I am so very, very tired of being alive right now. I want so bad to go to sleep one last time with my two cats Easter and our daughter Ladybug. We will be reunited with our sons Snowball and Dude. Even if that means Oblivion, with no playtime shenanigans, it's fine. I'm tired, I want to say Goodbye everybody.
But not yet.
(8 hours later) Damn what a deep funk I was in! Focus on my breath if nothing else. Now for some Heilung music...
Brief entry, gotta get going to church soon. When the violence is only psychological, the assaults happens through words, through mind-games like gaslighting, it can be just as bad as physical violence. Even worse. I know. I'm thinking about my suicide attempt seven years ago, a thousand years ago now it seems, and the long-term damage I still live with. I can still drive, do ordinary tasks but memory, concentration, cognitive processing have been impacted even to this day. The point is there's not the degree of help for victims of non-physical violence as there is for victims with bruises and broken bones but the need for emergency shelters and interventions is still there.
Question, the all-important QUESTION: What will it take to change that?
I've gotta write this somewhere so I won't forget. I'm rereading Stephen King's masterful description of the town, Chapter Ten, The Lot (III)
"The town knew about darkness..."
Is it possible that the cold of late autumn touches some of us deeper than our bones, deep into our very soul where instinct demands we must move South to warmer climes? Migrate or die! Migrate or die! Most of human history existed before agriculture, before we could store our winter harvests, guarded by our cats from rodents.
Perhaps seasonal affective disorder is partly the result of not taking actions our murky instincts expect us to take if we ever hope to see the spring.
Herself= a cat. Chasing, killing a poor rodent. I love Easter with all my heart but Darling, just end the little guy please?!
I was going to make this a commentary on something but I forgot what.
-from their YouTube channel:
Heilung is sounds from the northern european iron age and viking period. We used everything from running water, human bones, reconstructed swords and shields up to ancient frame drums and bronze rings in the songs.
The lyrics contain original texts from rune stones and preserved spear shafts, amulets and other artifacts. Furthermore poems, which either deal with historical events or are translations/ interpretations of the originals. Every attempt to link the music to modern political or religious points are pointless, since Heilung tries to connect the listener to the time before Christianity and its political offsprings raped and burned itself into the northern european mentality. Heilung means healing in german and describes the core of the sound. It is supposed to leave the listener eased and relaxed after a sometimes turbulent musical journey.What are the facts? Again and again and again – what are the facts? Shun wishful thinking, ignore divine revelation, forget what “the stars foretell,” avoid opinion, care not what the neighbors think, never mind the unguessable “verdict of history” – what are the facts, and to how many decimal places? You pilot always into an unknown future; facts are your single clue. Get the facts! — Robert A. Heinlein
This is what it took to make me semi-happy this morning, going from a dark mood upon wakening. Coffee n music of Die Antwoord. A bit of YouTube and now all the animals of the house around me: my brother in law's dog, my sister's cat Buster and most important of all my cats Easter & Ladybug. I've got to remember there's ALWAYS a way out of the darkness. The company of nonhumans is, to me, essential.
Did Biden really win? Do we know for absolute certain that January 20 will see him in the White House? Don't tell me it's safe to come out of my hole then smack me upside the head when I do. This orange-asshole of a nightmare had better be over!
Until we know for absolute certaint who will be in the Oval Office on 20 January 2021, I'm cutting myself off from the news. Until I hear the results from trusted friends that is. I can't stand the stress.
November 4, 2020, Wednesday, the day after election. I don't want to turn on the news, receive news feeds, nothing. Not until we know, for absolute certainty, how the electoral college will vote December 14. I don't care who won in this state, that state. Polls are meaningless, as are educated guesses. I have enough anxiety in my life. Too much. Don't jerk me around, play with my emotions. I don't know how I'm going to cope if Trump wins, and I can't even think about that. I'm registered as Independent but the sad fact is, the US political system is so stunted that voting Democrat is the only way to vote against Republican. Although I've got to admit the Lincoln Project gives me hope. They're Republicans against Trump.
Anxiety. Constant, mind-warping anxiety. If it's not that it's depression. Fuck my life is meaningless! Okay now I'm babbling. Just don't tell me anything before we know, for absolute certain who won. Biden, great! Trump, I'm living in the woods with my two cats and am never coming out again.
