My Diary place

@Avaray

Hello banana

We on this part of the world are a little grumping with the having to stay at home but I guess Christmas will be here soon, so.. does it make it better.. maybe! I have no school until the autumn, plus no swimming or yelling at the geese at the park. Hopefully, we will both be let out soon. Mommy is working from home as well, on the Skype thing which means I have to be careful not to be seen. I normally crawl in if I need something. My family is ok, I keep checking and they seem to be somewhat bored/grumpy but at least not in hospital or anything. Does this make sense to you? It is from a book

Body: I feel like Im not here, Im floating around. A separate part of me is aware of all my movements; its like Ive left my body. Even when Im talking, I dont feel like it is my words.
Mind: My mind and body are somehow not connected, its like my body is doing one thing and my mind is saying another. Like my mind is somewhere off to the back, not inside my body.
Vision Its like glass over my eyes, a visual fog totally flat and two-dimensional.
Agency (feeling in control of ones actions): I feel Im not really here, Im distant. Im going through the motions like a robot

• Feeling unreal by Jeffrey Abugel

I was hoping to understand what you are going through, so does that kind of match? It had a feeling part but it did not make sense. It kind of would not helped me understand if it did not make sense. Well done on passing your most recent exam, that is the one that you did not finish all the questions I think. So, it is good you passed. I hope that Benji is being a good doggy now or getting in less trouble at least. Any who, be good Avaray.

*spacesuit hugs*

@AmalieAnne

Banana that's a new one cheeky chop 😜

Yes one can get a bit of "cabin fever" i wonder if the geese have missed you too 😃

I'm glad you're all ok though xx

My psychologist is also doing the over the net sessions which is quite strange to get used to although now if i don't want him to see me i can just cover the camera 😂 but that would be defeating the whole object i suppose.

Yes the unreal thing is hard to explain I've been trying to find words to be able to discribe it so I can explain the physicalness (I think I may have just made that word up, not sure if there is that word, anyway got sidetract) The floating thing is not really the feeling although I know some people do describe it like that but it's like your body is yours I know I'm in my body but like my body is just ? But then since therapy parts of me feel/look more real, like everything "lines up" to be and feel "real" your vision your physical and your emotions. Maybe to discribe it as disconnected from the feeling of the realness of it etc.

I sound like a fruitloop 😂

Maybe it's the spacesuit I've been wearing.... Hmmm Houston maybe that's the problem... It's the space suit and when I take it off then i feel the real. I don't know.

Pooch is a sweety he shows his excitement in his whole body if he's happy to see you he'll run and almost colide with you and then he'll almost jump like a little buck in the same spot just expressing his excitement.

Any how kiddo.

Keep safe.

Spacesuit hugs back xx

@Avaray

Hello again Banana,

If you can call me cheeky chops, I can call you something but not really decided on your pet name yet. I also have cabin fever but hopefully things here will be getting back to normal soon, really want to go swimming with mommy. Plus, lots of other places but kind of miss swimming including the park but not any geese. Was just think about swimming last night. We have been doing some counselling things over the computer but I kind of want to hide as well. Hoping yours is going well, I am not sure how to do anything therapy when I cannot eat my therapist

So I conducted a few interviews for this and I kind of wrote it weird narrative which I am hoping works. It is designed change quickly. Other than that, here we go...

Collapsing Reality in Confusion

As he lifted his head, a sort of smile came to his face, although not for long, as tears replaced the comfort that he wished. He looked up at the direction of the light that was blowing his clothing, making them seamlessly lift away from his body. A sharp impending thought entered my mind, something that for a long time, ever since I'd grown from baby to person, has always been there. This was my chance; maybe the only one I would ever have to make sure that he got what he really wanted. I took his chin into my hand, the light reflecting against his face, although not painfully or even directly so. That was just one of the things that happened, no one had ever told me or at least I'd never figured out why, when I was about to grant something, the light entered. It's only ever been something that has happened whilst I've known it has been my purpose in life to grant. A hand full of experiences is not much to discover who or what this was all truly about. However, its' always been known to me that the people I have chosen to grant, are in pain. Feeling that pain inside my heart, knowing that it's something that I could not stand to let happen, and knowing that I could always fix it. As I turned to stand directly in front of him, lowering my head in the process I spoke the words to him and hoped he would already know what was going to be whispered.

"It is time, the time to end this all. You're going to be changed." I tried to smile; however, the fear of what was about to happen hit me faster than I thought. I could feel his warm tears as they rolled down his face, coming into contact with my hand still touching and holding his chin.

"I am scared… what's happening...." He said as both his hands went to grip his stomach, as if he was in pain.

