Musings on Life,  Writing

Musings From Between the Basement and First Floor

I can consider some things as a learning experience. The trouble is that I am overwhelmed, and a lot frustrated. The loneliness of where I am with my own thoughts and trying to find out if my shattered mind will hold out for another day, or even an hour.

The fact is that the last few years of my life are a huge lie. The trouble is there is not a single person who was willing or had the moral courage to not lie to my face. The disrespect, the quite hatred, the betrayals, all of that was there. I didn’t see it.

I don’t think I wanted to anyways.

Call me naive, dumb or whatever you’d like, the truth hurts. I am not the most easy person to get along with, and in the most naive moment I can imagine, I felt that I could trust people. I know now people will stab you emotionally, mentally, spiritually, or any other way possible to get ahead. They don’t care about others. Deep down they might be good people. That is somewhat true. The person, the individual, by the choices they make is not.

I guess I am in the middle of a meantime of hell.

Thanks everyone for the help you gave me along the way. I am certain now it is all a big mistake, except the mistakes I made were trusting others, and hoping for the best. I will do my best to not do them again.

Sounds pretty grim doesn’t it?

Why anyone chooses that grim view was once beyond me, and now I can understand it far too well. I believe I am in the shallow end of the swimming pool and still drowning. People also seem to think it’s a great time to give me more advice, and maybe a book or three. I am trying to be grateful. I truly am.

Not that I can’t, it’s the matter of I don’t know how.

One book I did get was In the Meantime. Since I got it, I’m slowly slogging through it. I’m sure there will be a time when I’ll understand beyond the words on the page, what resonates the most is the levels between the floors.

I’m pretty much stuck in the basement and the first floor. Or, if my brain is reading it correctly, I have a lot of work to do to get me where I want to go. It seems too many fires, and not enough time or thought is a huge problem.

I’m not about to suggest I can learn to love myself. That’s not the point, while I am where I am, I can only be thankful that I am moving in some sort of direction. It might be the edge of something big, or something where I can go in a different direction. Either way, it might be better to do it as independently as possible.

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