Very intimate diaries  15

From the outside, I seem impervious to all negative creases that can reach me. Teflon. But in fact as soon as I get a negative slap, an alarm sounds in my mind and I rush to the speed of light, like a superhero, in this protective place that I have built in my head and I triple-lock the door.

But in the darkness of my mental prison I become gradually disoriented. Unbalanced.

This place where I came to escape the fear of suffering is the place where I sink all these fears in a huge sticky mud of aches tank. And pains that follow them. The drowning task is difficult and suffering. Very suffering.

I traded, in a pernicious barter, suffering for another.

I work for a few minutes. Or hours. Or days. My hands are covered with filthy mud as blood. I get exhausted and spread out on the floor. Curled up, I can’t speak, utter the slightest sound.

Yet like a rising tide of rotting carcasses, the tank disgorged mud that slides up to me. Slowly, the sludge covers my entire body. As this warm quilt my mother added in winter.

I become numb. I can’t breathe no more because of the mud I swallow on and on.

Then a small movement is born in me. It comes to life. It rebels.

Suddenly the way to get back appears to me more clearly. Like a crazed snake, I crawl out of this strangling vase and I take the way back.

I’m greeted by a dazzling light. Dazzling as it reflects off the iron bars that shine all around me. I realize that I’m in the same prison, but in a different cell.

Naked in my thoughts, I then take a long bath to erase all traces of this bloody mud.

Living for me remains a life sentence. I release myself with parole.

Very intimate diaries  11

I have long tried to "neutralize" the negative waves of events before they reach me. In vain! Until I realized that the waves and negative events will always be; it’s my reaction that I have to change.

(....)

All my life, I looked for and waited for the "psychological clicks" that would wake up my mind, my brain and finally solve various mental knots where I was chained.

Like lights that would suddenly be on.

But I still bogged down in this big intolerable darkness until one day I realized I could not see them because I had my eyes closed...

(....)

Sometimes when I’m writing my Pages, I enter a kind of hypnotic and meditative state so strong that, for a few seconds, I have no knowledge of what I have just written.

(....)

A while ago, I thought of all these numerous years of painful therapies and medications I had been through, dozens and dozens thoughts of death that had crossed my mind and I realized that as deeply nourishing and uplifting that might be the love of my family and my friends, it was not what could make me want to stay alive, but the following questioning: Is it enough? Did I accomplish my mission? Is it time to go?

I have found no answer. That's why I'm still here.

From my yellow notebook  8


Would I use the word "too" too often ...?




To receive criticism has long been for me as if I was attacked by a predator.




When I address to people, I sometimes have a guilty tone.




When I’m going to be ready to take another step, I will. Meanwhile, I observe and learn.

In big periods of stress instead of accelerating I slowed my pace to get a larger inner calm.




To receive criticism can trigger in me a painful inner fire; to learn little by little to become a firefighter.




Anchoring from within; accept that life is a perpetual change.




Each risk I take enlarges my protective bubble.




To receive criticism is sometimes an opportunity to change and improve myself.




I often have this urge to push myself to the limit.




Be able to manage to transform received negative gestures in experienced positive gestures.




When I'm frustrated, I lose a lot of energy.




My negative emotions are part of my life.




There’s in my life “mysteries” I’ll never be able to explain ...




Be able to manage to use the energy of my negative emotions to propel me forward.




To learn to be better, not to be perfect.

Very intimate diaries  7

Sometimes to write asks me no particular effort; everything flows, regardless of the quality and quantity.

When I'm happy I reward myself by eating comfort food.

When I’m not happy, I let steam off by eating comfort food.
What’s a vicious circle yet...?



I don’t flipping care about so many things!



My new obsessive ideas are often old obsessive ideas with new makeup, new clothes and a new hairdo.



I decided that luck existed. Bonne chance!



My initial “sense of urgency” has been gradually transformed into despair.



I’m endowed with strength, power and an iron discipline that allows me to build... and destroy.



I guess I have the friends I deserve.



I need to unravel my negative patterns stitch by stitch before being able to start thinking knitting it back positive.



I try to stuff myself with my life’s tools on and on.



Many of my negative life routines were positive at first.



I’ve been questing for so long that I don’t know what I’m looking for anymore.

I am and I already have all I want without knowing it, without seeing it.

Very intimate diaries  4

I am amazed at how I'm comfortable with people. I can be so smart, so resourceful. But as soon as I’m alone, it’s the "anti-nomy." Total paralysis. It's pretty amazing…

As long as there won’t be a total and ultimate trigger; it will always be a vicious killing repetitive exhausting circle.

Sometimes my life seems long and boring.

I wish I could love me, love my life...

I know that’s the love of mom and dad that I wanted and that I seek compensation for years.

I don’t understand how can I be so dark and yet have so much hope inside...
It’s obvious that it helps me to live.

(Another Day) 

I reacted quite strongly to the drawings I do in art-therapy. (I see myself as disabled, bruised, defeated and immature)

I almost always let others decide for me.

It seems that I need to receive affection to give me a boost from the bottom of the depressive pool where I am to finally break my drowning.

(In transcribing these lines, I realize how important it is for me to look frankly at my negative side. It’s part of my life. I don’t have to reject it but to accept it. I can help myself to live, learn something from it.  Accept it can give me more strength and much less fear.)

From my yellow notebook 2

Every step is not a stop, it’s a step.

To lower my strain, focus on my body, my breath, when I act.

How can I create using my anger as strength of progress?

I scream my creativity; I scream my freedom.

I am a Renaissance man.

The law of antidotes: for a negative emotion, arouse its positive opposite inside.

Active Life = Creative Life.

Before concrete acts, there’re concrete thoughts.

I like the word "concrete."