"Don't worry, it will be done soon." My voice started to break up as I ended the sentence. The pain was screaming throughout my body, lifting away from my heart to start with, and then entering the rest of me. It was almost like someone pouring melted wax onto your skin. At first the burning, along with the pain is the only feeling, but after that pain ceases, it leaves only the constricted, tightened essence. My hand on his chin became the lock for the transfer; I could feel my warm blood leaking from my arm and entering into his face. Although at this time I closed my eyes, as each passing moment transpired, it became more about being aware of feeling the room we were both in, rather than working from the data that my limited senses allowed me to feel. The transfer became more powerful and painful until the light became stronger to the extent it blocked everything out, including what I felt. The pain reached its completion and everything stopped, all that happened died down into a void.

****

I woke up shaking on the floor, most likely from the cold produced from the sweat-wet clothes that I had been wearing what looks like to be all night. My head was aching, although this was one of the features mornings often had to offer me. As I lifted my head from the resting place on the floor, I saw that my body had been curled up with unusual ability, almost in a childlike way. Abruptly the feeling from the rest of my body hit me, forcing my head back down to the former resting place on the blue carpet. Taken back from this, all I could really do was just stay there until either the energy or increasing need to move, made something happen. As I twisted my body around, so that I ended up lying on my back I remembered something. Being very unsure about whether it was just a dream or a fragment of some other memory that had somehow found its own way into my mind. Rather than being a sentence or something remotely touchable, it was just the warm feeling of something similar I had when I was younger. It was the feeling of the sun hitting my face, whilst I was in one of the many holiday villas I had spent time in as a child. Although somehow, with a great degree of difference, something irritated me about this single recollection. Something about it, did scare me, it was like a reflection of something familiar.

It was not until I touched my face, I realized the amount of blood that had come from somewhere. The need to move arose as I jumped up, and ran across to the mirror. I'd always been scared of my blood, especially losing blood and although it might sound really ludicrous, I never wanted anyone else to come into contact with it. I'd for the better part of my life been able to avoid blood tests, and had been careful to make sure that I would not cut myself in the process of doing anything. Always taking more time, and moving my body with precision. As I checked my face, arms and hands, I could not find the source of all the bleeding. I also thought it eerie that only my face had dried blood on it, nothing else, including the area of carpet that my head had been resting upon. I proceeded to walk quickly to the bathroom, making sure that no one else would accidentally see me in this state and presume wrong things. After washing my face, making sure that the face cloth and the sink had no evidence on them of whatever happen, I went back to my room to change. I thought to myself while changing the wet clothes that something was wrong. Like one of these feelings you've forgotten something, something bad that happened, although it had escaped your mind at this time for some reason. A justification of the depressed feelings you had impelling on your lungs. Only when you have noticed what it was, that had grown wings to fly away from your mind, were you able to reassure yourself it was not bad enough to feel so depressed about.

Placing my clothes in the laundry basket as I walked downstairs, the normal daily activities for a Saturday came to my mind. First of all, without any argument, it was time for coffee, but walking down the stairs more slowly than normally a thought appeared to me, that the blood might have in fact come from a nose bleed. Although that did not explain why I was sleeping on the floor, not on the bed and why it was that the blood was dry on my face, not anywhere else. I've always been one of those people concerned too much about the small details rather than anything else. However, ever since I remember it's been important to remember the small details, it's something that had to be done. Almost a responsibility of mine to make sure that what I call my gift is always used for what it should be used for. Every small detail is somehow related to it. Gift, that's a new way of mine of seeing my life through a more positive glass though most of the time I prefer to call it something worse. My 'gift' is a little hard to explain, without knowing what it feels like. It's almost like sensing peoples inner most desires and their strongest wills that are even mostly hidden from them but also drives them continuously. In general, most people are the same on the inside, they all want inner comfort and to be important to at least one person, to be loved as well. I don't mean those sorts of desires; I mean exactly what people want, whether it be fewer responsibilities, acceptance or to burst out in song in front of people.

Although in general, we are all the same, we are all very different in the one thing that we want. The scariest thing about my gift is that sometimes I can make it happen and people regret calling me freak for saying something stupid. I do not blame them for calling me a freak or weirdo, I think that I am but there is a self-acceptance to such a thing. As I walked into the kitchen I jumped back in alarm, one of my housemates has been already up. I wondered what the time was since I had not checked since I woke up on my bedroom floor, although I was quite assured that I knew what day it was, not losing it yet at least. Emily, one of the two people I shared a house with for the past four years, was just one of those lovely people you just happen to meet. Sweet as a cooking apple, intelligent to go far in life, but she had one really astounding quality; she was one of those naturally really great looking people. Even now with rubber gloves on, doing some washing up, she looked better than I could even if I tried for hours. Although I knew I would never end up marrying this beautiful woman, I made it my business to flirt and she made me feel really alive when I was around her. I wished that she would one day marry me, nonetheless it would never happen. It turned out we did not talk as much on this occasion, but she laughed, while turning back to look at her dirty dishes after I made my rather jumpy entrance. Walking across the kitchen I made one of my comments.

"You know, you really do look good in those gloves. You really should do the washing up more often; I think it would be good for both of us!" Turning on the kettle as I finished talking, then moving to stand behind her whilst she made circle moments with a dish cloth.

