I am waiting on my tea. It is a screaming body experience. To write my body used to do the same screaming. Mom made me do it anyway, just like she makes me wait on tea. I am mad at her, but I find comfort in her too. That is the irony of Mom. To learn to type has been a demanding job, demanding motor and emotions and myself most of all. So much focus of mind and body, I overload quickly on it. So much to say in just minutes a day. Better I was before I understood the value of it.
Typing forces me to be on paper even when I am not in space. It forces me to take a stand too, on who I am. It forces me to speak my thoughts even as it frees me saying them. Self exposure is a scary thing, especially when thoughts are all you have. When a body doesn’t register sensations about being it causes you to live off objects. They take on a life as part of you. Dead objects let me feel myself as part of them when there was no feeling as myself.
There is a saying “seeing is believing”. Seeing is not always believing though. To see yourself looking back in a mirror, but not feel yourself says you are a ghost. We say we see and believe, but real belief is in the feeling not the seeing. To not feel leaves only your thoughts as an identification of who you are –that you are. Sharing them is something you don’t want to initially risk. You wonder if you will lose yourself that way. You wonder if who you are will change. It is an irrational fear I know, but it is a fear nonetheless.
To be is more than thought, it is physical. It is why God made us, to experience the physical. Yet I am robbed of that. Only in water can I feel myself as a whole body. People don’t think about what I live every moment. Only in the last year or two has there been some relief. I feel myself as a body now sometimes. When I am relaxed I can even cause it to happen now. I practice in my bed at night now, feeling me. I feel me, like a glove it comes over me. Maybe that sounds funny, but it starts at my head and works down. My head always floats in space awhile before I start to feel the rest of me. I wonder at it sometimes. I am laughing now at the picture of it in my head. I feel my head a lot. It tingles sometimes before a seizure, Mom calls them. I just lose memory and can’t move after. I think they must be scary though. I can sense Mom’s fear of them. Only sometimes not feeling can be good maybe.