consistent
The one thing I have found myself yearning for is consistency. Having the intention is no longer 'good enough' instead, it is the beginning, the middle and the end. Without those three I find myself more lost, more inward and often more confused and I have watched this pattern develop and speak truth as my disease has progressed.
I look around from room to room and I see an organized, chaotic mess that for me, represents the rest of my life. And by seeing this, I am bothered by simply the thought of clutter and add the mess and I become overwhelmed, more irritable and less involved.
So much that once was under control, or believed to be under control, is now out of control, as it always was, but just the thought that I thought I could control a situation I was involved in was now realized, total satisfaction. Over the course of too many months I have watched what I thought 'to be' become sporadic and misunderstood, untrusting and different as I was and remain facing the unknown. The area which every being (debatable) must experience and yet no one has offered a blue print, a set of rules, be they right or wrong or even a simple roadmap to show you how, direct you how for the mere topic of conversation let alone a basic need for survival.
I sit alone, for the most part, and watch what once was, disappear. What I once counted on and trusted and often took for granted or even scolded is in a constant state of restlessness and I have become so much more aware of how much change surrounds everything and me and how the human body is not necessarily programmed for such change. Instead, it simply shuts down, often times reverts back to a memory only this memory has a happy ending, making reference to the memory that is now, more perfect, more better and sometimes a stretch from the truth, but consistent
In my everyday I have watched what I thought was consistent: people, places, things, experiences, conversations, beliefs not necessarily change for better or worse but out of matter of fact and this leaving room for further inconsistency, less to hold on to as good and simple and pure. And my disease actually, is no different than everyday life. It changes. It is not consistent and the lack thereof makes me notice and need, not want, but need consistency elsewhere and all around and this does not exist and proven time and again, out of my control.
So I move forward, somedays more methodical than others and hope and although I do not live a memory I now, clearly, can understand why so many people do. There is a beginning, there is a middle and there is an end. And although what was and what truly is may be a complete embellishment as things spoken of usually sound bigger and better than they were, the memory is consistent and accepted as truth.
I look around from room to room and I see an organized, chaotic mess that for me, represents the rest of my life. And by seeing this, I am bothered by simply the thought of clutter and add the mess and I become overwhelmed, more irritable and less involved.
So much that once was under control, or believed to be under control, is now out of control, as it always was, but just the thought that I thought I could control a situation I was involved in was now realized, total satisfaction. Over the course of too many months I have watched what I thought 'to be' become sporadic and misunderstood, untrusting and different as I was and remain facing the unknown. The area which every being (debatable) must experience and yet no one has offered a blue print, a set of rules, be they right or wrong or even a simple roadmap to show you how, direct you how for the mere topic of conversation let alone a basic need for survival.
I sit alone, for the most part, and watch what once was, disappear. What I once counted on and trusted and often took for granted or even scolded is in a constant state of restlessness and I have become so much more aware of how much change surrounds everything and me and how the human body is not necessarily programmed for such change. Instead, it simply shuts down, often times reverts back to a memory only this memory has a happy ending, making reference to the memory that is now, more perfect, more better and sometimes a stretch from the truth, but consistent
In my everyday I have watched what I thought was consistent: people, places, things, experiences, conversations, beliefs not necessarily change for better or worse but out of matter of fact and this leaving room for further inconsistency, less to hold on to as good and simple and pure. And my disease actually, is no different than everyday life. It changes. It is not consistent and the lack thereof makes me notice and need, not want, but need consistency elsewhere and all around and this does not exist and proven time and again, out of my control.
So I move forward, somedays more methodical than others and hope and although I do not live a memory I now, clearly, can understand why so many people do. There is a beginning, there is a middle and there is an end. And although what was and what truly is may be a complete embellishment as things spoken of usually sound bigger and better than they were, the memory is consistent and accepted as truth.
posted by the warrior at 8:57 AM
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