šŸƒAmanda22Janeā¤

Ghost Writer
2021-10-25 22:06:11 (UTC)

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I don't know how much longer I can do this. March 2015 this all started. Hell of a journey in order to achieve something, grow up, grow better and fall deeply, madly in love with the craft of writing.

I'm not cut out for this long term. I'm just not. I thought I could do this but I can't. There's something inherently private and sacred about journalling and diary keeping that I can't do publicly. I really thought I could do this. You don't know the half of what I haven't written down here and I want to keep it that way.

I don't deal in secrecy. No. My ability to be a secret keeper in a naturally good way ; that was destroyed long ago. I deal in open doors. ALL THE FUCKEN WAY. Confidentiality is a different matter. Even that gets fucked over these days.

Some people I know of have absolutely no concept of boundaries, respect, privacy and kindness. None whatsoever. My whole life has been an incredibly arduous walk with monsters. And I have something about me that attracts the fuckers to me and I want it to stop. REAL BAD. I fucken hate the reality of my life and
I am BITTER. Extraordinarily BITTER. BITTER at God and bitter with others who have abused me. I am bitter with myself. A harsh by~product of constantly being abused by monstrous personalities. Breaking the cycle of abuse is the ONLY WAY to leave the past behind. I struggle with half measures. Understanding exactly what a full measure of recovery work is, can more often than not become an overwhelming task to tackle.
I struggle with taking that very next step into the unknown without fearing the unknown and feeling assured that it won't ever lead to my undoing. It's often feels like I'm coming undone.

To do nothing is to die. This inevitably undoes me more. There is no such thing as a zone of comfort that moves in forward motion. I feel it. I know it. Life is a constantly moving entity of unknown and known quantity.
The more I practice effective work on myself, the more work I see that needs doing.

Being real, being willing, being true...hard work. I really don't know what I am doing from one day to the next. Understanding, surrendering, commitment to change...hard work.

Right now, I have very little resiliency to present day conflict, to adverse circumstances, to bearing up under the burden of tribulation and lifelong problems, to internal injuries that require the healing power of love.

Today, I am lying down but never to die or be heard from again. I'll lie here until something either inside me or on the outside, pushes me into standing upright and keep going. The will and motivation is not here.

And while I sit here on this ledge next to a well of self-pity, it would do me good to remember just how many souls have it far harder than I ever have.

I am grateful for my housing circumstances ; a difficult task to endure. I am grateful for a roof over my head absolutely.
I am grateful for my clothing.
I am grateful for the tenancy provision which allows cats.
I am grateful for my government financial living support weekly, because without it I couldn't eat, buy catfood, toilet paper or cleaning products.
I am grateful for my eyesight, my hearing, two functioning hands and a pair of small but very strong feet.
I am grateful for my body that has carried me through life and often at an extraordinary pace. Even though it is now pain ridden most days, it continues to function.
I am grateful for recovery and EVERY attendant blessing that results from the practice thereof.
I am exceptionally grateful for every member of my family, even though there is an existing divide that I don't know how to possibly bridge.
I am grateful for the many kindnesses of others throughout life. Many a kind stranger and friend.
I am grateful for friends.


Living poor in my country is not easy but over time and with some hard work I have been blessed immeasurably. I proclaim this to be true.

My sick thinking prevents me from getting anywhere near the hope that exists in me for a better brighter way to live. It's the kind of thinking that blocks out light and promise. Even hope itself at times becomes the untenable, but hope I still have.
Every step through this sick messed up mind of mine is gruelling. It's been this way for a long time. So long it seems impossible to quit it. I can't turn the key on this mind of mine, walk away from it, keep on pretending that it doesn't exist because it's right here.

Heard this at a meeting recently :
R : We don't like doing things that are good for us.
Me : FUCK YOU. I know what you are saying is true. Fuck you anyway.

What is life like on the other side?
The other side of being bitter and angry ; resentful and raging at the world around me?

What is life like on the oth side of living free and clear of monsters?

What is life like living permanently with no pain, no injuries, no fear, terror and conflict??

Or a miraculous lessening of all of the above?

I am grateful for my two humble electronic devices that are in working order.
I am grateful for the two charging cables that connect to these two devices and keep them working.
I am extremely grateful for my online security.
I am grateful for my-diary.org and my-journal.com.
I am grateful for all other social media platforms that I am a part of whether active or inactive.
I am supremely grateful to be online at all.
I am grateful, I am grateful, I am so VERY grateful for life itself. Especially on the days when I'd prefer not to be here.

I have dreamt for years of living without poverty. You have no idea how I have dreamt this.

For you dear readers a bright star.

With tears, fears, and no glory.




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