Episode 14. Optimism and doom. I have it all.

Shut the Fuck Up

Optimism and doom. I have it all.

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Optimism and doom. I have it all.

My whole life has felt like a waste.

That I was nothing special and I have nothing special to offer. There was no meaning and no direction. Each day as dull and repetitive as the last.

Why am I here? What the fuck am I even doing here?

 

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My mind won’t shut the fuck up. It’s always telling me how awful I am, how fat I am, how unworthy I am.
And, I’ve fucken had ENOUGH!
The best part is, I don’t actually have to listen to this mean voice inside my head anymore.
But, now comes the hard part. Cleaning up all of its mess and getting rid of every single fucked up word it has ever spoken to me.
This is my therapy. My way of healing. And, sharing all I have learnt over the last few years.
So, enjoy my fucked up thoughts!

As I look back on all of the columns I have written, I have a sense of doom.

When I wrote each and every one of them I was optimistic. Pleasantly surprised at the way they came together. Hopeful that they would reach those who were looking to receive the words on each page. I believed I was sharing something interesting and inspiring.

You see, my whole life has felt like a waste. That I was nothing special and I have nothing special to offer. There was no meaning and no direction. Each day as dull and repetitive as the last.

Why am I here? What the fuck am I even doing here?

If you have read any of my other columns or listened to other episodes of this podcast, you will know the story by now. Fat, insecure girl turns into fat and even more insecure woman. Hates herself with all her might and gets out of bed every day begging and pleading to stop being so hideous and to instantly have the body of her dreams.

So much has happened in the last few years and I have shared a lot of that in each of my columns.

But, now. Now I am having buyers remorse. I am regretting every single word. I feel as though all that I said was stupid. Dumb. Of little intelligence. That I have no right to say any of that. Who the fuck am I to be talking about any of that? I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m a nobody. I should just go back into my hole and never speak another word again.

This thing that I am doing is too hard.

Even with the guidance of my loving voice, I still feel (on a good day) that I can’t do this.

In my previous podcast, WHY AM I DEPRESSED?, I told you I was being “forced” to write this column every week. I enjoy it, I do. But this part of me who has ruled my life for so long wants me to know how stupid this is. I am beginning to doubt. Even more than before.

This isn’t me. This sharing stuff.

This isn’t me. This honesty stuff.

This isn’t me. This doing something out of my comfort zone and being ok with it.

Fuck no!

Why do we even have to live such an extraordinary life? Can’t it just be on the down low and of little consequence?

That doesn’t feel right either. So, which one is it then? A life of meaning or a life of irrelevance?

Either one doesn’t appeal as they both have their disadvantages. People can be cruel. If you say one word out of balance with the majority of the influence then it can damage more than your reputation. A whole existence can get sent into disarray, much the same as walking along a tight rope 10,000 feet in the air with no pole to balance you out and a sudden rush of wind sways the rope uncontrollably and you pray with everything you have not to fall off.

Its scary to put yourself out there. But, what do you do when there are too many gentle nudges to ignore anymore? How do you stay true to yourself and believe the words you’ve shared are important enough to remain outside of you?

Not everyone is going to understand where I’m coming from. No one will ever completely know the reasons these words, strung together into sentences, paragraphs, columns, stories and poems; have come from a place of well meaning. That their intention is to offer a different vantage point. To show there really is more than one side to any story. Each and every one of us is bringing so much of ourselves to the story. But, where do all of ourselves come from? The characteristics, personalities, emotions, thoughts, actions, inactions and beliefs originated from somewhere? But, where?

Cracking open the exterior of my human-ness reveals an interior alien to my imagination. It is ugly and scary. Beautiful and becoming. Interesting and inspiring.

It embodies an eternal expanse of who we are and how we came to be.

My memories of the life I have lived so far reveal to me someone who has never been comfortable in this body. Is it really because of how it looked (ugly and fat) or is it because I was inept at figuring out the totality of who I am?

I am more than two sides to a coin. I am a die. 6 sides. Or am I more than that? Perhaps a rhombicosidodecahedron (I did a search for “what shape has the most sides”)? Which has 122 sides all up I think that sounds more like me. I have never felt one dimensional. Or even three dimensional. There are so many sides to this me that I struggle to keep up. I am one person one minute and then someone else the next.

