Hell on Earth

I write

My body has a small defect that greatly affects the quality of my life “in the body.”

It’s sad how such a small glitch can ruin all the fun.

It’s not something that can be fixed or cured either.

A human body is meant to move. When we look at how the body is made, it’s obvious that it was made for movement. We are not plants.

Imagine if there was a defect in your body that would cause you to feel nauseous every time you moved. My body has this defect. The more I move, the more I feel nauseated, sickened and disgusted.

In time, a person who suffers from this defect becomes severely depressed. I was on a very high dose of antidepressants for many years, but in 2012 I realized that it was not worth it. An antidepressant can relieve depression but it cannot fix the source of the problem.

The medication actually caused more problems than it solved, so finally I decided that I would rather live with my physical defect than swallow one more pill.

I’m quite healthy but I can’t say that I am happy. I have a fit body. I can technically do any physical activity I want. The problem is I don’t want to. In order to feel good, I have to move as little as possible. I’m in a very weird kind of predicament!

The defect is called a balance disorder. It’s almost impossible to notice. I sit quietly all day, refusing to do almost any kind of physical activity, and people think I’m weird and negative. My family knows, but they keep forgetting, or sometimes I get the impression that they have no idea how I feel when I move.

If you ever wondered why I live inside my head, in a fantasy world with imaginary friends, now you know. What choice do I have? I get no pleasure from physical movement. Life in my body, in this physical world, to me is hell.

Timidity

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

It’s obvious that you have been trying to attract my attention

Okay so I have stopped doing all that I was doing

Now why are you not saying anything?

I give you 100% of my attention

And I am listening

. . .

More?

You want more?

How much more can I give you?

What?  You want to see more of me?

What would you like to see?

You must be joking!

I’m blushing

Stop it

It’s tempting

I’m not sure I can

Am I allowed to show you that?

I’m afraid that it might get me in trouble

But I am nevertheless glad to know that you are interested

No one has ever been that curious about this private part of me

I get a strange feeling when you look at me like that

Is it possible for anyone to like me this much?

Your intentions are definitively harmless

There is no doubt about that

The problem is me

I am shy

Afraid to reveal

An intimate part of me

Although I absolutely trust you

Then what’s holding me back?

I am a mystery to myself

Did you know that?

How can I reveal

A part of me

That I have not even

Discovered

Myself

?

I’m Not My Body

corpse

Am I my body?  Have you ever asked yourself this?

I’ve never felt that my body was me.  Even as a kid, I remember thinking that my body was just a vehicle.  I was like a little man sitting behind the windows of my eyes, driving my body around.  This was fun.

What is wrong with this world is that it tries to convince me that I am my body.  Where did they get that idea?  What a stupid idea.  I don’t buy it at all.  Not anymore.  I bought this idea for a while, but then decided to reject it.  It didn’t serve me well.  It’s just bullshit.

You can believe whatever you want, but if you choose to believe that you are your body, then this is what your reality will become.  Fun at first, but eventually your life will become a nightmare.  Because there is no hope for the body.

I don’t hate my body, but I’m not in love with it either.  It’s like my car.  It’s useful to move around.  I can use it to manipulate the stuff around me.  It also serves to express myself to others.  But my body is not me, it’s a tool.  A living tool which has an expiry date.

Those who identify with the body live as mortals.  Those who do not identify with the body have a better chance at survival.

Surviving death.  The purpose of life is to survive death.  To become immortal.

Immortality starts with not identifying with the body.

Look at yourself in the mirror and say:  “This is not me.  It’s my vehicle.  And it’s getting older.  It’s slowly dying.  And that’s fine.  I’ll continue feeding and taking care of it but I’m not giving my life to it.  Keeping this body alive as long as possible is not necessarily the recipe for happiness.  My sense of self is located somewhere else.  This vehicle belongs to the earth, and it will stay with it.  I do not belong to the earth and I don’t intend to remain attached to it forever.”