On Awakening Pt.1

O.k., so…I know I must have come across as annoyingly condescending in some of my last posts…but that’s only because my writing style, as well as my general attitude towards life have been suffering dramatic changes during this past year, so I’ve become more paradoxical than ever (more empathic, but less empathic at the same time – if it makes any sense at all, more connected to everything and everyone around me than ever, but craving my own company more than anything else, feeling like I’ve been given access to all the answers I need at this point in my life, but understanding how little I actually know, so sensitive to things most people don’t even acknowledge, but so little sensitive to others, it’s almost sociopathic of me) and still haven’t managed to find the perfect balance to everything, but at least I’m making progress by understanding where and what the problem is – right?
It all started a few years ago, with the first signs that a spiritual awakening was on the horizon – and by the end of last year, everyone around me was trying to suggest that perhaps I was going through some sort of a mental breakdown and it would behove me to see a specialist. I mean…it was really, really bad. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus, my anxiety had gotten worse than ever, nothing in my life made sense anymore, I was feeling less and less a part of this world, all I wanted to do was isolate myself from them all, whoever they were.

And yes, this is what usually happens, the symptoms of both the awakening and mental instability are extremely, but extremely similar. Few people will understand what is really happening with you unless they’ve gone through it themselves. Most of them will hand you the number of their psychiatrist and run as far away from you as they can.

 

I remember waiting at a stoplight one afternoon, watching the cars speedingly coming towards me and imagining what it would be like to just cross the road, what it would feel like to be hit and thrown away or squashed by one of them cars or trucks or limousines, like a puppet or a watermelon. I could almost feel the pain of being nearly dead all over my body.

Some other time, I remember being at home, waiting for him to come from work and imagining what it would be like for him to open the door and find me lying in a pool of blood. What he’d do, what he’d say, how desperate he’d look, with eyes popping out of their sockets, how he’d kneel next to me and try to resuscitate me, but I’d already be gone, how my parents would react, their faces, contorted at hearing the news, which of my many many outfits they would choose for the burial, if and what I’d be missed for, how many people would remember me after a while…these kinds of problems.

Strange thing is, with everything that going on inside of me, I still managed to look and act like I was the happiest girl in the world. Strangest thing is, in between these depressive episodes I was genuinely happy and immensely grateful for the slightest reasons and littlest things – things those around me would normally take for granted – and kept myself aware and hopeful that the pain and that emptiness in my chest were intrinsic parts of whatever process I was going through and there was a deeper meaning to them, knew they would eventually pass and then, then I did the best thing I could’ve done: instead of running away from pain like I always did, I embraced it. I let it pour itself into me and do it’s thing. I acknowledged the Hell that had gotten loose within me. I let it ravish me. And I cried. I cried until I was left drained and breathless on the floor, in fetal position.

And then I repeated the whole thing over again. Many, many times. Until it got a little bit better.

And…I made it through somehow. On my own, without anyone’s help. Like a drug addict who, instead of going to Rehab, stays home and goes through the whole cleansing process alone (speaking of which, it’s been almost a month since I stopped smoking, which is one of my greatest accomplishments of these past months). In fact, nobody knew what was happening to me. N O B O D Y. I didn’t tell a soul, knew no one could help me. They all had their problems, their own demons, their frustrations, their limitations, their deep rooted fears. There was nothing they could’ve done for me. Hey, they didn’t even do it for themselves. They were all running away from something. I knew I would have to find the answers – my own answers, in my own time. I knew that if I was to be saved, I would have to be the savior. No one could do it but me.

In hindsight, the amount of strength the Universe has gifted me with to help me go through it all is absolutely miraculous – an older, less spiritually aware version of me would have caved in long time ago. But no, I kept going against my better judgement, against logic, against everyone’s opinion, against everything I’ve been taught to do, against all odds. Just by following my heart.

  

And this is how I’ve become the best friend I ever had. This is why I’ll always choose me above anything or anyone else. This is why I’ll never give up on myself. This is why, no matter how hard the times ahead, I absolutely KNOW I’ll make it. This is how I’ve come to understand my own worth. This is how I’ve come to experience a raw, perfect, divine, unconditional love – I absolutely fell in love with myself one day, in the middle of another hellish episode – I just looked in the mirror and thought “I love you, little girl, for everything you’ve been through, everything you stand for, everything you’ve become, all the light that you give away to anyone around you so easily as if you haven’t almost lost your life trying to get to it, all the other things that you are, for standing here, in the middle of the night, barefoot, unarmed, but fighting all this darkness and not even thinking of giving up”.

And…here I am, thanking God for all the pain I’ve been through, for it has brought me closer to Him and myself than anything else.

To be continued…

Green Eyed Kisses,