out of this outfit entirely and turn my back on it. If that means I have to leave a few more people behind, too, it's okay now. I don't need people anymore; I want them, but I do not need anyone, except my children--and maybe the dog.
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