"Don't be cheeky Andrew; it's too early to beat you up!" Not even lifting her head up.

I walked closer to her, and kissed her on the top of her head. Her hair smelt sweet like it always does, even though I was not really sure of what it smelt of on this occasion. I said softly but playfully, "Don't worry, you can buy one of those new dishwashers so you can concentrate your efforts on cleaning my underpants. I know that's what you really want to do with your days off." She giggled, and then turned around to threaten me with the dishcloth.

"Hey, put the dish cloth down and step away from the sink. We can sort this out, just don't do anything you'll regret later on", as I started to laugh at my own predictable comments.

She put the dish cloth down, and stepped a little closer to me. Her face turned from a smile to an almost tearful, painful expression I'd only ever seen a few times in her. In the last attempt to cheer her up something bluntly came out, "don't worry, I will get someone else to clean my underpants if you want?"

"Its' not that although no, do your own laundry, I am going to see the dentist on Monday about my teeth. I am so conscious about them; I really do want him to do something about how they look." Stepping closer towards me, so my arms automatically enclosed her into a hug.

"What do you mean your teeth?" Almost shocked since she was perfect in every way possible.

"They're just so straight, and they look horrible!" Her eyes filling with tears, as she looked at me. I could feel something was really wrong, actually I thought that this might all be a dream or a joke that she was playing with me. Still, it was not that, I felt her pain and of course, my stupid 'gift' was confusing with what I knew to be true. Emily had been born with the most perfect set of teeth known to humankind; I did not know why she was so upset. I must have murmured something else to her, along the lines of that I would support her, but to be honest, I was just so confused that I did not know what to say. Very much unlike me, I normally know what to say and how to say it.

****

The weekend passed quickly, although I must say it was not like any other, I had been through. Little things kept playing on my mind, maybe it was just Emily and what she said about her teeth playing at the back of my mind all the time. I don't know, it was certainly something and everyone seemed to be different in some way. I only thought about what I had woken up to on Saturday morning a couple of times, still like with everything else there was a piece missing. It just so happens that the piece of information missing was the piece that linked what I knew with what I did not know, frustrating as well as silently scary. Monday morning came like every other Monday morning, I think most people walk around in shock not expecting it to come, well I know that I do at least. If I am going to be late, it's normally this day of the week and quite like normal Emily was already up, ready to go when I rushed downstairs, tie around my neck waiting to be done. "Sorry, running late." I said as she lodged a piece of toast in my mouth, another reason this woman is great I thought to myself.

"Tell me when you're not! That way you'll save on words bunny just dont sleep on the carpet again. Come on, let's go." She said walking towards the front door. "Bye Jane, " she shouted out, Jane our other housemate shouted something back, but I did not hear it. Jane sort of likes to keep herself to herself, and it was not like we'd ever been that close to each other. Emily was wearing her light brown hair up today, the way that I loved it. Well, if the general impression is that I love everything about this woman, then it's rightly placed. We did not share a bed, or even a room, but we had been going out in a sort of way, for the last few months but friends since 1965 so a few years. Maybe she was using me until she found someone much better, or just waiting for me to move on the whole relationship question, maybe ask her to marry me. Still, I did not want to rush things; I was so scared of losing what I already had with her. I often joked with myself that if only my gift was to mind read it would be so much better for me; at least I would gain something from it then. Don't get me wrong, I'd always gotten a lot out of changing people's lives, helping them, but it was that, well, I would never benefit from it, I don't see how I could.

As I followed Emily to the car, she repeated what she had said on Saturday morning, something which in my already confused state I did not want to hear. "I am going to the dentists today, to ask about my teeth". She said as if it was a statement, although I could tell it was more like a question and a want for approval.

"Ok, well please just talk to him about stuff and then we can talk about it together tonight, before you get anything done." She seemed quite happy with that, and got into the drivers' side of the car. I think that she did not trust me to drive when I was running late, something to do with almost running over a cat about a year before. I was in a rush, and was not paying that much attention I do admit. Still, I did not hurt the cat in any way.

As we, or Emily shall I say drove to work I looked across the car to see the church that so often reminded me of how all this started. I was about 20 or so, when I first used my gift to change someone else's life. Before that I had always known inside me there was something that I could do. It was a cold winter's day and for the first time I walked into that church for some irrational reason, which is still unknown to me. I saw this man that could not find a job, he was poor as hell, maybe a word I should not use in conjunction with a church. Anyway, I felt his pain when I walked into that church, I felt the disappointment in himself failing to provide, as he saw it, for his wife and two daughters. I just knew all this without even knowing him or even uttering a word to him. As I walked to the front of the church, he turned and looked at me with an almost terrified look on his face. What happened next is not really that believable and is harder to explain. It was almost like everything around us became air, the other people failed to even notice us and what happened afterwards. I was driven by some God, and as I placed my hand on his head the church started to get brighter and my heart started beating a million times faster. My whole body started hurting, as I tried to lift my hand away from his head, I could not, it hurt more and my arm was no longer controlled by me.