How does any of this fit into what I have already shared previously and the beginning of this one? It seems erratic. Which, I guess, does explain the many sides of me. (It’s also very fucking confusing).

How do you explain any of what you are to another being when they can only determine their answer from what you say and do to what they know, think and feel. Their experiences mixed in with your outwardly displays concoct a person who can never be fully understood.

So, when I sit down to write about all of these weird and wonderful things, my fucked-up-ness, my lessons and everything in between, it feels almost pointless because no one will ever know the entirety of my why. Of what compels me to do this. To write all this drivel.

And, it sucks!

It sucks because, as I mentioned, there is a force beyond me compelling me to do this.

Where does this force come from? Where does my loving voice come from? What is the purpose of any of this?

And, that! Is the biggest question of all, isn’t it? Why, the fuck are any of us here? And, what do we do with ourselves while we are here?

Doubt has taken over and I am questioning my choices. These choices feel right but what if they’re not? What if I am still wasting my time on something that is of little significance?

I have always had the sense that I was meant to do something more. Something big. But, what?

I think too much. Feelings get in the way. They are too temperamental and confusing. I don’t have time for them. They are overwhelming.

Which is why I have done the absolute bare minimum for most of my life. I put my faith in what I thought instead of how I felt. The words tumbling around inside my head have had priority. They have directed each one of my actions to the point of detachment. Every now and again my feelings would pop up, hoping to persuade me otherwise but I just ignored them. They didn’t matter. Nor did I, so there was no point listening to my feelings.

That’s not really true, though. Because the hidden parts of me were still successful in their supervision and management. They helped me achieve more than I ever thought possible. It’s only now that I am more aware of this guidance that I am resisting the offerings because they can’t possibly be for me. I am not worthy. The thoughts are rising up to support the resistance. They are banding together to give me reason not to.

Each day is something new. Who am I going to be today? Am I going to feel empowered with all that I know by my side or am I going to think I am weak and insignificant and allow my thoughts to dictate where the day leads?

Self improvement is not an easy task. Its bloody difficult.

With all I have written so far, it still stands. The lessons, the epiphanies, the unveiling of disguised truths. All of that can happen whilst simultaneously there is a torrent of torment still swirling around in the undertow.

Knowing thyself is different for everyone. Change is different for everyone. Recognising and accepting all of the layers is most definitely different for each of us because we come into this world already clinging onto much of what we were before this life birthed us into a fresh existence.

In my quest for answers about who we truly are I have been led to a few very interesting reads. Reading them seems so right but yet it completely blows my mind enough to question my own belief in what I am reading.

We have very little knowledge of the souls inhabiting our earthly bodies. My understanding of them is that they are divine beings here to learn and grow. They are always loving and if we listen to them they will steer us in the right direction. But, we tend not to listen to them. We listen to that other voice in our head instead. The one who likes to be mean and nasty about who we are and all we long to do. You know the one.

If these books are to be believed, then it is WAY more complicated than that.

Which leads me to this existential crisis I am now having about the work I have been doing. It feels so childish. I am merely a beginner. A woman of limited knowledge absolving herself of such intimate and pathetic thoughts.

The only way to ease my pitying woes is to continue the search for who I truly am.

Have you ever felt as though there are parts of yourself that don’t belong to this lifetime? What I mean by that is how did you become a certain way from a lifetime that didn’t have anything to do with that part of you?

I have a fear in me that I cannot explain. I cannot speak up. Use my voice for its intended purpose, which is to fight for the right to be who we are without sacrifice or reprimand. I have longed believed that it was because I was so fat, ugly and useless. That these qualities demanded I hide away in plain sight, never to utter a word for fear of contempt. But on another side to my rhombicosidodecahedron, a have an intense need to fight for something bigger than myself. Justice, honesty, authority. Whatever it may be. It is my fear of speaking up that holds me to ransom. Poisoning my mind to keep me from holding strong and using that fight for its intended purpose.
Do you believe in past lives? Do you believe your soul inhabited many bodies before yours?

I kind of did. I kind of believed we lived here on this earth at another time. Many times.

Michael Newton, PH.D; is an experienced hypnotherapist who uses his skill to put his subjects into a deep trance so he can discover what souls get up to in between their lives here on earth. He has released two books: Journey of Souls and Destiny of Souls which goes into major detail about how souls plan their next life for specific growth and learning, what happens to them from the moment their human body dies, how souls can contain an energetic memory imprint from each life and how it can stay with the soul into the next life and subsequent lives. Fascinating reads. Highly recommend reading them if you want to know more about the lives of souls.

