Sepsis of the Soul
I can't pray. The words spoil in my mouth before I can speak them. It's all lies--- that's what the words seem to say...not even tears can cleanse them of fraud. It's not even clear what I am trying to say.
I lost my mother a little more than 2 months ago. I remember her disease more than I remember her...what does that mean? Now I'm know, from her vantage point, she knows what a sham I am...how stunted, how arrested I am.
Yet I want to love and be loved. But I despise the skin I'm in--- its color, it's weight, its age. I'm in the deep expanse of a bipolar down where reality is bent to the will of itself. How much of me is true?
I lost my mother a little more than 2 months ago. I remember her disease more than I remember her...what does that mean? Now I'm know, from her vantage point, she knows what a sham I am...how stunted, how arrested I am.
Yet I want to love and be loved. But I despise the skin I'm in--- its color, it's weight, its age. I'm in the deep expanse of a bipolar down where reality is bent to the will of itself. How much of me is true?
Replies
If you had no \"true\" self...you wouldn\'t feel the \"true\" pain.
I would try to accept all the parts of you, both the ones that are broken and the ones that are whole, however few that may be right now. I'm sorry for your loss. How are you doing now??