Contradictions

So many contradictions have been unravelling in me recently. It has been an endeavour of two parts: one part an intellectual challenge of ‘Western thinking’ and one part delving into my deepest emotions and lived experience of subconscious wounding. The former I have some degree of direction over, the latter has largely happened to me.

The ‘Western Mind’ wants answers! The problem is, often life’s answers are contradictory. But it wants one anyway and this leads it in circles, or even, disastrously, to throw up its arms and say ‘this just doesn’t make sense!’ or ‘that is just the way it is!’ When it comes to abuse and psychology, this is dangerous. Such lack of understand perpetuates the vileness of abuse, and makes a mystery of something which is uncomfortable, but nowhere near as arcane as it may seem.

At any time there are two forces at work, conscious and unconscious. What the unconscious wounded self seeks, may not be what the conscious mind desires. Hence why you can get what you want without knowing why, or get what you want even if it acts against your own wellbeing. People who deal with only the conscious mind, who deny things such as the need to resolve wounds, who naively and arrogantly think they can just override the subconscious, are those most likely to continue destructive patterns. They are also the most likely to be confused, looking for black or white answers and motivations. But something can be black and white at the same time, and this must first be accepted to truly challenge and understand abusive relations.

Contradictions

There are so many contradictions inherent in us, in you, in me. The greatest in my view is the wounded self. As a child one is helpless, in the guardianship of two or more adults. The wounds of that early era go deep, and we all have them. But some people have more wounds than others. A painful childhood, helpless, hurt, wounded, leaves deep scars. There is a fundamental contradiction: no matter how cruel a parent, a child is small and vulnerable, they also need their guardians, who are large and in control.

So when a child is abused and hurt by their guardians, they have contradictory ideas at the core of their subconscious.  A child abused will learn whatever strategies they can to deal with a seemingly impossible, inescapable and traumatic experience. These strategies can be carried into adulthood. They evolved for a reason, they had their place, and they are a valid part of their being; when they are used effectively. Yet the love and  desire for attachment they feel for their guardians, from an age when they could know no better, also remains. They may want to please their guardians, or even heal their wounds with love. This duty to love is shored up by the values a parent can force into their young – and you don’t have to believe in them for them to work on your subconscious. Simultaneous to belief in obedience and parental authority (i.e. the seeds of abuse), you could believe in dignity and mutual respect. The result is a mangled contradiction.

I want to stand up to these abusive tyrants who caused so much damage, but my deepest core trembles at this great blasphemy. I want to be respected and treated as an equal, yet my deepest core wants to surrender and be cared for by my guardians.

One ultimately has to choose. Do you want to relate with abusers who will likely never change their ways, who will deceive and confuse, hurting themselves and others till the day they die? Or, do you want to learn strategies to cope, and find people who will help you live without that fundamental connection, to stand in truth and face the consequences of such a decision?

What else can I advocate for but that which I truly believe in, at the core of my being. To be free from contradiction, to stand for truth.

Without a font of expression, the contradictory feelings remain in the body, deep, deep at the core. They can make bad feeling seem inevitable and arcane, instigating depression. A child wounded will carry rage at their helplessness into adulthood, lashing out at others without truly knowing why. One of gentler aspect may hurt themselves, with no means of resolving the energies inside them. One who seeks not to understand themselves is the one who is capable of greatest evil. One who denies the power of the deeps, is hiding in cowardice from their own shadows.

Healing the wounded child

The shift away from wounded child to adult is harder than it may seem. Abuse contains the seeds of its replication. Abusers will hold onto whatever power they can, whether or not the outcomes are good. They do not care about wellbeing, they care about power; the domination of others that allows them to escape their inner-fears and feelings of helplessness as children.

Thus the abused and the deeply wounded, no matter how much they may consciously long for something better, have to make that an actuality – this journey always begins against the odds. In a society where it is increasingly more difficult just to meet basic needs, this makes escape even harder. Materially, freedom itself is a challenge.

But there is, I believe, a deeper contradiction and problem, which must precede material challenges. The abused child may have their sometimes-useful shell, but also a deep distrust of the world, and of others. Such distrust is useless. It is very easy to develop a paranoid mind-set, to generalize the world of adults as vile, abusive creatures, when this was your first experience of the world. Yet the distrust perpetuates the abuse, for not being able to love or open up to new people, good people, the abused has to settle for the ‘devil they know’. They also live in contradiction – wanting to be loved but being too distrustful to truly open up; wanting to heal, but daring not to look within.