I closed my eyes for a second, and for a while it felt like I became everything in the world. I could feel the wind, the sun, light, darkness, it was overwhelming. Then the light got so bright I could not see anything, almost at the same point I started to panic as I thought that my hand was bleeding. I'd always been scared of bleeding, and it was made worse by not being able to move or even see my hand. After what felt like a good ten minutes, although most likely a few seconds, everything went back to normal. Then I removed my hand from the man's head, and he said thank you. I was almost in tears, and ran out of the church, to head home. I thought that I had gone crazy; I'd only just decided to graduate in three more years to become a psychotherapist, which maybe should have given me an insight. After that experience it only had happened three more times, at least I thought that it had. I am unsure for some reason, most likely nothing but a random feeling though.

I almost snapped out of that memory, when Emily pulled into the car park of the hospital that we both worked in. She was the up and flying psychiatrist and I was the psychotherapist, who almost no one wanted to listen since I was not experienced enough to change the system. One thing I learnt from the department of mental illness in this hospital is that most of the people paid to help others, are often in need of a lot of help themselves. I know that I do, so many times I thought that I was crazy or having some weird manic delusions about my whole gift thing. Or maybe it was just comfortable to sit behind a mental health problem, either way I always kept this to myself. That man in the church, my first time of granting, I later read in the paper he came up with an invention that made him millions, no doubt he moved up in the world. I am glad for him, although maybe he could have shared the wealth since I get paid much less than Emily for doing more work!

When I stepped out of the car, I felt like someone had hit me a full-blown smack in the stomach. I saw three of my work colleagues wearing really stupid clothing; they looked somewhat out of the future. One person, Lisa, the general manager of red tape, as I call it, for our department was wearing no make-up. I don't mean that to sound rude, but with her fancy-dress outfit and her normal heavy applied make-up missing, it did somewhat shock me. I started to laugh to myself as she walked into the main building entrance, to which Emily had already walked through herself stopping and giving me a most weird look, like I had committed an act of a crazy man. "What is it?" She snapped at me.

"Did you notice anything about Lisa today? Anything unusual at all?" I admit I expected her to agree with the direction of my thoughts.
Emily continued to walk through the main entrance without answering, with me closely following behind her, quite not seeming to ever catch up at any point. I spent the morning trying to hide anyway, and at lunch time I went to Emily's office, located three rooms away from mine on the left. She had her door open like it normally is, so I just walked in, but unlike normal as soon as I stepped close to her desk, I looked at her client list for that day. Thankfully, I was not on it, although I half expected myself to be. There was something wrong with either myself or everyone else, it had not appeared until now. There were too many weird things going on like people had forgotten what it was like to be… well normal. Rather than making an effort towards this standard, they were all trying to move away from it. This is too crazy; I think that I've gone mad!

****

It was now the end of the day; Emily had already gone home since she left early to see the dentist. This had been one of the weirdest days that I've been through in a long time. It hit 5:30pm and I really wanted to make my way out of the hospital, to start on my not so long walk home. However, everyone seemed to be trying to stop me, first of all one of the nurses from the ward kept asking me to stay although she would not tell me why. She kept saying that it was better for me to stay here for a while, might be because of a surprise party held in my honour. Still, it was not my birthday and I had not done anything worthy of a party for, well in a long time. I sort of had to rudely push past her to get out, only to be almost shouted at by Lisa, who was sitting at the reception at the end of the ward. I rushed past her saying something like; sorry I am in a real rush and have to get home. I don't know what it was with these people today. I got to the hospital main entrance, walking out while doing up my long black coat. It always keeps me warm on cold winter days like today, I love this coat. Walking in the direction of home, I noticed how dark it was and it was getting colder along with it.

As I walked down the path, I felt something hit me in the stomach, and something else was holding me back. I could see nothing stopping me, but for some reason, I could not move without applying a large amount of force to my movements. It was like walking in water, you always have to be much slower and find difficulty in moving. A single flash of blue light hit my eyes, as the pain from my stomach made me head-towards the floor, my hands softening my landing although only to a small extent. As my face hit the ground, an explosion of thought happened in my head. I remembered what I did, what happened on Friday night. I know why I had dried blood on my face, why it was that I woke up on the carpet and why Emily and everyone else had changed. This was the first time I had ever noticed that along with everyone else I actually had a single desire. It would make sense that, since I had a gift & the desire for that one special thing that these two would come together in union at some point. Still, it's more than just making sense, I remember it happening, I remember being both the person receiving the gift and the one granting the gift. I had been two different people at the same time, and had granted myself my one desire. But rather than it working, something had gone wrong. Maybe it was that I could never grant myself, it could have been one of the rules of this game. I woke up with blood on my face, since when I was granting my hand, which was holding my own chin, blood had poured out of my hand onto his, rather my face. The light could have dried the blood.

