So much had changed. It wasn't until it hit me, after being in a zombie state, living half dead, resentful for what could have been but it wasn't, shameful for how i contributed to sabotaging and avoided responsibility. The mechanical parts inside of me, that kept deciding moment after moment, is this right, is the relevant, is this what others want to hear, what is the thing they want to hear, the mechanical filters, that beat myself up for thinking some things and for saying or not saying some things, the internal dialogs that kept running my life, the stories that i held so dearly. DEAD. They are all dead.
Who I thought I was. What I thought i was doing. who I thought others were. what i thought life was about. it all baloney, dead sausage meat stuffed up in a dead intestine, packaged up for the consumption of the world, not the real alive thing, it's been killed, grounded up, packaged up, and served, is dead. is a trick. is my sacrifice. Is how I sacrificed myself to survive this sick world.
I did it. I sacrificed myself. I chose it. I chose to be those things. I invented them and put it all together. I'm this, and I'm not that. I'm dead because if I'm alive I will be killed. I'm dead because if I'm alive I'm dangerous, I'm at risk, I put others at risk, I'm too much, so I borrow the strategy of "pretending" of "acting up" of "saying what I am", of saying that I'm dead. i unconsciously sign the agreement that says im a dead person. I'm dead because I'm a person. I'm dead because I pretend im not scared. I'm dead because I inherit the mechanical devices from a culture that dictates how to feel, how to act, how to react, how to think, how to move, how to not move, how to dress, how to eat, how to walk, how to talk.
The growing pain of the new awareness, of the consequences of my choices when there's nobody to blame, how it affects my main relationship with my partner and my children. How do I honor my dead parts so that they complete their cycle? How do I integrate all these change into my being so that I don't feel the need to continue carrying around these dead parts with me? For me what made sense was: name those parts and hold a funeral service for them.
Honoring the deceased parts of myself. Thank you. For helping me get to where I am right now, thank you for helping me survive, by consuming my own energy, by killing my own energy so that I wouldn't be a threat to myself, to my family and to the world. The dead parts within that pretend that they are alive, but are mere mechanical emotional reactions based on decisions that I made when I was very very young.
Biting my nails nervously scared about the consequences of using my clarity and my high energy levels.
I distract myself with other matters, even using and manipulating others to avoid what is really in front of me.
I over eat dairy milk, yogurt, cheese so that my energy goes down, so that I'm tolerable for those around me. Sneaking sweets, granola, honey, sugar, syrup, crunchies, cerals, toasts, chocolates, candy to cope with the lifelessness of not being able to express my sadness and fear of loneliness, punishment, senseless violence, touchlessness, separation, division, distrust, disconnection.
Beating myself up in my mind about what i'm doing or not doing, about how i look, about my decisions, so that my energy goes down and I'm not perceived as a threat. The incessant voices in my head, with no distinction from one and the other, dictating what reality is, draining or pumping up energy, in an insane roller coaster disconnected from reality and connected to my personal unconscious hidden purpose of Surviving and getting revenge for the world playing along with this insane show.
Mixing up my emotions, feeling guilty about my energy levels. Sad because I want connection with those that i love, my parents, with my siblings, with my friends, with my partners. Scared because I get punished by my parents for feeling sad. Angry because I'm not allowed to feel sad because feeling sad is annoying, it's weak, it's bothersome, it's childish, is loud, is disturbing, is bad. Joyful because joy is the only feeling that is allowed, that is rewarded, that is validated, that makes my parents stop punishing me.
I put up my fake smile and they respond approvingly, otherwise I get interrogated, challenged, punished, mocked, i get to be the joke of the moment. Fatty boy, crocked penis, ugly bug. these are some of the names that I got called by my parents and grandparents over and over. "Stop crying or I'll hit you so that you cry for real".
The difunct is difunct because it doesn't serve anomore, it doesn't have a function any longer, its functionality has served the world and now is difunct. The pain that is created, perpetuating the state of "pretending to be disconnected", has reached a new peak, new functionality is available and needed. New thoughtware upgrade in progress, new functionality, new purpose that is in alignment with something greater than my survival, something greater than the fantasy that the world spins around me.
How much mechanical functionality have i built up in my being? How many programs did I created to run my life for me? To keep me safe? To regulate my energy levels? To get what I wanted? What is the consequence of using this mechanical programs? I'm glad that I have access to this level of questions where I can become aware of what I'm doing, what is my motivation, what is my purpose.
It is my experiment now for the rest of my life to continue noticing my difunct parts, to see them at work, to feel the pain of their lifelessness, and to recycle them, compost them, or repurpose them. This is an ongoing work of detecting when I'm being my dead parts, defending, hiding, sneaking, or when I'm being at service of something greater than myself.
Thank you for witnessing me.
