So I looked back to some journal entries around the time I was in Thailand. My attitude was scarily different. See, my main focus, pretty much my only focus actually, was to cease my suffering.
Because I suffered.
I suffered a lot.
I was ignoring and sugar-coating what I had experienced/was still experiencing (my stalker).
I didn’t even know that I was suffering from PTSD.
It breaks my heart reading through my descriptions of my experiences of how confused and in fear I was.
Not only that, I was suffering from a heartbreak so deep. The most intense heartbreak I have ever experienced.
Yet, he was still a huge part of my life. He was my first, and at that time my only spiritual friend in which we explored, and experimented and experienced, together.
Although my heart was torn and confused, rejected, I couldn’t let him go.
Despite the heartbreak, he was my light.
With every encounter my hope, a vessel, was filled and brimming. Only for it to get spilled and cracked and shattered.
And yet I stuck by him.
I also suffered from social anxiety (I still do). I just didn’t feel as though I belonged anywhere, to any group.
The only place where I felt like I belonged was with the guy who continuously broke my heart.
I was afraid. Yet, when I felt this fear, I didn’t know what I was afraid of. It gripped onto me, it suffocated me.
Writing was my only solace.
It gave me hope that if I wrote enough, intended enough, pleaded enough, that freedom and relief would wash over me.
My suffering kept me in touch with my humanity.
I said that my attitude was scarily different.
Because I was in the depths of it, the suffering, I knew that I never wanted a single soul to suffer. I wanted to heal myself so that I could alleviate everybody’s pain.
However, I have encountered some very confusing lessons since then, which I am still trying to get to grips with. But before I get into that, I want to talk about how my attitude has changed.
I no longer feel that urge to rush to help others. I hesitate.
I have become selfish. So my small self would like me to think.
I have in some ways forgotten what it’s like to suffer.
I forget that people suffer.
When I was suffering, that deep body and heart shattering suffering, in a way I was safe. I had my student loans and bursary, I didn’t need to worry about money. Heck, I even had enough spare cash to travel. I had my own room: I could cry and express my hurt whenever I needed to.
I lived with my sister, so, I could just curl up in her bed, or sit on her floor while I breathed through the fear. I would tell her to carry on with her work, I just needed to be with someone who understood and accepted.
Now, my life is comfortable. I don’t face many challenges, not the type of challenges that university faces you with. I could say that I have a challenge with money, but I don’t in the sense that I struggle to have a roof over my head, or have food in my belly, or to pay for activities such as a 5rhythms class.
I just don’t have enough to save to travel, or to progress onto Reiki Level 2, or to take any courses to improve and expand my skills.
I think comfortable is a different type of suffering. I have no major ups, or no major downs.
But that’s what society wants us to be, isn’t it, to be comfortable. As, if we are to have regular ups and regular downs, then we are erratic, have a personality disorder.
We are taught to believe that comfort trumps uncertainty.
But it doesn’t, it really doesn’t. I’m just struggling to live this truth. Comfort ceases my ability to feel deeply, it stops me from taking risks. From reaching out and finding connection. It stops me from learning from others.
Onto my confusing lessons. Which involves my confusion on whether I am selfish or not.
I have learnt that you cannot help someone if they don’t want to be helped.
I have learnt that some are nowhere near ready to help themselves.
I have learnt to question my motives: am I helping in order to make myself feel better? Or because I believe that my help will benefit them?
Even if it is the latter, how can I know what will help another more than the individual themselves?
I have had my well-intentioned help thrown in my face a number of times.
I have fallen for the vulnerable guys who I’ve believed that I could save… Who I believed who could save me (oh dear).
The outcome has never ended greatly.
It’s really quite a messy endeavour.
So when it comes to helping others, now I hesitate.
I am not selfish, I am just hesitant and confused.
For the time being, I offer myself, my words, my story, my transparency and my vulnerability.
I aim to love myself through this, however one achieves that…
And of course, where would calling myself selfish get me?
I am so much more than that.
Please, don’t be hard on yourself, like I have been to myself.
Please, open up to the people around you, you need to be understood. You need to connect. You need support, even if that comes as silent support. Know that they silently hold you.
There aren’t many things that really, seriously matter to me. But having and feeling my humanity is one of them.
I try to move on and forget my past. But the memory of it is in my cells. Remembering my fragility makes me feel human. It makes me more understanding when I encounter someone who comes across as cold. It makes me want to reach out and silently hold them, because god only knows what the hell they are going through.
I am thankful for this Now Moment. That this piece of writing has come into existence. Because it has helped me. It helps me to remember what is important. It helps me to remember who I am. It helps me remember that we are all One, we are in this together.