As I grow older, I learn how important it is to be vulnerable in front of people, and to see it as a sign of strength, a demonstration of trust. The only way out of the abusive relation to the family is to practice this vulnerability with others; to found a new family. Open to the wounded self, we can heal ourselves and heal others at the same time. Trust is needed before healing can take place. Without trust, there is no healing. And without healing, constant healing, the wounds ache, and people continue doing screwed up things. Healing requires an acceptance of our vulnerability, and to turn our love and compassion in upon ourselves, as much as others.

An end to abuse

Abuse benefits no one. The tyrant gains nothing – their wounded selves remain, they paint a sad mark on the tapestry of history, they have not magnanimity of character, and they are essentially the worst of humanity. The abused are least benefited, but worse so if they also become abusers, carrying the attitudes of abuse and the scars of wounding to unfortunate conclusions. There should be no sympathy or respite for those who abuse – to do so is to negate their basic responsibility as sentient creatures. Nothing justifies abuse of another, and to say that being abused determines character is the deepest moral cowardice.

Building a new, mutual way to relate in truth, prepared to face and heal our deepest wounded selves is the only way forward. It is, I would venture, the prerequisite to a better society, and thus world. No ideology or set of attitudes can displace the depth of subconscious desire and motivation, and to live without understanding of this fundamental force is the ultimate folly, and cause of the repetition of so much that is wrong in the world.

 

Advertisements

Deterioration / Recurrence

As of yesterday, my mental health started to rapidly deteriorate. I had sensed it slowly coming in on me, but never thought I could be taken back to that state.

Yesterday, it was precisely one year since this crisis began – when I thought my brain injured, close to possible death, on a traumatic journey to the hospital. I had been dreading this time quite a bit.

But correlation does not imply causation. It could be some kind of PTSD symptom, or it could be closer to a coincidence. The weather has been consistently bad, things to do have dried up a bit, and the person  I am currently living with (not out of choice) has spent the last week or so being extremely critical and occasionally demeaning, herself clearly in the throes of depression and misery.

Whatever the reason – and I strongly think it is more a recurrence of old anxiety – I could barely sleep last night and am in no fit state even to volunteer at a community garden. Its back to being quite debilitated by anxiety – a tremulous state that is also strangely gratifying and earthly. My body is taking over again, and it is pulling me away from the mind.

I used to fear a  recurrence of agoraphobia and severe panic, something I found very crippling and humiliating last year. But its impossible to reach those depths again. This time I know I will get out of it, and that by exposing myself I can heal the worst of it quicker. Still, these days are deeply uncomfortable and harmful to my wellbeing. Like anyone I think I would rather be able to turn feelings off for a bit, or take a break from it all.

There are a few silver linings. My resilience is much higher. I can’t turn off the feelings of absolute shittiness, but I am better equipped to endure them. I also know I have no medical emergency, this is a disorder of the mind. I know what anxiety is, and some strategies to tone it down. Mantras and little phrases have been helpful (anxiety is adaptive, exposure is excellent, and so on). In short, I at least know the limits of how bad it can get now that I am more confident and trained. I have also discovered my limits quite well – such as how much I can do after a night of insomnia, and fear the outcomes of such things less (I can at least write a decent blog post!)

Recurrence means I was right to hold on to my medication! I thought getting off the meds was the sign of some linear progression, but obviously not. Two tabs of Valium go back into my pocket and here we go again.

Perhaps this is a sign of the life which awaits me. Periodic debilitating anxiety, triggers and high stress levels. Perhaps this marks a new phase which will force me to adapt or suffer.

But in spite of all the shit, I am making headway with psychotherapy. So much is unconscious, hence why it seems so hard to explain why we feel a certain way at a certain time, why things trigger us, and so forth. I find it hard to constantly stay at this level of depth – no wonder people like their distractions and routines! But going deep is something I must do, for I am a delver and this is how I work my way out of tunnels.

Ultimately it is better to be thoughtful and sensitive, suffering your extra share of the world’s woes then to be an absolute, out and out drone. Better to be yourself than to conform to the destructive paradigm of the age, and better to be moral and live for your community than be a self-centred prick.

I don’t have many regrets – in a way I have brought myself here. What I must not do is get complacent again. Things had to change, which is why my inner-child is screaming and not letting me sleep it all off. Until I find the keys to the subconscious mind, it is limbo and occasional hell.

