I think, Raven flew south, And I need to talk to myself again.
I've never been so far away from the world, people have never been so absent, I have never been in this big, hall-shaped house experienced such an eerie silence as in the last three days.
If you have experienced the cradle festival of Christ in any form, the solemnity and joy, the peace,
that Christ brought among the people, then I must feel like I'm in some kind of apocalypse.
I have to repeat: I experience it like that, and have no part in a living world, a social community,
it feels like this to me, as if the people in this house had all flown out, but I do not think so, that she
fly with wings, I think with flown out rather: from himself …..
Who accommodates the sick over a period of time, originally intended as a festival, as a celebration of love,
who can reach people through Jesus. But then, Sometime, it was said: it's just the celebration of charity.
But then, in a further step, that's how I understood it, it didn't mean anything anymore. And, I believe, that is the sign of this time; that we no longer dare, to be people. If someone is happy here, as a human, then I would love to see this person and let them tell me, how he got there?
Only who love, who has sensual love love, love, who loves and desires him, needs him and shares his thoughts and feelings, the desire; only these people are saved from the abyss at this time?
They weren't always? In every crisis …? Maybe even in a catastrophe, who violently ended both of their lives,
and they knew this. But because they knew this, her love and happiness was only more intense and precious?!
I do not know, where Raven went to, but i have to try, whistle at him, he must not come back until March, because, what will be then? I will not become a friend, don't have a girlfriend, no more work and no more plan, because I will mean “Belief” Have written. And to be able to write something new, then it needs a new life. Or this one, I have to take it then.
How often the minutes become hours for me, fraught with lead, Hours, where I don't do anything else, than waiting for the postman, in the hope, that he brings some jewelry.
My illness gave me so much free time. I was only able to use it to a limited extent, but as time it was imposed upon me, first set me free, but then she captured me more and more. And today she crushes me.
I translated a major work for the ME/CFS association, this was probably the first time in decades, where I could be of use to anyone. I do not know, Do you have any other work for me?, that I can do from bed.
I think, I put my life in my book, and that alone could be a reason, to punish this book with ignorance. I think, that the suspicion of the real has become very big in this culture. In times, in which no one trusts the other. The real is mistaken for fake and confused, the void can be filled with projection, which is empty to itself. Since I still lost all three of my battles (art, Love, Health), I believe, to feel, how a sourness gradually disfigures my shell. bitterness, so deep, how I feel about them, can't look pretty to the eye. No wonder, I can't get a man anymore!
The ME makes, that for many years I groaned and moaned at the slightest household chores, like my grandmother did in the last years of her life. But because I've gotten so used to it, that I carry a thousand weights on me, physically, Plates and heaps of lead weigh down my muscles, I don't notice anymore, how difficult it is to live with myalgic encephalomyelitis. It's no longer worth mentioning. I'm ashamed too, to be human, haunted, notwithstanding this’ senseless sacrifice. I do not know, but sometimes i believe, I feel guilty. This is weird, because I don't really think so, that there is guilt, and, I therefore do not believe in atonement either ….
In a nutshell, I think, that humans make mistakes, must become aware of his mistakes, for example, in the other (who have other errors, but also mistakes), enlighten him about his mistakes.
But then there is a feeling, that I don't understand inside me …. the feeling, that it's just a mistake, to be human.
I guess everyone feels that way, who can't give their love to anyone or take a love away, though (just) from the relatives. In any case, I don't know how to explain this guilt in any other way, as I, now, where I finally no longer by myself, can live my selfishness, had to live through someone else.
In the last few months I have created a few ads, in which I ask people for a wide variety of services, against money. But it turned out, that so good, how nobody reacted. I guess, that one today no “free advertisements” can do more than you can do to a person, who is free, can trust ….
The freedom, how we got to know them and practice them is yes —- bigoted – untrustworthy, and thus also the genuine has no recognition- and recognition value more. First bring us the cribs, then the schools, then the jobs up, we are always covered by institutions. I will have to turn to auxiliary institutions for some points, the, usually aimed at seniors and old people. It's still not the reality, that people in their mid-thirties become seriously ill, but still alive more than ten years later, although most of them live in bed.
Lately, about eight months ago my psyche caught up with my body in size. And my suffering is now again that of the soul after life! Because the psyche has grown again, I pay less attention to my body and go out too often ….
and fear not the consequences of physical pain. It just seems to be made, leveling my hunger for life over and over and over again, to kill at its very core—- because in physical pain, in the agony of neuroimmune spasms, the psyche also dissolves back into ashes, or: at least in smoke …. I mean: that's the old dilemma: you can't live in one hour, die in the next, you can't do that in the long run. And yet yes, you can do all that too, what you can't, like there is all that, what doesn't exist.
It is possible, to die, and to have been physically active for exactly one month out of twenty years of life. I read about an ME sufferer, who has given their active time as 365 days with one week ….
And now, question: how can we expect the expectations of a person affected by ME to be, per se, to the people, to this one week …. that separates them from the abyss?! While the others all 365 own days …..
may i say, that this ME sufferer must be tormented by her claims, because life is of such preciousness, that you can no longer enjoy it? In contrast, the, that are functional may have a lifetime of neglect, Mistake, frolics …. they can waste. Or: could: if it weren't for her purchase. But often that is a mere omission. An omission, that can be separated from free time. The acquirer can do both, depending on, enjoy, because the purchase makes leisure time seem nice and easy, and in leisure time the acquisition can be experienced as meaningful. It's like that, isn't it??