Reblog: Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks on difference

The test of faith is whether I can make space for difference. Can I recognize God’s image in someone who is not in my image, whose language, faith, ideal, are different from mine? If I cannot, then I have made God in my image – Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks zt”l, 1948-2020

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks on difference

Thanks for sharing this!

I love this quote. It bothers me a lot when people judge others and don’t accept them. Be whomever you want to be. And accept others. If you believe in any consciousness or source of the universe you’ll believe we’re all the same energy. We’re all one. No matter the differences.

Rest in peace. Baruch Dayan Haemet.

Is this what staying with reality looks like?

A repost of my last post about sitting with the pain. That I woke myself up now coz can't stay with it, can't let myself think about it, but I haven't done anything and maybe that's what it means.

This is what I wrote on instagram now. The last line is what I’m thinking about here. (It will be easier to understand if you’ve read what I wrote here.) I said that the truth is I still don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve woken myself up, but I haven’t done anything. What I missed out is that maybe this is what being with it looks like. Shaking in bed. Putting on music. Not letting myself think at all because I can’t think about it. Maybe this is what staying with reality is about. I wonder. I wonder if that’s what the real world looks like. The not knowing. The just letting the not knowing be. And nor knowing a lil bit more.

Sitting with reality

Something just happened. It huts too close to home for me to write about it yet. And, I don’t know how to handle it or what to do with myself. I don’t feel anything for it would hurt too much so it doesn’t yet hurt at all.

Just sitting with it
Just being with it
The I don’t know what to do with myself
I DON’T know what to do with myself .
Too much
Too big
I don’t know what to do.
Just be with it
Just let it be
The too much
The emptiness
The lack
The shaking
The nothingness
I don’t know what to do with myself.
I don’t need to know.
I don’t need to act on it.
I don’t need to make it okay
For it just isn’t okay.
I don’t need to do anything.
There isn’t anything to do
Just be
Just let it be
I don’t know what to do with myself.
Maybe I don’t need to know
Maybe, just maybe,
I don’t need to do anything
Maybe I can lie here
And do nothing, knowing that
I don’t know what to do with myself
And I don’t need to know. Maybe.

I find it a little funny how sometimes I talk such sense. Funny because I’m living it. I don’t know what to do with myself. And I’m just stating for now with the not knowing. I find it kinda funny how in some ways I talk and live such sense, when I’m also destroying myself.

I don’t know what to do with myself. And for the past few hours I’ve just stayed with it. With the not knowing. Without acting on it. Just doing nothing. And being unsure what on earth to do. And doing nothing. Just being with it.

… 3

Why is it that the people who want to live, die, and the people who want to die, live?

So long as there is life, there is hope.

Love, light, and glitter

TW: Thinking about the thoughts of using.

Trigger warning. Please do not read this if it could trigger or disrupt you in any way.

I was thinking. About how much I think about using cocodamol. Just a few. Just to see if it helps. I liked bgddyjim’s post. It got me thinking. How using, which I think of so often, even just to see, will ultimately end in suicide. Well, I’ve always known that.

I realised that thinking of using is an instinctive thought. And it makes sense it is so instinctive because it is something that has helped me in the past and would help me in the present. I know if I start it’ll end up with suicide because eventually I’ll go back to the plan I had (which involved using), which however much is/was designed to fail, it was designed with different things in mind and I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. The thoughts of self harming (which are pretty much as constant as using – it goes, I wonder what would happen if I use or self harm) are more real, especially because, well, no because. It’s just that I do more. I’ve not done anything that would scar and I hope I don’t – I really don’t want more scars. I guess self harming doesn’t take me down the same tracks (to suicide) as using does. And I don’t count anything I do to myself as anything related to self harm. (I guess yay me for finally acknowledging that what I do probably comes under the category of self harm – even if and though I dont think that’s really why I’m doing it.) I guess it’s a bit like my issues with food. It’s not okay and will have to change one day but I’m leaving it on the backburner and not making it into a bigger deal than it is, and when I can deal with it I will.

My goal for the new year is to by the end of the next year have thrown away all that I have collected. Thinking about it, I haven’t bought any more in a long while. Thinking of using can be really real. I can and do visualise myself taking some. Opening a box and taking a few. I can feel, smell and sorta taste it. More often than I’d like. But in reality it isn’t what I want.