A delver, I have no choice but to dive in…

 

Deep are these wounds

I)

Oppression and belittlement

Leave deepest wounds.

After all these years

Still, resting on top of spikes

No bed can be made

Or elysium found.

 

A shadow follows me everywhere

Begging to be seen.

It is ugly and the contours of its face

Are twisted in sorrow

Self-pity, pleading for mercy.

In the next moment it flips

Infinite in its hatred

To spite, clawing down, dragging

A weight inside my skull

A child crying in pain.

 

The abusers take your mind

Like the seed of a rapist

Planted inside a womb

And the foetus inside

Cannot be torn free easily

And not without guilt

Or shame, the army and fortress

Of the abusers

Respectively.

 

II)

They are clueless and warped

Like hungry cattle upon pasture

Leaving nothing to grow again.

No words can reach through

The barred gates of ignorance

No sentiment of mutual love

Can replace their lust for power

Over anything, even their own.

 

They strive to control and dominate

So warped are they themselves

Unable to understand their own inner wounds

They perpetuate pains

Then fly away to lick wounds

And put on apologetic airs

Whilst the demons inside grow again in might.

 

For anyone deep in the bowels

Of these castles – no hope within its walls

No promise of inheritance or freedom

For they will grasp on to their meagre power

Til their corpses rot on petty thrones.

That is all they have.

No soul remains, and all dreams

Withered away into nothing long ago

Only bitterness and ignorance

Can fuel such wretched, barely sentient people.

 

Only outside the walls can the call be heard

The cry for help like a raven’s caw

But not so easily now.

The deranged society around us

Has closed ears, and a venomed-blade

Behind its cloak (a suit of humanitarianism

And a tie of liberty).

 

Only the cracks in the pavement

Offer any chance, the bands of fighters

Scattered lights,  embattled souls

Awash in anxiety and agony

Alike to yours, but with different abuses

And different wounds inside.

They are the only choice and the only chance

Of escape, and then thriving.

 

For it is too late to go back now.

Far have we stepped away

From the cloying circle of conformity

And the addictive drug of obedience.

Long have we dismantled the destructive engine of capital

We cannot go back now.

So all we have is each other

And solidarity.

 

Stay close

 

III)

No one can truly hurt you

More than you can hurt yourself.

The mind is like a poison

Upon a natural plant

An over-used organ, draining its power

And better silenced most days.

No one can harm you

Nor fulfil you or complete you.

This you must do yourself.

Everything you need is already in you

From birth til death;

The only real light you might know

The only real flame against

This cold age of nihilisms.

 

Nurture that soul and respect it

Try not to sell it short

Or sell it out.

 

When you know yourself

As much as you can know that fragment of divinity

Others will know, and you can go among them

In union and friendship

And then you might begin to know freedom

And dignity.

What does getting better feel like?

I am getting better. Much better. When the trouble first hit, and the storm first raged inside, I had no idea what it would feel like to recover.

It kinda just, goes away.

Therapy helps a lot. CBT dealt showed me how to deal with panic disorder once and for all, and psychotherapy is like uncovering the jewels of my soul one by one, week by week. But I feel also that time has played a role in healing.

The worst days get further and further behind you. Regular days gradually get easier to manage. Sometimes you fall back into anxiety, but it is never as bad as the first time. It can never be that bad, now I am no longer ignorant.

Whereas I was once all dedicated to intellectual and artistic matters, now I am much more grounded and healthy. I have to go out and breathe free air! I have to see people and perform in public places. My entire self is getting more well. I am learning to open the gates of self-love; the portal into the aether of natural power available to all of us. These are all big firsts.

One thing that helped me a lot was re-reading what my old, frightened self wrote. Another is to listen to the songs that my old, frightened self heard. They are like waystones; I can portal back to the first time they truly touched my soul. When I listen to them now, I realize how much I have gained in strength and understanding.

Getting better is inevitable if you try to treat yourself well, and listen to your deepest needs. Beautiful natural places assist in this healing, although nature is the ‘background’, humans are the ‘foreground’.

I will not get complacent and stretch myself too thin. Nor will I be overly cautious and miss out on life. But I have one shield now I never had before. No matter how bad it gets, I know that eventually it goes away. I have so many more defences than before, and am so much more in touch with the roots of my soul.

Blessed be.