In the normal process of granting the person's life is changed for the better. On this occasion what had happened is that rather than me being changed everyone else in the world had, slowly, started to change instead. This explains the crazy comments that Emily made about her teeth being nice and straight. It also explained why the people around me, Lisa for example, looked so very different. I had single-handedly changed the worlds perception. I said out loud: "what have I done?" I knew this, even now resting on the floor in pain, that this was all wrong. I got an abrupt hit of more pain....

****

"Hello Andrew, my name is Doctor Freehold; I am one of the psychiatrists. Although I don't normally work in the same ward that you're in." She looked at Andrew, a man of 23 years old who had a very strong form of psychosis. Doctor Freehold herself an experienced doctor had been working part time after an unsuccessful retirement and now aged in her 70s took more interest in unusual cases.

She continued, "Do you remember last night at all? You broke out of ward 11 and then decided to break into my office on ward 10. You then went through my medical books, and wrote a very interesting story on my wall in black ink. I am very interested in how much you believe in your fairy-tale, about someone called Emily and a thing you called your gift. Is that Emily me, Andrew? I don't believe we have met before, have we?" He looked down after looking directly at her and did not attempt to answer her at all.

So, she went on, "You tried to walk out, but when one of the nurses found you, you pushed passed her. She followed you outside while someone else called the police. In the end they accidentally knocked you out, because you completely ignored them and tried to continue away from the hospital. I hope that you understand that, someone in your condition, we could not simply let you go. You'd end up hurting yourself and maybe even other people. Andrew, do you understand? ... Andrew...."

After a couple of minutes of silence, a nurse walked in, and whispered something in my ear. "Emily, we found a large amount of Andrews's medication hidden under his bed. He has not been taking it, we can only presume." Luckily Andrew did not even notice the nurse coming into the room; he just seemed to be staring out of the window at this point. It was a cold November day. For some reason Emily thought back to her honeymoon with her husband, part of the reason she did not completely retire was because he died in 1988. She turned her attention back to Andrew, and thought to herself that I had actually seen him somewhere else. I have not seen him as a doctor in this hospital, somewhere else possibly. A cold shiver went down her back. Just then Andrew turned and said something to me. "I have a gift; I can read peoples minds. Sometimes I can even live their memories for a short while. In an odd kind of way that is." He said, turning back around to stare out the window when he had finished talking.

"Andrew, it's very wrong to think that." Emily said. Then, with horror she realized that once her soon to be husband whose office is three doors down and to the right from hers, had said something about waking up on the floor a couple of years ago, in what is now his old room. She also realized that on Monday mornings, her soon to be husband would always be running late, she always would drive to work. Since he about a year before that and a half ago had almost run over a cat. She didn't trust him to drive when he was running late. She then realized with shock that this 23-year-old had written her memories on her own office walls.

Andrew then turned and smiled. He started to talk I have missed you; my one desire was always to be with you and I have. As tears replaced the comfort that he wished he went on, It is time Emily For some reason Emily knew what he was saying and knew that he had come back. A light started to blow their clothing, making them seamlessly lift away from their bodies. Andrew continued " You're not going to be changed but don't be scared." He tried to smile; however, the fear of what was about to happen hit him faster than he thought. He could feel his warm tears as they rolled down his face. Both of them knew they was no need to be scared or even ask what was happening. Emily softy said Thank you for not making me go through this alone

At this time, they closed their eyes, as each passing moment transpired, it became more about being aware of feeling the room we were both in, rather than working from the data that my limited senses allowed them to feel. The transfer became more powerful and painful until the light became stronger to the extent it blocked everything out including what they felt. The pain reached its completion and everything stopped, all that happened died down into a void.

****

After around 20 minutes both Andrew, age 23 and Emily aged 73 were both found dead with blood around their faces, dried with no real reason of how it got there. No real explanation of how they had died could be found. They both look content and happy almost embracing each other, as if they knew each other.

Summer Holiday/vacation playlist – it is not very long but kind of thought these are few of the really good ones.

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?listLeYqO16rIKaVNIrAnvF-7sxzWeNX2d6r3

1. Cinderella (2015) - "The Great Secret" by Patrick Doyle
2. Surfing Dolphins –

A few Holiday Pictures (2019)

What happens when you are a little sick and kind of grumpy. You do this of course:

So, we come to this place which I live, this place which after so long fails to be considered anything other than a place occupied simply by others. Each house is built with one aim in mind, to squash the imaginations of those wished explorations, hidden places to be found and to provide not a single ounce of memory of the past. The houses themselves have only to the greatest extent been designed to serve little more than for pragmatic considerations. Each window designed from the first not to be something to be looked out of but rather to let the light in. Of course, cars are more welcomed and the houses are matched to store them, but we shall come back to that in a moment. A collection of such houses, owning assorted features, one can only assume to make them different, to which it fails completely. Perhaps the designer has failed in their duties in exploration. I am unsure if they are to blame for when looking at trees myself, the differences which distinguish them apart are completely lost to me. A tree is simply a tree, but of course a welcomed sight even if they are classed under the one heading of ‘tree.

