“Stop working so hard, not at your job, in your mind.
I’m wondering if there’s something you’ve been trying not to think about, not wanting to think about and avoiding it is using up an awful lot of energy…
Yeah. Okay, there are about a million of those, to which one are you referring? Just say it. Verbalise it. Damn it, fuck all this work out your own answer shot, I’m paying you the national debt of a small country every year, so tell me what to do! I know, I know, it doesn’t work that way… Suzi is nodding with her head to the side in smug agreement but to me she’s just mimicking you, surely SHE should be assisting ME here not you. It’s her problem too.
Oh God, please stop making me do the work here. I thought you just said I was supposed to cut back on that? Time to reflect and meditate won’t be possible for longer than I have left in me so please, at least offer your two cents, incase I can’t ever make sense of it.
Then I can yes/no/omg-I-never-realised-that/ think about it.
What do i say?
Do I just blurt out our theories, the ones that circle through over and over?
Yeah, let’s play this game.
so… one set of theories. My warped sense of selves.
I’m like, totally psychic (some would read psycho) and I seem to have what can only be described as spirits attached to me that latched on when I was little and now they are trying to live vicariously through me and my body, rather than just talking to me or writing to me like they used to.
Plot twist, as I don’t remember huge chunks of my life and can barely grasp or relate emotional memory to the things that I believe happened but don’t exist in photographs so I can’t even be certain that I’m not the original owner of this body. In fact I’m pretty certain that I’m not…
I have Multiple Souls sharing my body inclusive of Siamese twin souls … explains why some of ‘the others’ feel like they are part of me and some don’t. Why we have such different opinions and conflicting beliefs and priorities.
My issues are a childhood coping mechanism for a series of unfortunate events (read lower case t traumas) coupled with an overactive imagination that somehow became habit and took on a force of its own to the point where I still seem to unconsciously rely on it in adulthood.
Long theory short, Matrixesque, nothing here is real, this one comes back over and over in varying intensity and detail depth.
4a: never was so neither am I.
4b: I died, this is ‘imagination after life’
4c: this is some sort of test
The hippo being referred to is nothing to do with my internal conflicts and is in fact my relationship and the painful fact that I will never be able to be all of me while within it. But I thought M, me (and Einstein) had an understanding that I’m not actually expecting different results by locking this one back in its box for another time, another decade.
Sixth: I’m subconsciously hung up about the fact that I dream of women sometimes, oftentimes, unchained fictive beauties, who are absolutely unperfectly suited to me for a million reasons and yet I fall in love with people like they because they are poets, artists, intellectuals of the most beautiful kind and they all hold brilliantly onto the one thing that I desire the most in myself, authenticity.
All of the memories I have are false. Simply constructs of reading too much, watching too many movies… this is why I don’t remember anything at all clearly.
None of my thoughts and fears are real. The voices in my head are merely figments that I’ve talked with so often I’ve somehow imagined them to life. I invented and conjured everything up so intensely in my childhood that one day I began to perceive it as reality and now I just can’t tell the difference anymore.
I’m not real. I’m one of them, an ‘other’ from her entirely bonkers, delusional, mad mind and none of this can ever make sense to anyone because it is simply nonsensical, see, there wasn’t even a seventh point!
What else do I hate thinking about? What else scares me to acknowledge?
Maybe some stuff that may or may not have happened when I was little, but there’s brick walls in place miles high forbidding me to investigate anything deeper than the fuzzy emotional memories that are too unreliable to be real and utterly inappropriate to be wrong about.
Sure, I can see that a few of these theories may sound a touch paranoid and delusional but believe you me, when broken down I can justify each and every one of them enough to convince the harshest skeptics of them all, (myself).
Move over dear, your ghost writer is becoming a well intended poltergeist with biographical inspirations only their truth is not necessarily the same as my truth. Do we even have a truth?
How can we accept the unacceptable, the inaccessible, the inescapable?
She’s an outsider in a board meeting of invisible souls, but she doesn’t really know it, she’s the one in the dark, yet we expect her to shed some light. She looks at me as if she thinks I already know, but I don’t know what it is she thinks I know. And I don’t want to be wrong about what she thinks I know because… *sigh* perfectionism, general doubt, validity, being a disappointment…
How can you acknowledge something that doesn’t exist? How do you know if it does exist? Why does it matter? I acknowledge things that don’t exist all the time. This feels like a cryptic riddle but I’m an over thinker and over thinkers aren’t very good at riddles because they dismiss the answer too quickly even when it’s staring them in the face. And before you mention it, yes I am absolutely aware that I’m over thinking this.
Don’t know if she knows what I don’t in fact know or if I actually do know the same thing she does.
I’m just getting confused now. That we all know.
Denial might be a long river but fat floats and I’m actually a pretty good swimmer.
Care to enlighten me with some information about the elephants I’m avoiding? Do they look more like hippos?
Look and see me standing on my soapbox from your pedestal – in that moment we are almost the same height. You look to me to find the answers I apparently already have and I look inside for them, time oscillates as I ask everybody in there too.
But still nobody’s talking about the hippo in the river.
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