Work-ethic anxiety

‘Yeah I’m going on holiday after this work season finishes. Then I will return to my productive labours at the office. How about you Tim? What are you doing with yourself’? asked William.

‘Oh…I’m currently “between jobs”.’

William looked at him with a slight edge of disdain. Tim wished he could shrink and vanish into a crack in the pavement.

I)

A large source of my anxiety and self-worth problems have historically come from the w-word.

Work.

I used to not do it much. Not doing it much was not very good for my soul, which vegetated in front of the computer, or in front of blank, white walls. At around the age of twenty-three, I stopped playing computer games or staring at walls, and started being more creative. A little bit every day – of writing, music, and game design. I remember a quite specific moment when this rhythm started to sink in. Even though a lot of the writing and creativity didn’t go anywhere, and wasn’t cohesive, creating something every day gave me some direction, self-worth and helped hone my skills.

This ‘work ethic’ is still with me today. However, it is not so useful as it once was. When you are creating things for the necessity of filling some ego-void, it is very easy to lose sight of the bigger picture. The work is not always directed toward any goal, and small accumulation doesn’t always get you anywhere.

Doing tiny bits of work every day is like building a sand-castle, where every time you add a bucketful of sand, half a bucketful has been lost to the laws of entropy, decayed and misshapen. Stepping away from the sand-castle, you can reconsider how it is going, or see it from different perspectives. You could even say fuck this sand-castle, and go do something else!

It is deeply neurotic to feel a severe compulsion to do things. There are days when you cannot create something, when you fall ill or just feel plain uninspired. Is it legitimate to hate yourself and feel deflated on these days? If so it shows a ‘living in the present’ which definitely isn’t mindful or healthy.

So as you can tell, my ‘work ethic’ can be quite destructive and self-negating, a double-edged sword. It is also not necessarily productive. In this sense it has a lot in common with another work ethic.

That of the capitalist world.

II)

There is this destructive belief that we should always be active. We should shun the hours of night and live for the hours of day, scrambling around, doing things. Endlessly doing things. Always doing things.

I have heard many people say ‘I am currently between jobs’, as if all of life was to be contained within the boundaries of work. As if not having a ‘job’ was something to be ashamed of, and required a euphemism.

Yet always being active does not mean one is being productive. A short-sighted measure of productivity misses the much important bigger picture. A busybody might work every day, and think that everyone else has to. In a vigourous rhythm of work, our busybody could easily fail to take care for themselves (I’ve been there), and carry resentment for others who do not share their ‘burden’ (there also). They might think that those who do not share their busybody attitude to work and perpetual industriousness are lazy and in need of ‘motivation’.

But other people might work at a different rhythm. The artist who paints one meaningful brush stroke per week is no less creative than the contracted musician who writes ten advertising jingles a week. In regards to productivity, one person may mindfully achieve more with a single hour of clever labour than a fusty busybody achieves in a week of running around keeping themselves busy.

Because those who stop to consider things can change fundamentals which save everybody time and energy, or which sets us on a better direction.

If a farmer spends ten days sowing ten acres with a shitty plough is he more productive than the farmer who spends five days sowing ten acres with the much better plough he took the time to improve and re-design? One who measures work in days and hours is bound to think that the longer one spends on something, the more productive they are being. This is simply time-filling, not meaningful, praiseworthy labour. Industriousness is no bedrock of pride or productivity.

The idea of a neurotic work-ethic is stopping us from pausing and planning for the precarious future. The more we run on the treadmill, the more we fear to step away, even if the end result is a disastrous collapse. The ceaseless juggernaut of capitalism is literally driving our society blindly over a cliff toward climate catastrophe.

III)

There are essential labours which must always be performed. In the twenty-first century we could make these comparatively few, thanks to technology, human wisdom and the bountifulness of nature. These essential labours do not need a work-ethic to promote them: if they are not done, people will starve and die, buildings will rot and collapse. Nor do they need particular praise or ‘bigging-up’. They get done because they should get done. Those who are able but refuse to perform these essential labours, or create extra work for others, should rightly change their ways, or go away. But to expect everyone to be ever-active is the great folly and conceit of our times.

If someone voluntarily spends their time grinding away at their craft to be the best that can be at it, I have much respect for them. But if someone expects others to always try their hardest, always be active, and be forced into involuntary work, then they can go and sod off.

