Hell if I know. But I am very, very open to suggestions.
Clearly, this is not something one can do via a series of logical steps. Logically speaking, the size of one’s soul is barely even a thing.
I mean, I am the one using the term and I doubt I could define it logically. At beast, I could deduce its existence from within the framework of my own inner world of subjective experiences and illustrate that with a few pop culture references, but that is still not the same as a sound logical argument.
So forget logic, reasoning, knowledge, rationality, and all the other bullshit that covers absolutely everything except the things which are most important to human thriving.
The beast has the key. The answer lies beyond the bright cold light reason. Somewhere out in the hot dense human darkness where emotions and instinct live lies the deep, nourishing food of the soul, and until I find a way to access it, I will continue to suffer from spiritual malnourishment until it outright kills me.
It’s kind of amazing I have made it this far on the junk food of pop culture, to be honest.
Now I could ask. “But where do I start?”. But that would already be heading in the wrong direction because that puts it in a rational framework.
The only real answer to “Where do I start? ” is “By feeling. ”
That’s exactly that sort of answer I normally find irritating as fuck, but that does not mean that it is not true.
As far as I can tell, healthy people have the capacity to reason emotionally, and while rational dickheads like myself tend to only bring up emotional reasons when we are trying to express why someone is wrong, wrong, wrong, it is proper place emotional reasoning is exactly the right kind of reasoning to use in solving emotional problems.
Problems like, to pick a random example, “how to grow your soul”.
It’s clearly needed. Last week, I told my therapist that I had an overdeveloped mind but everything else was a withered little stump, and it’s true. Emotionally speaking, I am a cripple, and a rather stunted and warped one at that.
Essentially, my emotional development stopped when I was raped. leaving me to try to make my way through life with this gargantuan outsized brain and only a tiny little gimpy soul to power it.
Kind of like a weightlifter that keeps skipping cardio. Or a huge car with a tiny engine.
At best, I arrested at or around puberty. I definitely remember puberty changing me emotionally. I become more confident, more aware, more capable, and eventually a lot more calm and organized of temperament.
And while I even managed to have friends (of a sort) for a while, I still didn’t do a lot of the typical teenage things .
I didn’t see the point.
God, I was such an idiot.
And now, here I am at the age for 46, trying to figure out how to finally catch up with other people my age, or at least. catch up with them as teens.
How frigging humiliating.
But at least I have wised up to the real scene now.
And that means I have a chance to try to fix it.
More after the break.
I need help
With a lot of things. actually. But one thing in particular, which I will talk about tonight.
And when I say I need help. I mean I need help. Not “some help would be nice” or “I sure could use some help” or “I guess some help would be nice if you are offering”.
I NEED help or I am going to end up dead. True story.
The help I need is in getting myself a new glucose meter. It’s clear that I can’t handle this task on my own. If there is a list of supported glucose meters for people on my medical plan out there somewhere, my Google fu is too weak to find it, and without that information I don’t even know where to start picking one.
And when I try to calmly and rationally work through this problem in my head, all kinds of blaring alarms go off and I end up in an executive dysfunction quagmire of epic proportions and have no choice but to give up.
Because I have issues.
It is not easy for me to admit this to the world. That I am literally incapable of doing a seemingly trivially simple task like this. In order to do so, I have to face the fact that I am a very sick man and that means there are some things I just plain can’t do.
And that’s a very hard pill to swallow. Being a man, I was programmed by society to think that I had to be ruggedly self-sufficient and strong and that meant I have spend a long long time getting sicker and sicker because I was bullshitting myself that I would do these things “soon” or “when I got around to it” or whatever.
Well that ends now. I need help. Real help. I am going to need people to do the things I can’t do for myself but that desperately need to do if I am going to make to age 50, let alone past that.
This also means relying on others, and I don’t do that easily. My life experience has taught me that other people can’t be relied upon because all they really want is for you to go away and go back to not existing and so anything that requires actually get-up-and-do-something action is just plain never going to happen.
I’m not worth it. It’s laughably absurd that I would even ask.
But it’s reach out for help or I am going to be lying in a hospital bed in enormous pain with lesions all over my body and almost no immune system within a year.
SO this is it. Here I am, asking for help. Someone please do for me what I cannot. Find me a glucose meter the province will pay for (including strips, lancets, and so on) and how I can order one, and I will be forever in your debt.
I will also ask my therapist about this Thursday, and maybe put it out on Facebook too.
Hopefully, someone can rescue me.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.