So many things are taking up space in my mind over the past few days; I am finding it hard to concentrate on anything but emotional presence, which is strange because I usually try to avoid acknowledging my emotions as much as possible, or at least as minimal as possible.
I don’t really know much about meditation other than what I have learned in books and on YouTube.
I have never had a guided meditation – so I don’t really know if the meditation I did a few days ago called “Who am I”? Has anything to do with it, but it’s a strange coincidence if it hasn’t.
When I am not drifting off into trance-like stupors losing twenty minutes a time, I try to sit and focus on writing something for my blog or towards my stories or reading a book, only for me to be absorbed yet again in my emotions.
There is a voice at the back of my head telling me that I need to go through this process as it is healing me in preparation for something big coming into my life.
If I want to cry, do it – but I still try to hold back.
I never did get into the crying yoga I said I was interested in – I kind of know deep down it is something I need… but I still hold back.
I often try not to be emotionally present so it is all new to me. I try to shut away my emotions into a coffin, put it into a wardrobe and throw the wardrobe into a lake tied up with ropes and rocks so I don’t remember them… until a drought comes at least.
Not that I fly tip or anything, I am being metaphorical – some people can take things too seriously!
I think there are some readers out there that takes me too seriously too – sometimes when my depression kicks in and I make all these creative works of poetry, I sometimes sit back and laugh at how tragic I was for those moments and I feel stupid and slightly embarrassed by yet another emotional outburst.
I think it is good for you to know that sometimes when I have got it all out creatively, I do laugh at myself – because of how pathetic I come across. Some days though, I am quite serious and often think about death very seriously after writing such things… but a good third to near half of the time I find humour in my tragedy, like some kind of sad clown story.
I do see myself as a pitiful sad clown a lot of the time. The kind of clown that will sit in the grey in dirty dusty clown clothes, with a black cone hat and grey pom poms on it, sitting miserably alone in their own grey tragedy – then suddenly opens the door of their house to jump off the cliff that’s waiting just beyond the threshold only he is saved by a rainbow bridge and whilst he is standing on that rainbow bridge he magically transforms into a colourful rainbow clown and laughs at his own sorrow and skips off down the curve of the rainbow to play with the faeries!
Well that’s how I visualise myself anyway.
Dark sense of humour at times!
But you have to admit though, the depths I go, the sarcasm at times, the irony etc. – I see myself as ironic, my humour is definitely ironic and I know because I have been told multiple times that my humour is lame – but you’ve got to admit, sometimes it’s funny?
Was never meant to be, but boy I can get too deep at times cant I? Its almost like a romance with death and despair!
Well, if I didn’t laugh I’d cry and which one is better eh?
I’m trying so hard not to be a Sylvia Plath, not going down her route.
However, my depression is very real. Have no doubt about that.
Thank you for reading…