More than I want to use, I want to be okay.  More than I want to cut off from it – my world, life, everything – I want to be present and learn to live with all that I don’t know. So, it’s the realisation. That I’ve been thinking of using lots, and it’s quote on quote normal. It makes sense that I’ll think of doing something that helped me in the past and would help me. It doesn’t mean I’ll act on it. It doesn’t mean I have to act on it. It doesn’t have to define me.

And I get to choose. I have a choice. I choose, for this moment in time, I choose life. I choose, for this moment in time, to see all the possibilities, all that could be. I choose, for this moment in time, to believe in hope, in change, in growth, in a future. I choose, for this moment in time, to believe that I’m worthy of that future and that even if I don’t deserve it, I can get to live with it anyways. I choose life. For this moment I choose life.

Random 273

Tried to sleep but was thinking and shaking so was up. I’m not sure if I should really post this.

I’m stupid. Still shaking after an hour plus. It gets annoying when it goes on and there’s no discernable cause. So I went onto my private diary to write about it for tired of whinging and whining where people can see. And began reading the first few posts I wrote there. The letters I wrote to myself are awesome. Just, I wish I could cry. I’m not there now – it’s when I was OD’ing daily – and just, I dont know. I cant stay on there for it has triggered me. I’m in a good place. I’m tired – it’s late. I want to trigger myself. I dont really.  I want to want to go back there. I want to want to use. I sort of want to use. It was hell and I never want to go through it again and I’m not sure how I survived. Purely on a physical level. I lost a heck of a lot of weight at the time. Constantly got ‘compliments ‘ that you look so good, you lost so much weight. I hadn’t known people thought I didnt look good. Now I knew what they thought.

The playing with the edge. The contradictions. The need for destruction and desire to live life and acting on both and trying not to cross over either line.

The sides are still there. Now I’m beginning to tear. If I let myself, cry. I just don’t talk about it coz its pointless. I don’t engage with it much either. I let it be. I write what I want to do to myself in graphic detail. Never in public of course. If it wasn’t myself writing itd be the most triggering thing possible. I’d never known I could be gruesome. Sometimes I’ll sketch what I want to do to myself. I draw horrendously. It’s cathartic. Makes it real what I want. Real enough that I don’t have to engage with it.

I’m tired. And sad. I’m saying I’m sad but in actuality I’m not sad at all. I don’t actually feel anything. Well, I slightly can’t breathe but that’s been for a couple of hours. I’m shaking which has been for as long. And it’s not negative. It just is.

This is turning into way more of a journal entry than I planned. I want to go back there. I don’t. I want to want to. I don’t know. Yeah, tomorrow is a new day. Just that there is nothing wrong now so I don’t need the tomorrow is a new day.

I was thinking earlier that I wanted to write a post on safety. Well 3 different posts of things I want to write. Part of what I was thinking about when I was trying to sleep and shaking. One of the things was  is, the conversation I had with S. Before putting down the phone she asked me if I felt safe. I replied that I didn’t feel unsafe. And she said she guesses that is as much as shell her from me. I never feel safe. I don’t feel unsafe. And that is actually one of the most amazing things ever. That I’m okay. That I don’t feel unsafe. What was I trying to say? Oh, that I don’t feel unsafe right now. Which is good. Coz I am okay.

Not sure what I am trying to say.

Sadness

I’m sad. I wonder if I have a way to express what I’m thinking. Unless it flows, and the words just work, it doesn’t happen. I don’t do analysing what I write. Either I write. Or I don’t.

I’m sad. Have been since Thursday. Since he killed himself. He killed himself. I didn’t know him. It hurts me so much. That he didn’t see another option. It hits really close to home. He’s from the community I’m as of now still a part of. The community she was in when she killed herself a few months ago. It hurts. I’m sad.

He’ll never have another chance. He chose this. He chose death. He didn’t know that there was a better option. He didn’t know that if he held onto life he may actually be grateful for that choice. One day. Is the years in between, from choosing life, to being grateful for the choice, worth it? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I’m angry with him. For choosing death. When I chose life. I held on. It’s not fair that he shouldn’t have had to do that.

