About pain and prefering questions to answers

12th of August 2022

So I probably shouldn’t be writing right now. I should be sleeping. I’m exhausted, but can’t sleep. I am in that state of mind where I feel irritated at everything and angry at everyone for no reasons at all or maybe for every reason there ever was. I’m not sure. I just think writing might not be the thing for now, not something to share with the internet at least. But the words are there and I am not sure how to say no to that.

Yesterday I talked to… not a therapist, but close enough. He recommended me a book that has the word enlightenment in the subtitle. I hate that. I don’t want anyone selling me the idea of enlightenment. I don’t believe I could achieve that from a book anyway. Not that I doubt the power of literature, but this is not the way that power works for me. And the book itself seems to talk about things that my gut feeling is telling me is the wrong things for me. I’ve spend too much time listening to clever therapists telling me my own intuition, my own experiences and my own gut feeling is wrong to ever make that mistake again.

I keep getting the feeling they are getting the whole thing wrong. There is no cure for the pain in their words, there is only accept, which I make very clear I don’t do. There is no readiness to dive into the pain with me and find the source. They seem afraid. They seem incompetent. They seem more ready to flee from the pain than anything else. The darkness, the pain, life and death, all these things are feared by the therapists I have spoken to. None of them understand that I do not want to shy away from any of it. I don’t want to numb the pain or accept it. I don’t want to get away from the pain. I want to face it. I want to make space for it so I can feel it. I want it to pass through me knowing it is felt and seen and heard. I want to acknowledge it and learn from it. I want it to have space and room and a place. I want it to hurt because I believe the pain comes from the things that matters. I want it to hurt because I know that is the only way to get out on the other side of the pain. I want to dig everything that hurt me out with the roots and all. Not just chop it down and hope it doesn’t grow back (how stupid do they think I am?).

I believe this pain, just like grief, is a necessary part of a process. A process of healing and growing and learning. And all of this is just what I think and feel for myself. I support those who chose other paths and I believe there is every chance that I will chose different paths in the future (if I have one), but for now this is where I am. Also I am mostly just lost now.

Which leads me nicely to the next thing I wanted to write this time. The next thing that has me annoyed and angry and frustrated with the world around me.

People always want to sell me answers. Whether it’s through religion or some kind of spiritualism or therapy. It’s always answers people want to give me. And nothing alienates me from a message faster than someone offering answers, especially when I haven’t asked a specific question. It always feels like a sales pitch and it’s always the word answers that’s supposed to be the hook. But I’m not buying. I want questions. Better questions, big questions, hard questions. The next questions. Instead I am stuck in the same loop of the same questions on repeat for decades now. I’m bored out of my mind and I want my mind to have something to work with. I want questions. Clever questions that strike at the heart of things. Or the kind of questions that opens the world up and gives me new ways of wondering. But answers are boring. I find more fun and growth, amazement and wonder in the questions than I ever did in answers. (Unless it’s magic tricks, where I marvel more at the skill of it being done than in the mystery, I’m not saying I make sense, I’m just saying this is how I feel).

I miss people who will look at me and ask the hard questions. The questions that pokes at the thing I didn’t even realise I needed to look at. I tend to do that to others, even when I try not to.

I’m exhausted. I should sleep. Or at least rest.

The hopelessness is strong these days. I’m not sure what do to or if there even is anything to do any more. But I do know this is not the time to write too much. My mind isn’t a well organised place right not, it’s not a good kind place for me to exist, no need spilling that onto the page. I’ll find better ways to try to deal with that. Anger needs to be felt, or it does stuff like it does to me right now, spill out in bursts that seem all over the place and directionless. One day I’ll find the space to feel it and live in it and welcome it here, as the kind, wise friend it is. One day.

I would like to have some kind of good sign of, but I don’t have one today. So I guess it’s just the usual words. Thank you for your time and I wish you well.