Gee, it's ugly in here, gee it's beautiful in here

I have been indulging in some Buddhist-inspired-but-absolutely-Christ-involved embracing of my stuff. Actually sitting with the emotions when they come up - or as soon as I am able - and embracing them the way a mother embraces her child, finally able to smile at it, whatever negative emotion it is. It's quite amazing, really, and really quite lovely, as this great quest for self-nurturance continues. It's like the anger has been saying, "Finally, finally, you are listening to me." It's very empowering.

Following on the heels of that anger embracement has been these great, giant, massive pools of self hatred. I mean, I knew I had a bit swimming around in there but generally, you know, I thought I had a healthy self esteem. Which I do in some ways. The two opposites can coexist in the same body, definitely. It happens all the time.

But oh, goodness me. These pools. They're so black and dark. It's amazing what we carry around inside our bodies until we are ready to deal with it. It's amazing, the ability of a human to protect itself, to know when the right time is to reveal certain things to itself.

I want to get rid of this self hatred. I want to embrace it. When I embrace the anger, accept it, the love changes the anger to compassion. When I embrace the self-hatred, the love cahnges the self-hatred to self-love.

But oh, in the meantime, the pit feels so deep that I could drown in it. It's so deep that I can barely talk about it to anyone, can only throw it out into the blogosphere, the public confessional without the private requirements for looking into people's eyes while doing so. I don't care what anyone says. This blogging is a wonderful thing, but there is a shadow side to it, the way there is a shadow side to everything. This is not real life. It never will be. This is not the same as face to face communication. On here, I can speak my stuff, and you hear me, and it is wonderful, and we are friends. But until I can say it into your eyes, it doesn't carry the same measure of healing. It doesn't strengthen me until I can say it directly into your eyes. But this seems to be all I can accomplish, at least today. How I wish that were different. How I fear it will never be different again.

I used to be outgoing, friendly, capable. I still am. I will also never, ever be the person who I was. Swimming in these pools, though, everything feels distorted. Especially while they are transforming from one thing into another. I can't even see the shore anymore, to be honest. Is God in all of this? Yes, I'm sure of that. Can I feel him in it? Oh, certainly not. But sometimes that's the best place to be. I look at this past few years and the creative growings have been as great as the deathly dyings. Is that coincidence? Totally absolutely not.

Is it also coincidence that this week I have had two needy friends texting me, wanting to talk, for me to listen to their stuff, and I have been unable to do so, have said no, blatantly, have refused to cater to their requests for help because dammit, it doesn't suit me and I am having enough to deal with, swimming in my own pools of self-hatred? Is that self-love, protecting me, setting my own boundaries, or is it self-hatred, withdrawing myself and punishing myself, removing myself from the care and concern of people who care?

I don't know.