A few years ago I attended a weekend women’s retreat run by the most caring and vibrant woman. On the last day she went into a trance and channelled a divine being from beyond to give a reading to those who wanted it. She only offered five readings because otherwise we would of been there all day. I was determined to go up. I just had to. So, after the fourth one was finished and before the words had left her mouth I was volunteering to have the last reading.

Unfortunately, the video recording stopped before my reading so I never got to watch it and my memory of all of it also stopped. It only went for about five minutes. What I do remember thought is her saying I have never been told I am beautiful and that the bastards were wrong. She also told me of a time in another of my lives when I was beaten and tied to the mast of the ship I was on for speaking up about the conditions for those on the big ship. I had a voice and I wanted to use it for good. I wanted to fight the good fight. I was determined. I did my best but sadly the fight was too much for those in charge. They wanted to silence me. And, they did. I was tied to the mast for a long time and as my body was dying, they untied me and threw me into the ocean.

That last bit I only found out yesterday when I saw another medium to help me gain more clarity for this work I am here to do. She also informed me I was burned at the stake, as a witch, after this life for also speaking out. Two lifetimes where my voice was supposed to help others but it was silenced in brutal ways. I have held my voice since. This explains my unexplained silence. It didn’t emerge from this lifetime. It was still within me when I was born with this body, this mind and all of my very distinctive traits.

So, now in this life I have a fight in me but I have never been able to direct it into the right place. Instead, I would argue with people about stupid things. I want to speak up. I want to fight (in a peaceful way of course). I have felt there is something big that is worthy of my attention, I just could never find what it is.

Now I know. It is this. Fighting for woman to be themselves. Showing woman, and our young girls, that no matter what you believe in your mind it doesn’t mean it is right about you. There is so much more to who you are. I want to help you find it.

We waste too much of our lives focused on the outside of our existence. The focus needs to be concentrated within ourselves. Loving every single piece of fucked-up-ness and every piece of beautiful humanity and mysticism we have.

We are all of it.

But what it really comes down to, whatever I may be saying with these words, is that you get to think for yourself. You get to find out what is true for you. You don’t have to believe every word I say. I can’t possibly know all of it. I only know a fraction of what there is to know. But, that fraction is mine to share in the hope that you stop for a few seconds and consider. And, with that consideration you need to ask where it can take you? What does it mean for you?

I have had to do that myself. I didn’t just come to all of this with a sudden rush of downloads. I was led to each and every answer I had a question for. I am curious. I want to know who I am, who we are. I want to know why the fuck I am here and why I feel so ridiculously compelled to do what I am doing. It is not to have everyone follow me as if I am the only one who knows. No. It is to show you that, you too, can open yourself up to the unknown and discover the answers to your own questions.

Be curious. Use that curiosity to find out who you are beneath all of the bullshit we have thrown into our faces every single day.

What is YOUR life? What does your life mean?

So, whatever crazy ass ramblings may come your way from this mind of mine, I simply ask that you listen with intent. Learn something from them and then use them to dive into who you are. No body else can do it for you.

For now, I have to get over the insecurities I have about my work and the sense of doom I have been feeling about it. It is only my mind playing tricks on me again.

I choose not to listen to any of those fucked up words and believe them as if they are my whole truth. I now affirm they are not.

The truth of who I am is so much more than that.

As always keep on shouting… SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Your exercise this week is to be curious. What ideas are popping into your head that you may be dismissing? Are you being asked to direct your attention to something but you ignore it because it seems ridiculous? Be aware of everything inside of you. Let your curiosity direct you to something unknown. It may just lead you to where your supposed to be going.

I reckon you’re not the only one with so many fucked up thoughts.

Thank you for listening.

Remember, keep on shouting… “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Until next time.

a collection of poems and short stories

VIEW BOOK

You can read even more fucked up thoughts in this collection of poems and short stories

For the Love of Me

This book came to be from every part of my life experience. Every heartache. Every hateful thought. Every self-loathing feeling about myself and my body. And, every bit of love that was denied to me and that I denied to myself. Be open to what may come to you whilst you are absorbed in the heartache, the loneliness, the sadness, the misery, the hope, the reflection, the spirit and the love in this collection of poems and short stories.

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