If one is more daring, you can step out into the street, if you turn left or right, you are assured that you will end up in the same place. Note that the numbers on each house really do help or you would find utter distress in your ill-success in returning to the same house. There is of course in the summer: grass, flowers and trees, but again you might know that such things are nothing but a pleasant sight for me. A playground can be found, only used a few months of the year or children would freeze to death. Or at the very least stuck to the metal parts which would be most unfortunate, least to say inconvenient for the days proceedings. We all must adhere to some business each day, even if that is to appear to oneself and others you are most grumpy in some formal protest. The local school provides children playing, but only in the summer, which is most confusing since children do not go to school in the summer. Of course, one thing that will strike you is how flat everything is. This is a most troublesome issue.

In all the places I have lived, including those that are indeed built on land that is flat, you would find with delightment that nothing appears to be so. Of course, in places where the land is not flat at all, the going down is quickly forgotten and the going up always remembered with much anguish. Here despite the mountains being close, one can look down a street to only see an endless picture of neatness. The road, the pavement, the spaces for cars which one must climb into, the houses which all finish at the same level and then nothing but sky. The odd tree that has outgrown its place on occasion can be seen. No cathedrals, no bells ring for attention on Sunday morning, everything built by a madman using a ruler as his God. You would surely welcome the spire of a local church, even if you served your time in Sunday School with some disdain. Nothing old, nothing built to look out of place or even ugly. Such a sameness that this place could be picked up and placed elsewhere to only look the same way. To be honest, one could suspect that it has.

Indeed, it is true that people are what makes a place home, for without them loneliness would create such despair in your heart. The summer children that do play outside speak differently, by which I mean oddly. It is of course not for me to say they are wrong in doing so still, it is rather dull if I am to be permitted to be rude. In other places you could mistake a greeting for a brawl, with loud voices in a foreign tongue and arms moving all about. Or the other way, a simple oddly friendly tone ‘Good Morning, such restraint being opposed by no one. How I miss both the annoying embraces of people who claim to know you, but you have no recollection of, the hugs and kissing and of course, as if prior notice has already been served, a comment on how tall you have grown. How I miss a simple ‘Bloody hell, what are you doing girl? Followed by a panic in thought about what excuse could be used. So, you see why I can say there is such dullness in this place. The interesting people are the ones who can provide secrets to be worked out or simply have a story to tell you. After all, who does not like a story?

It is now time to come to the sadness of this place. It is a gloomy place without such people and with luck it does have them. There is something missing though, ramparts that have been replaced by roads, which with experience are more difficult to conquer. If we were to set out to the park, even those that dislike walking too much would simply be unable to reach it without fear of these modern ramparts. So, you climb into a car that is taller than you, always in the back so you can climb into the correct seat, that would be the passenger side. After what appears to be an ordered lawless interaction of such other carriages you can finally arrive at the park. To only have to find the shoes or wellies that you have hopefully already thrown somewhere in the back of the car. Then sadly the danger of goose attacks increases significantly and you must either decide upon yourself to defend your position or run. I advise running, at least most of the time.

This existence is not miserable, I can assure but it is perhaps advisable to return often to the places which bare the name of home. There are still places to explore and horrible elements of the past to be known, that is what excitement is all about. A strange position to which I find myself in, as I adore order, rulers obstruct imagination. To my reluctance mess is to be encouraged!

Hear thee Hear thee

Orders from the Emperor Amalie-Anne, from this day forward the following changes will be adhered to on the threat of extreme punishment. Those of you who are loyal subjects should disseminate the following new laws which glee and joy regardless of actual feelings (wow I am a mean emperor)

Under measurements of everyday use:
- All satellite navigation or GPS systems in cars or otherwise will only appear in centimetres. For example, you will not turn left in one mile or 1.6 kilometres, you will turn left in 160,934 centimetres. Road signs will remain as they are, however, mentions of these other ‘old measurements is strictly forbidden.

Under classifications of measurements:
- All weights will now be referred to in Puffins, whether collectively or in part. For example, a recipe might read ‘take two puffins feat of sugar and add it to two puffins worth of flour with a puffins toe of salt. A plane will be described as 3.7 billion Puffins, blimey that is a lot of puffins! As above mentions of ‘old measurements means you are a goner.

Under acceptable sports:
- All major sporting events must now include in full formal fashion, sports which the Emperor is good at, these include but not limited to; handstands, spinning around and rolly pollying. Sports like football or whatever will and must come as secondary sports. These three sports are very much limited to what the Emperor is good at.

Under behavioural movements:
- Clapping will be banned completely and an alternative introduced. The new method of clapping involves interlocking your fingers and using the palms of your hands, this is quieter and more refined dont you know. Also, no yelling at sport things because no matter how loud you are, The Emperor still does not get it.

