The writing stopped

This is difficult...

draining life of anger - I've got to a new point in the precedings.

I'm in the middle - there is no way to come back from here. The pain and suffering inside every hateful thing I think or say, or hear - is clear and proud now. And I'm overcome, exhausted and heavy - it hangs on me. I used to spend lots of time denigrating other ideas, views, tastes, opinions. It used to be me, a system for operating in the world. I've been deprived of my system, everytime I want to say even the smallest thing that we use to get by - perhaps "why can't she just walk a bit bloody faster so I can get past" or "I'm sure that guy got here after us" - I can feel my peace slipping away from me and I just don't want to lose it. The aching that had to go on to get me here, it's an absolute tragic waste to come this far and not pursue that patch of green.

But there's no relief where I'm at at the minute - I'm fretful, full of crying. It's like a life migraine, I've got to hold on through the pain and wait for it to pass. My yoga teacher said to me, it's painful but can you bear the pain? I said yes, and as I bent my head to look at rather then touch my distant knees I cried and thought but I just don't want to have to feel this anymore, there's too much. I have moments of hope and joy, when all is well. They keep this possible, so I have to bear the rest, cause it's bearable.