Guilt – a major weapon in the abuser’s armoury

An abuser can use guilt as a means of control. Most people are concerned about things such as reputation, moral standing, good character. This is because most people are fundamentally decent. These are all good traits. However the more they try to be a moral person, the more culpable they can be to guilt. If someone self-reflective and sensitive is told they have done something wrong, they tend to take that criticism on. The feeling of having done wrong hits before rational thinking can consider what has happened. The good person can find themselves in a mire of guilt without knowing how they ended up there. This is why an abuser can use false accusations and false wounds as a means of power. They strike with the guilt card, the full extent of the blow is only revealed later.

Taking on a lot of guilt makes us limp, overly self-obsessed and prone to being harmed. Feeling guilty is not a sign of moral character or virtue. Guilt means one feels one has transgressed upon a rule. When that rule is something obscene (such as no sex before marriage or thou shalt not question thy abuser), then that guilt reinforces the obscenity. Guilt is a trap, set in the mind of the abused, trained to snare themselves. Soon they are tip-toeing around their own thoughts. Being able to challenge guilt, to hold it in your hand, turn it to and fro and consider it in the light of day, is essential to avoiding falling into this abuse trap.

Guilt can give people a sense of false duty. For instance, an abuser whining about the impact it would have upon him if he was “abandoned”, can put into the heart of the abused a sense of guilt. ‘If only I had stuck with it and changed him!’ This duty is the morality of an abuser, forced into the mind of the abused through manipulation of their good character.

Obscene rules and expectations are planted in the minds of good people as surely as the moon controls the tides. Being able to challenge these rules and expectations we can see how we are being manipulated. Feeling no guilt for upsetting abusive people and their obscene, violent power-hierarchies, we can move away from them easier. That may mean moving into a void – obscene rules for all their evil are still familiar. This is a leap of faith that is most necessary; a journey down an unknown path that leads to liberty. We have to trust that the void, if it is there, will be filled.

If you want to feel guilty about something, try starting with guilt for letting yourself down first. Then abandon that guilt, because little productive is done in it’s name.

We should love ourselves and other worthy people not from a fear of guilt, but as a good in itself. This is a much healthier love, a positive love.

Defy those guilt-inducing rules inside you. Despoil those temples of patriarchy and hierarchy and evil. The truly sacred then awaits you.

The greatest sin

The greatest sin you can commit is to try and perfect yourself.

To hold yourself up to impossible expectations.

To push your body far beyond its capabilities.

To build expectations to be ever happy, ever productive, ever active.

FUCK THAT.

Perfection is self-harm. The light, when too strong, blinds eyes and makes you feel sick.

Crawl in shadows and feel earth under your fingertips.

Show where you are weak, because people will find out anyhow.

Be a spectrum and a totality, not a linear light with its disembodied soul.

 

But the greatest sin of all is to try and perfect yourself.

 

FUCK THE CAPITALIST WORLD
FUCK THE CAPITALIST WORLD
FUCK THE CAPITALIST WORLD

 

CBT: Challenging core beliefs

We focused this week on challenging core beliefs, primarily by recognizing unhelpful thinking patterns. This is the hardest thing you will ever have to do, the deepest you will have to go.

What can change the nature of a man? CBT? Psychotherapy? Himself? Anything at all? Lets find out.

We challenged one of my deepest core beliefs – that I am weak. This is the dark cousin of ‘I am useless’ and ‘I am undeserving’. Its evil brother is ‘I should be perfect.’ How these things unravel all at once.

My lack of belief in my own strength, this disconnection from my body, makes my own sensations frightening; it makes an enemy of my own corpus. Such a belief has been on in the background, like some annoying programme on Windows running undetected, causing havoc and misery. For years I have looked at the world through these glasses, ignoring evidence to the contrary and focusing, manically, on where it is proven true. To feel weak, to have this as a core belief, is terrible. It makes the world seem much more frightening, it makes doing anything outside of your comfort zone a barrier.

This crisis, which began in early January, was a physical crisis (concussion syndrome), and now at its end it is a physical crisis (bad foot and wrist syndrome). The way my mind fixates and catastrophizes has not changed much – I’m just more used to feeling like shit and being able to wait it out. But the fundamental core belief has not been altered yet. I don’t know or trust myself. My short-term strategies to deal with things are preventing the great update. For instance, being overly cautious about a bad foot, going out full crutches and missing out on things, is anxieties way of being absolutely certain that things are going to be ok. This will then confirm itself by its own methods, however much longer and worse it makes the suffering before recover begins.

