(Today I paid out rather more money than I cared to afford in order to be rid of one of them, only it hasn’t worked. It’s simply changed the nature of the issue. What then? I also made the phone call to arrange to do something I’ve been dreading for over a year – and still am.)
What do you do when you wake up prematurely every morning with a painful knot of anxiety in your midriff, and so going to bed is difficult because you know what’s coming next and it isn’t very nice? Go to a doctor and get anti-stress medication? I don’t think so. How would I be aware of the things I want to be aware of and feel the things I want to feel if I started taking zombie pills? And how would I retain the mental faculty to express the things I want to express (I would have to stop throwing pithy paper darts at Trump, for example, and that would be a gross dereliction of my duty as a concerned inhabitant of the earth realm.)
So what do you do? As far as I can see, the only thing to do is carry on putting one foot in front of the other, shouldering the weight of cares and trying to ignore the repetitive hammer blows to the head. I suppose that’s what you do. And you push aside the nasty little imp who keeps telling you to give up and just go because the effort isn’t worth it. I never was one for taking advice.
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I was told recently that I’m a person of higher frequency, and that such people comprise 1% of the population. Ha! Do I believe it? I don’t do belief but I’m open to anything which can’t be disproved, so maybe. I do exhibit most of the proclaimed symptoms and they do make life difficult, but there’s a problem. Such people are apparently supposed to be ‘light workers’, whatever they are. In that at least I can claim to be a total failure without fear of being accused of unwarranted self-deprecation.