These changes are now in effect and you would be wise to adopt them even in private. On with your business!!!

@AmalieAnne

Eish.... 😄

@Avaray Eish better mean yes Boss

Happy Christmas Lady Avaray

My project kind of went wrong so I did this in its place! Happy elephant Christmas

Warning I write about suicide and abuse here, although perhaps in more abstract terms. I also talk about death, with the murders of people in the 1930s and 1940s. I see this as history and if you were educated in Western Europe most of it you should know. However, this warning is here in case.

The is hope within suicide and one other issue

‘7cups should not be scared of suicide, talking about suicide does not cause it, but it could help stop it. This is a brave statement to make, firstly because I have no idea if it holds any truth whatsoever outside a certain group of people telling me it is so. Secondly, because I know that this issue is something which many people, including myself, do not understand that well. So, let us go back to May and my search for an answer to an altogether different question. May does feel like it was a long time ago and I have had many doubts writing this. I found myself in a position where in an ultimate act of abuse, the abusers forced someone who was being abused, to help them in abusing others. That person of course blamed themselves as if it were their shame and their guilt. Simply though, to say it was not felt like the wrong answer. It would be denying that person the right to feel something. It is by many accounts not a burden they should carry but by dismissing it with such ease it felt like an injustice. I would then be nothing but dismissive and any thought or emotion should be treated with respect. It was clear to me that there was an answer out there, a better answer.

We are all here on earth to help others; what on earth the others are here for I don't know. John Foster Hall

So, I went to the library and feeling fortunate to be able to access a large library which holds thousands of thoughts and ideas. The psychology section seemed wrong to me, while it might be practical it does not hold much interest and quite often fails to hold my attention. The history section however is fascinating, the journey then started. With little hope I started going through books, then more books, looking at the indexes and pestering the lovely librarian who at times I thought she had reached the ending of her patience. Nothing could be found, but then I reasoned to myself that perhaps I was looking in the wrong section, philosophy! This I thought could hold some sort of answer, they deal with questions about existence, values and mind all the time. Often, they come to no answers but persistence happens to be a strong point of mine, although stubbornness could be another way to view it. That by the way is a philosophy, looking at the same thing, but in a different way, so there is no need to be scared of it. True as it might be, many philosophers tend to ramble on until you forget why you are reading their work in the first place. Then I found it!

Then I almost regretted it! It felt more of a burden, do I write this or would it be presumptuous of me? Could I convey the meaning or would it end in failure? In fact, the conditions were so long that I thought it would be impossible. Thirty-seven prerequisites could be found on the collection of pieces of paper (I wrote ‘Ames rules of discourse for this topic). I decided that only three were to be considered, first I must act with intellectual honesty and say I have never felt suicidal. The second, being that I never wanted to hijack other peoples emotions or thoughts, this I reminded myself was one of the reasons for the search. I must never be dismissive of others; it has to be accepted that if someone is feeling guilt or suicidal, I must respect that no matter what. To push away someone with those thoughts and feelings is more dangerous & speaks of intellectual cowardice. The last condition is that it had to make sense to me, if I failed to understand it, I feared I would fail to represent what I found. So here I am writing this after finding one quite short book, based in both history and philosophy and conducting a large number of interviews on mostly unsuspecting participants. Now I could at last write this. Then the doubt came, even as you read this there is so much doubt in my mind that I am scared that it might cause harm or anger or some other untold harm.

Therefore, this is written in a moratorium, a suspension of doubt and possible consequences. But still written with compassion and care so it might be helpful or at least, as you read it will be hopeful as intended. Now there is one further issue that must be dealt with. I am a physical person; I prefer paper books which feel real compared to empty electronic books. I prefer the comfort of touch over the comfort of ‘talking things through. The part of me that least exists within the physical world is my imagination which includes me talking to people who are not really there. That might seem like madness, but actually I found out recently talking to dead people, who I know are not there, but to which I carry a conversation on with actually helps in my thinking. Charlies Dickens simply cannot sit down for more than five minutes and Charlies Darwin is always grumpy! I fear I am rambling myself, although we have dealt with some of the Charlies: To the discussion and realisation that 7Cups does not exist in the physical world.

