Don't talk to me as if I'm crazy It's not the way it's meant to be Please talk to me as if I'm equal Fear of rejection's hanging on. Put me back into the synchronization of reality Oh how it shows I will not walk away of my own accord baby It's down to you.
The pure gold is seeping out of me - Aerowaves - Dance across Europe
I might appear like a maniac But it's just because I never switch off You make me feel like infinity Like I could do almost anything. Don't talk to me as if I'm crazy It's not the way it's meant to be Please just talk to me as if I'm equal Fear of rejection's hanging on.
And even after I had a business, it took another four years to clearly define what I wanted for my life. This is the same kind of shitty logic used to justify things like spirit crystals or that your lucky number is 34 but only on Tuesdays or during full moons. We exist on this earth for some undetermined period of time. During that time we do things.
- Bloodlines Part 1.
- Two Hundred Thousand Years: Stories About the Incredible Human Journey;
- Extrem erotische Erlebnisse 2 (German Edition).
- Alexandria Beightol?
Some of these things are important. Some of them are unimportant. And those important things give our lives meaning and happiness. The unimportant ones basically just kill time. This is an infinitely better question to ask.
Rather, you should be getting off your ass and discovering what feels important to you. This is an impossible question for me to answer. After all, for all I know, this person is really into knitting sweaters for kittens or filming gay bondage porn in their basement. I have no clue. But after some research, I have put together a series of questions to help you figure out for yourself what is important to you and what can add more meaning to your life. These questions are by no means exhaustive or definitive.
Ah, yes. The all-important question. What flavor of shit sandwich would you like to eat? Now, that probably sounds incredibly pessimistic. Manson, turn that frown upside down. Everything involves sacrifice. Everything includes some sort of cost. Nothing is pleasurable or uplifting all of the time. So, the question becomes: what struggle or sacrifice are you willing to tolerate?
Ultimately, what determines our ability to stick with something we care about is our ability to handle the rough patches and ride out the inevitable rotten days. What unpleasant experiences are you able to handle? Are you able to stay up all night coding? Are you able to put off starting a family for 10 years? Are you able to have people laugh you off the stage over and over again until you get it right?https://ufn-web.com/wp-includes/7/comment-tracer-le-portable-de-ma-femme.php
Somebody Wants Me Out of the Way
And your favorite shit sandwich is your competitive advantage. When I was a child, I used to write stories. I used to sit in my room for hours by myself, writing away, about aliens, about superheroes, about great warriors, about my friends and family. Not because I wanted anyone to read it. Not because I wanted to impress my parents or teachers. But for the sheer joy of it. We all have a tendency to lose touch with what we loved as a child.
Something about the social pressures of adolescence and professional pressures of young adulthood squeezes the passion out of us. And the transactional nature of the world inevitably stifles us and makes us feel lost or stuck. He just wanted to play. I used to be like that with video games.
In fact, for many years it was kind of a problem. What made it more difficult was probably a perennially angry and sad wife. However, not once did he let me know of anything that was eating into him because he knew I was struggling with my own situation. He maintained his composure and fought with his time. Feeling utterly dejected, I had become a loner. I had stopped talking to people. I did not want to receive any calls, nor did I want to call anyone. First, I had no time for it.
Second, if I had the time, I had no inclination to talk. I had my shell to withdraw into. The only person I talked to was my baby who probably could not understand a word of mine, though his smiles and babbles kept me going. I was never unkind to him, and I loved him beyond measure. My energy levels were flagging. I had no interest in doing anything for myself. I would look at the world hopelessly passing by, days religiously turning into nights, and nights into days, but it never meant anything for me.
I had no life of my own beyond being a mother and a wife. I had quit my job to enjoy my time with the baby, but was I really enjoying?
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The only social life I had was the company of a few other new moms, most of whom may have been equally depressed as I was. There was this strange conflagration within, and I could not put it out. Neither could I put my finger on it and find out its source. I kept myself inside my shell and saw no signs of hope. Gradually, the shell became stronger than before, and I got sucked into its pit. What ate into me was this behemoth hopelessness, a woeful discontent arising from lack of a purpose in life apart from mothering the baby.
It made me disinterested in everything. My confidence flagged, my anger seethed, my life became more dismal than ever before, and the apathy of being purposeless ate into me. I did not want to alienate anyone from me. Instead, I alienated myself from the world. I cried to go back to the girl I was, the girl I had been, and the girl that was lost. I craved to be me. Crying became a routine. Evenings, nights, mornings-I could cry anytime.
I could cry when angry, I could cry when sad. Crying would give me terrible headaches, but I did not stop crying. There were moments when I looked at the mirror and could not see myself anymore. It was definitely not me, it was an entirely different odious person. There was this repulsive, angry woman screaming at me from within the mirror telling me what a worthless person I had become. A person with no meaning to her life. A lifeless person in a lifeless mess.
On the positive side, my husband tried to be consistent in his tenderness towards me. He never stopped trying to help me, or show his love for me which made me feel that maybe I would not have to leave the house. My coldness towards him and towards life in general gradually saw the warmth of the sun. I started to be contemplative of my situation. Gradually, I could understand the riddling new person I was turning into.
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I did not want to be that person. I wanted to go back to being me. In moments of calm and peace, I dug into myself. I wrote and wrote trying to figure out what was wrong with me. Reading up online also helped.