It’s probably not great to want to be numb all the time.

Actually, I know it’s not great. And I’m not sure I want that. Want. There’s a word. Want. I want for nothing. Not really. I’m lucky to have what I’ve got. It’s more of a preference. I prefer to be numb all the time. A bit more accurate.

It’s not great to prefer to be numb all the time.

Actually, being numb fills the time. Distracts me. Time passes unfettered. Shoulds aren’t allowed here. Outlook grows dismal. Call to action. Volition sought, but honestly, more glanced for. Part of me must think addressing this carved out state of suspension will help it pass. Will it pass? Transitory. How long does it last? Is it really temporary if it’s been years? Process. Dark periods. Growth? Exhaustion. From what?

It’s great to be numb sometimes.

Numbing prolongs, does it not? I’m not sure why. Someone must have told me that at some point. What’s to be done when there’s nothing to be done? Focus. Self improvement. Read. Sleep. Meditate. Walk. Eat. Drink. Full of love for life. But not. Being. Where did my love of just being go? The inspiration that drove the body and the mind and the spirit disappeared. Disappeared during my work. Why? The work was for the spirit. For the healing. Yes, there was a goal. It’s okay to have a goal. Do this work, not for the outcome, but for the creation of habits that bolster my ability to help others while taking care of myself. I lost. I’m lost. So, comes the desire to be numb. Did I give up and I don’t know it?

Sometimes it’s great to be numb.

Doing for others and knowing their goals helped me live. I’m in a position now where I don’t know what others want. I’m glad. My effort is to find what I want. But that takes me back to not wanting. I don’t know how. My message was always to care for others and make them happy. Do what they want so you are safe. I’ve stripped away all the others. I stand alone. Not knowing how to live. But I’ve got a fuck-ton of books about it. And, oh so many, exercise plans. Meal plans. Water bottles. Meditations. I am growing. But there’s still this void, this fear, of being wrong. Being selfish. I still don’t believe. Believe in my worth. My worth is what I can do for or give to others. No. It’s not. My worth is … something.

I hide from my fears with numbing.

I have a lot of fear based beliefs. Who knew? Am I so fragile? How can I know? I’ve got to stop numbing. Because I’m fucking awesome. I exist not for the pleasure of others. I know that. I exist for the pleasure of myself.

I face my fears and lose the numbing.

This is something I can do. This is something I am doing. Discovering my worth, believing my worth, is not in the books. Those are pathways. It’s not in the food, water, or exercise. It’s in the culmination of taking care of me. It’s in the bedtime routine and the baths. It’s in hugging and the holding space for others without expectation or want. It’s the basic breakdown of what’s important to me.

It’s pretty interesting to be aware all of the time

Watching myself, noticing the ride I’m on while I’m on it, is a trip. Have you seen the pain you’re in while you’re in it? Acknowledging the desires and seeing them for what they are and how you can’t do anything about them is strange. I have to fill my time some other way. What a negotiation. But again, it’s all part of the process. Do I know what that process is or what it’s ultimately for? No. Not yet. But I’m closer to understanding than I was several months ago. And that’s nice.


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