I’m sad. And I’m actually, surprisingly, living with the sadness. I’m living with it. I’m breathing it. I’ve never done that before. Never felt what was going on before. My head hurts with it. My heart hurts with it. I’m spending every night crying or shaking or not sleeping. Shaking in the sense of letting go. Shaking can be because of adrenaline, or it can be the bodies way of letting go. That’s what I’ve been doing. Letting myself experience it. Some of the time. The rest of the time I’m ignoring it. Just living through the day. Enjoying the moments. Being grateful for the days. And then when it comes to the evening when I no longer have time ignore it, feeling it. Living with it. I don’t know what it means like to feel anything. I don’t know how I know what I feel. I don’t know where it is. What it is. I just know that it is. That I’m living it. That I guess I’m proud of myself for doing so.

I’m tired of being sad. I’m tired of feeling it. I’m tired of feeling. I know that if I take some cocodamol, or if I self harm, I won’t be sad any longer. If I use I’ll be living in the zone, the zone I’ve forgotten what it feels like, cut off, distant, hazy. If I self harm I’ll be experiencing something different, something other than the constant, seemingly never ending sadness.

It’s not really never ending. The sadness isn’t as intense or as all encompassing as it was. I guess. However never ending it seems and however tired I am of it.

I’m sad. He killed himself. He didn’t see another choice, so chose the only thing he knew was there. And, that’s that I guess. He chose death. And I’m sad. My head is seriously throbbing with it. I relate way too much and there’s way too much of my own life tangled into this, even though I’ve not been able to untangle the threads and see what is about him and what is about me.

Love, light and glitter

Eliza

Trigger warning. Why is it fair?

He killed himself. I don’t even know him. He died yesterday. He lived across the road from her. She ended her life in January. I don’t know why anyone told me. I don’t know. It’s not fair. Why? Why is there so much darkness in the world that no light could penetrate? Why is it fair that his life has been taken from him when he has an entire life to still live? He could have had such joy, such light, a life full of meaning, and now he’ll never experience it. Why is that fair? Why? Why do the world stand by? Why is there no resources? They started some sort of helpline here. If you’re asking me, it’s nowhere near enough. A night for men, a night for women, and a day each. That’s nothing. Not a drop in the ocean. And referrals to resources, do you have a list of resources? I wanted to get in touch with the organisers. I still do. I still will. Why? Why is there such darkness in the world? Darkness is a lack of light. So the question isn’t really that. It’s more why is there no light? And why is there such pain that the darkness becomes an entity on its’ own rather than just a lack? It’s not fair. He’ll never know what could’ve been…..

Why is it fair? Why is it fair that an innocent boy doesn’t see another choice? Why is it fair that he is never going to see all that could have been? Why is it fair that he’ll never see another sunrise or sunset? Why is it fair that his family will never see him smile again? Why is it fair that his family will wonder what they could have done? Why is it fair that he will never open his eyes to another day? Why is it fair that he can never have another choice? Why is it fair that he won’t have one last breath? Why is it fair? Why is it fair? Why? Why? Why? Why is it fair? How can it be? How can the world be? How can such darkness exist? How can there be no place for the light to penetrate? How can the walls collapse so far inwards that there’s never another choice? Why? Why? Why?

And why is it fair that it takes something so sad to show me that I’m able to experience pain? That I’m able to cry over it even though I can never ever cry? Why is it fair that something so sad shows me in comparison to last time that I’m in a better place? Why is it fair that it takes this to show me I don’t want suicide any longer? Why is it fair? Why? Why? Why is it fair?

Why? Why? Why? Why? How can it be? Why? How can anyone live through another day knowing they didn’t do anything? Why? Why is it fair? Why?

Why? Why is it fair? How is it fair? Why? Why? Why?

Why is it fair? He’ll never get to see his siblings smile. He’ll never see the ocean. He’ll never see colours. He’ll never see. He’ll won’t be here for another moment of life. Why? How is it fair? How can it be? Why is it fair? How is it possible? Why? Why? Why? Why is it fair?

So long as there’s life, there’s hope. There’s no longer any hope left for him. For he isn’t here for it. He isn’t here to see that there’s another choice. He isn’t here to see that as long as there’s life, there’s choice. He isn’t here to see all that could’ve been. He isn’t here. Why? Why? Why is it fair? How is it fair? Why? Why is it fair?

Why? Why is it fair??????????????? Why?

Why is it fair??