Monday, 19 October 2020

On my own: Recovering from spiritual assault (without any real assistance)...

I am feeling very weary again.  I think my nervous system is still quite shot - I cry a lot, and want to retreat to my room and talk to the Spirit to coax me out of pain.  The battle I had with the demon was so brutal that it must have affected me in some profound way that medicine just doesn't understand, and I feel I will never get adequate help, and that I must continually just work to heal myself, not being able to rely on anyone.  Though this teaches me self reliance, it also makes me weary, and sometimes I lose hope.  I doubt I will ever kill myself, but I worry about cancer being the next big thing I will have to face, because both of my parents had it, the families are riddled with it, and this strain I feel could fuel a tumour.  I live in fear of dying like my father did.  Mostly I suffer from odd neurological quirks that conventional medicine seems to ignore, chronic tiredness, and tension headaches, and the desire to live as small a life as possible.  I would sign up for a PETscan if only psychiatry offered those for diagnosis and not just for research.  I would sign my life over to a state hospital for long term care if it guaranteed REAL care, and not abuse and humiliation, and if my pain was acknowledged for what it really is.  I would eventually want my life back of course, but I feel like a soldier returning from war and it's as though nobody gets it.  Some days I am in so much pain, but other than on this blog, you will never hear me talk about it.  I can't afford to look weak after what looking weak did to me in the past.  People turned their backs on me when I was weak before... I am sure they would easily do it again.  I must laugh it off and be strong about everything, even if it kills me.

I thank my analyst and my current psychiatrist for all the help they have provided, but I still feel like mostly, it's all up to me, and sometimes I feel like everything I do to try to heal is a shot in the dark.  There's no question that I have improved, the original problem seems to be gone (or at least leaving), but the after effects are crippling.  I can distract myself by being with friends or picking myself up by my bootstraps in other ways here and there, but alone again, I am weary when I think too much about it.  My body might just give out from all of this, I could die young... I'm not sure.  Self abuse is still something I engage in, but only in the mildest sense - you won't ever see me with razor blades, just a smack to the head or a desire to choke myself, which never lasts.  Again, it's an old pattern that isn't fully broken, and happens when I panic.  Divinity usually successfully restrains me with an invisible force to prevent me from harming myself at all.

The only thing I truly care about anymore is my relationship to Divinity and building on that, on feeling loved after being possessed by an entity of hate, on fostering the best that I can get out of what remains of my time here in this world.  I hope to go as far as I can in my spirituality that I won't ever have to return, because most of my life has been pretty hard.  As a child I endured constant bullying, my teens meant a difficult home life, and my 20s were impossible.  I can't imagine that if I don't get this sorted out by 50, the aging process will ever be kind to me.

I must have lived some mighty strange lives to deserve this, or else this is an intense test leading to something better.  Whatever the case, I hold onto hope when I channel that nicer times are ahead, and I might even have an extremely good life coming.  In the meantime, I try to live a bit like the "Little Way" of St. Therese of Lisieux, and approach this time with childlike humility and devotion.


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