The Gift Of Question

I consider a question is a gift.

I think I am built out of questions, or answers I was able to answer because nobody attractive was around.  Attractive is important because I would not buy anything from someone who was not attractive.  People who are not attractive have unattractive opinions, so why would I add something unattractive to myself?  I search for the right direction to send my proteins to manufacture my body based on attraction, so does everyone, I guess.

But what if there weren’t any direction, any preference, any attraction, any choice?  Something flashes through our body for a nano-second to disappear completely.  Why would it disappear, or become disconnected?  Maybe one part of the existing wiring is worn out?   I pretend to have a disconnection.  Now I need to line up the known to catch the missing fragment which is hard to catch.  Some days when it is sunny outside, people and animals provide the relaxed, warm, constant energy field and the broken part seems to work up to just a little distraction. The little distraction can be the lost string of memory, or the confusing string of perception which ruins the whole picture; the whole picture is searching for the attraction to be able to produce the proteins, to survive, otherwise the new cells are mess.

When I have a headache, my system presses me to make a decision, but I do not know what to decide because a part of the knowing is missing.  I welcome all possiblities.  I get overwhelmed. How can I put up with the mass of uncontrolled sensory inputs?

I do better relying on details.  I will never fall in love with the whole face, just with the corner of a lip, or the fabric of a shirt; a lipstick, or a nail polished in blue.  I get the all stuffed animals out of my bedroom, I don’t have time for analyzing the dysfunction of fake stuff.  I keep the laundry basket where I feel that all of my body is finally secure, and will not require my mind to supervise it constantly.  Now I can think, and get my missing parts together. The missing parts need to make sense to direct the new cells.

I try to put many things in lines, in order, to copy the missing part.  It makes me extremely busy filtering the whole avalanche of  stimuli. I get black outs. I have to learn to slow down and manually shutter my system so I don’t overload and black out.  These   ‘little deaths’ make me exhausted. The most important thing is not to lose the control and keep going.  Noone really knows what’s  going on with me.  Only me.

Everything and everyone can potentially shut off my system and cause one of these little deaths.   At any time.  People treat me like a stuffed animal with a whole bunch of misunderstanding.   There no way I can tell them what I am dealing with.  It doesn’t get through my shell.  I am telling you, that I do understand you and I do everything the best I can, please believe me!  I cannot give you any feedback about you and continue any dialogue, I am cut off.  Maybe it was the heavy metals, maybe DNA, maybe insects, maybe I am just too scared to let go to what I hang on. I hang on to God.

I hang on inside the laundry basket.  I exist as  you with all my perceptions when you are around;  I hang on as you.  This way I am less disconnected.  I drink in your emotions and pretend to be you to escape the flexible freedom of full control and full responsibility, because I am not equipped for this, yet.  I suffer with you and get frustrated with your frustration, love with you what you love and laugh about what you laugh about.  I am you.   I can’t look at you, because I know that you will catch me stealing.  Stealing the whole thing which makes you whole, and dictates your preferences, to direct your cells and build your proteins in the proper way.

I get lost with questions. They reveal the absence of my ability to take care of myself.  They highlight the fact that my responsibility is not achievable. They remind me of my inadequacy. They make me shut down, so far down that it doesn’t matter how much I climb up. They cause the black outs.  Please don’t ask me questions.  Even though you don’t ask me direct questions; asking me to stand up, makes me paralyzed.  Any decision makes me paralyzed. The tunnel closes more tightly when I feel the pressure of the request, or silence on the end of the question.  Please, don’t request or ask me any question. One day I will figure it all out, I am working on it, I do my best, please be gentle and nice to me.

Thank you.