But the desire for absolute certainty is a sure means to kill life dead. Life is uncertainty, being out of control is an inevitability, accepting a note of chaos in the symphony of order is healthy. The means by which my anxiety looks after me, trying to ensure an optimum perfect self by its own high standards, sabotages itself and makes its actualization impossible. It is a vicious cycle – the need for perfection creates anxiety about that perfection, preventing any healthy movement toward something better.

I learnt today that the human brain will take an easier route, seeking patterns, making predictions, catastrophizing, trying to protect us. The thinking patterns it develops manifest subconsciously, and operate in the background without our knowing. No wonder if all seems like nothing can change! To displace this toxic thinking with something better is a vast undertaking. The anxious mind sees things in black and white, things must either be perfect and secure or not at all. It catastrophizes, blowing things out of proportion. It mistakes emotions for absolute facts. It filters out what it doesn’t like and leans toward its own subconscious bias.

If I don’t slow down and start changing things now, life is only going to get worse. This crisis has been horrible at times, but it could have been a living hell. In a way it came at a not-so-bad time: better a 70% debilitation when you are healthy than a 90% debilitation later in life when you are jaded and starting to crumble. The question is can I make the changes and eke some success out of life, or be scorched out like a candle burnt at both ends, having never truly achieved anything.

Fucking hell bro, things got very, very real.

Back to catastrophe!!!

It was all going so well.

Panic disorder was all but gone, and there was no way I was going to get complacent about it. I had a regular routine for my week – two days of garden volunteering, three or four days of adventures and meeting friends, and one day of rest. I finally made it back to see my comrades in West London, and all seemed to be improving in a decidedly linear and inevitable fashion!

Then I kicked a wall three times.

It might sound stupid, viewed out of context, but when you consider that I had insomnia for many nights, and that it was 2am, and that the man next door was singing the same, appalling melody over and over again (interspersed with the occasional wail-like shout and return), I think it was almost justified. If only I had sandals on and hadn’t bruised my heel!

But I didn’t have sandals on, and it looks like I did. So now I can’t walk properly and go around on crutches. Missing work at the garden makes me feel utterly incompetent and useless. Not being able to socialize is making me fear the envelopment of darkness again. Already I have less interest in doing the things I love.

But this is, as they say, the real world bruv.

Anxiety latched onto my heel very quickly. For the first few days after the wall-kick it was fine. After that it started to ache. On that night I slept about an hour and a half. It was my first time with cold sweats (horrible) and a real deep sense of anxiety and danger. What if it’s broken? What if I am trapped here? What if I get the same abject emotions as before and fall back into a void? What if an opportunity comes up and I have to miss it? Will I have to miss volunteering tomorrow? Cyclically these thoughts and similar dooms went round and round. I tried to challenge the significance of them or question them, but this would only make them go away so long.

Horrible.

Naturally the catastrophizing wasn’t an accurate prediction. The next day at A&E went pretty smoothly. I was also greatly helped by family, who I was at first afraid to expose my vulnerability to. The anxiety still fixated on the injury, even after confirmed it was nothing serious, because it could become so. My leg muscles, for instance, feel sore from trying to compensate for heel pain. This kind of thing can make you lame in the long run, which does not bare thinking about. But the anxiety also forced me to work out how to deal with the situation. To accept that I have to rest. To elevate the leg. To change my posture. To ice it twice a day. To get decent insoles and medical tape to protect the heel. Even though anxiety has made me feel like utter shite on a daily basis, it has also driven me to sort this crisis out and stop it from becoming worse.

So its back to catastrophe! It shows how frail a thing ‘progress’ is I suppose. I thought I was doing well, but maybe I was just putting on a band aid. Things have to change for me to be healthy – not just things like posture and medical related, but on a much more fundamental and difficult level. I couldn’t keep going as I was before, and I was in a way imitate that before the heel struck the wall in rage.

Lets see what comes out of this. I should focus on the positives: it has brought me much closer to Professor Tolkien (I have had the Silmarillion lying around for months) and inspired me to finally start my own mythic stories. It has taught me about the foot, and how important one little part on  the lowest bit of the human being really is. I will never take having an unhurt skull for granted again. Now I can add mobility to that list of gratitudes.

Hopefully I end up looking after myself better. I always had a sense that I wouldn’t live much past 40, and that my latter years would be terrible, painful, warped and bent! Acknowledging such anxiety, I have to make sure it isn’t so.