Pathology or Preference?

I have some feelings and behaviors that could be tied into avoidance (trauma response) but could also just be personal preference. 

I shall describe my experience using whatever language seems to fit, without analyzing myself to see where it takes me.

When I am in nature, I am at peace. When I am on my own, I am at peace. It’s as though my very being unfolds and is part of my surroundings. 

I am the flutter of wings, I am the wind, I am the grass, it’s as though I am breathing through the earth.

When I am around people, I recoil. Not always, and not with everyone. Lately, I have not wanted to be around people.

Small talk numbs me and my mind drifts.

I live on meaningful discussion between authentic others. Intellectual playfulness rather than knee jerk reactions. The sharing of experience, knowledge, and ideas which are relevant somehow.

Based on experience, I know that I must wade through seemingly endless nonsense in order to connect with fellow travelers, but I am weary of it for now and choose to stay on my own. 

When I am on my own, I do things that are in accordance with myself and well-being and feel better for it.


Looking back at what I wrote, I don’t see it so much as a pathology, but more of a temporary state of being. I need to keep doing self-care and put myself out there once rejuvenated.


No One

Upon further reflection, I think that being no one is just a cop out. It’s easier to be no one and have little presence in the life of others, because it’s safe. If I’m someone, then I can be hurt.

But having no presence in the life of others also means there’s no chance to be loved.

Cosmic love and self love are infinite and wonderful, but the love of another Being and feeling One, is the whole of this human experience.

Why would I deny myself the human experience? This denial is more harmful than what anyone else could do to me.

And so I shall become someone and have a presence once more.


Who are you?

The more things a person can categorize their self as, the more secure their place in the world.

What if a person becomes comfortable with having no place in the world?

Identities have become a thing of the past for me. I just am. At least, for now.

There are traces of who once was: The girl who could be best friends with anyone, even if only for a few hours. She could find commonalities and compromises in any situation. The teen girl who had a healthy disdain for humanity with all their absurdities, and even so, she’d rather take the abuse than see someone else take it. The boy who felt like an outsider. He was the quiet, even headed, cool guy wearing the leather jacket and lighting up a smoke.

All of these, I have been at some point. And now, there’s just a melting pot of characteristics within. I am no one thing or person. There are potentialities and what is right now.

I cannot tell if I am lost or if I am found.

Am I no one? Do I simply feel I cannot be someone? Have I withdrawn from the world so much that I cease to be?

Exploring the Depths

I’ve blogged about the origin of suicidal thoughts before, but I’d like to work it out again from the headspace I’m in today.

Speaking realistically, there is a high chance that I will die by my own hand eventually. I have been dealing with suicidal ideation since the age of five and I had a nearly successful attempt when I was eighteen.

For me, I think it stems from this disconnection I experience.

I’ve never been able to envision a future where I exist, where I have a value as a human being.

I have no attachments to things. The only reason to have money is to survive in this form of society.

I don’t care about sports, cars, fashion, and the meaningless drivel on the news. I lost interest even in my favorite genres of tv shows and movies.

And I don’t see the point in being a part of a society that doesn’t function.

The most crucial piece, I lack human connection. There is not a single person I know that I feel I can discuss my observations and thoughts with face to face, other than my therapist.

I have no sense of community or family.

It’s interesting. I don’t feel lonely. But every now and then, aloneness feels like a hole burning inside my chest. 

There is this frustration in that I have made such leaps and strides in recovering from trauma, yet my situation is still the same; despite my efforts. 

So all of this weighs on me at times. I think to myself, “I’m not that interested in seeing what happens next. Living through this repeatedly is not worth it.”

What I see in society is exactly what I see in my own self. Conflict. Division. Impasse.

So the inevitable idea pops into my mind, self-destruction. I can always say, enough is enough, and deliver myself from this existence.

I do find some relief in thinking of it as an option.

I reason with myself that self-termination is neither right nor wrong, it is an autonomous decision and anyone has the right to do whatever they want with their own life.

Then I let myself cry for a bit. It seems to fill up that hole. I shift perspective and know that I simply must stay the course.  

The decisions I make today shape my tomorrow. So the more I do for myself right now, the better off I’ll be.

So I scrape by another few weeks of suicidal depression and hope that I don’t run out of steam.

These thoughts and feelings are pretty common I think, it’s just that no one discusses it.

**side note** this is not a cry for help. I’m just working out my own experience of this and have no plans to harm myself.

Waking Up to Self

As I let go of the pain that has passed down for many generations, I wake up to my Self.

I locked my Self away for safe keeping, long ago.

I’ve been having feelings of fear in relation to putting myself out more in the world. I feel like my heart is an open wound. I reach out and then I retreat for a while. 

I’m wanting to feel more comfortable being myself and being with others.

I over think. I rush. I judge myself. 

Basically, I need to chill out. I am causing myself stress. 

This whole “living fully” thing is no joke. And yet it is. ­čśŤ Aargh! 

Effects of Institutionalization

The last real kind of friendship I had was when I was institutionalized for weeks and months on end as a teenager. This went on for years.

On one side, there are the people with debilitating mental illness where they’ve disconnected from the world or from themself. And then there are those who managed to survive whatever it was that broke them.

We came from all walks of life. Some of us were teenagers who never really stood a chance. Some were 20 and 30 somethings who were tired of playing the game. Others were burnt out elders who were tired of seeing people destroy themselves.

I got used to having very short but intense friendships. It’s how I endured for so long.

Outside of that time and place, it’s like I don’t know how to be. In the past, there was something that tied us together. It was a kinship of sorts and now, I just feel alone around people.