‘Ideas can as Yuval Noah Harari argues hold someone captive, like terrorism: it is not really a realistic threat to me, a seatbelt saves lives but a terrorist is unlikely to kill me. It is not to say that people do not sadly die in such a way, but rather humans collectively are very stupid. Take the case of failing to see why someone who is unable to drive, that would be me, shouts at them because they use their phone while driving. Threat assessment is not our species strongest sport, but Harari does make a point there, it can be found on a personal and a collective level, this includes other things like responsibility. 7Cups like Google or Microsoft do not act within the physical world so are not required to be part of it which is a nice argument, apart from that actually Harari disagrees with it! Though 7Cups does benefit by the means of anonymity of not being in a sense in the physical world. However, I can counter him with himself! Least to say when someones physical welfare becomes the responsibility of 7Cups it might be a problem, but not for me, that one is for the oldies, still it is normally only a problem when things go wrong. If someone kills themselves, they themselves have a personal responsibility for their actions, but also, we do in our collective responsibility. One could say that While there might be a limited duty of care for the physical this is not possible online, it is only when acts can be conducted in the physical world can 7cups, Google, Apple or Facebook [can be] responsible for someones physical welfare. Harari said that well… actually I just added 7Cups to it but nevertheless, oldies that line is yours, the line is not mine to move but I am in a moratorium here! Having said that I provide a challenge this notion on 7Cups; to police or support through design the denying of thoughts & emotions, rather than behaviour, shows ineptitude not only in judgement but also in morality.

Physical communities have depth that virtual communities cannot match, at least not in the near future. Yuval Noah Harari

So, lets start to talk about suicide. It is unpleasant to do so, but so are a great deal of issues. I am free to talk about the abuse that happened to me or the memories I have from being in hospital and how they scare the crap out of me even today. The difference between these topics and suicide, as far as I can tell is very small. Morality, though is not following a list, if we are to define it and we should; could it simply be done by saying it is the reduction of suffering. Suicide is not nice to talk about but sadly if we are to ignore people who are suicidal, we collectively risk producing isolation and loneliness. A failure in our collective responsibility, if its only my personal view on the subject. At the very least we need to validate peoples feelings, an acknowledgement rather than ‘management and problem solving. We must act in a moral way as defined above in its simplest terms.

But there is hope within suicide foremost that you, if you are feeling so inclined to reach out across the ocean of anonymity provided in such a case, it does mean there is, at least right at that moment, one reason to live. While it is understandable that talk of killing yourself will make the vast majority of people feel uncomfortable, there are those that recognise a simple act of kindness bestowed is one which offered freely in exchange for no price [including discomfort]. Its with ambiguity to write this, in its truest meaning, it then holds while respecting ones own limits & boundaries but also that we must all act with honesty by recognising that we are bound by some duty to exploit that reaching across the ocean. Afterall, if puberty and its attached embarrassment is to be approached in a time in which readiness meets it, surely suicide although a completely different discomfort or/and torture must also be approached when the readiness arises. The only challenge is to bind that readiness with the right person at that moment. A challenge is not an impossibility.

Whilst Viktor Frankl was in the horror to which I will soon write, it was argued only if so, to himself, that the last of the human freedoms is to choose ones own attitude in any given situation. Some will find the attitude of compassion and their ability to ignore both personal discomfort & judgement, which is often imposed needlessly, to choose to be that responding voice across that ocean. Frankl sees nothing but opportunities, made in the moment and in the next, to which all the following moments are an opportunity to decide on your own way. A decision made under such freedom on both sides, that of the person feeling suicidal and those that embrace those feelings whilst holding themselves steady in the storm, is a determination made by the individuals alone. If all the freedom we have is to come from inside, it would be cheap to rob either side of that freedom in any situation and for any reason.

There is hope in a shout across the ocean, there is hope in suicidal feelings and thoughts. It might not be known to me or really to anyone but there was a question that presented itself to me, too much annoyance due to a lack of any real answer. If you feel suicidal, why have you not killed yourself? This should not be read as a sign to give up or a dare. If collectively two people can discover why you are shouting and not dead, there is something to build upon. A reason, whether rational or otherwise, that can be used to move forward past the current feelings and hopefully away from the danger of the suicidal feelings presenting themselves. I fear I must end here through my own limitations still, as I started, I shall repeat by restating that talking about suicide does not cause suicide.

An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behaviour Viktor E. Frankl

Who the hell is Viktor Frankl… he was number 119,104. I start this part with less enthusiasm and even less confidence. The first concentration camp opened in 1933 perpetuating Europes darkened history. While in the coming years more than 70,000 disabled people like me were freely and opening murdered, even after the official policy ceased to pursue their insignificance and burden to society. [Recent research raised the perversion at Aktion T4 and newly found lists of those killed brought this number, perhaps up to 300,000 including people with mental health problems.] The camps themselves were designed to cause death. As the first ‘Jewish Ghetto opened in 1939 it was decided that each person, including 16-year olds like me, were subjected to a limited diet of 480 calories which is a death sentence. Viktor or 119,104 writes about his intimate experience, his experiences can hardly be replicated in any fashion here but they can be represented in his own writing. He being educated and having lived through unimaginable suffering has something to tell us, both on the topic of suicide and what came after. Viktor Frankl was clear on one thing; no matter where you are, who you are or what situation you find yourself in pain is pain, distress is distress and suffering is suffering. Yes, everyone can get used to anything but there is little value in quantifying distress, suffering or pain. If it is experienced, it is a valid experience, it is an important and should not be subjected to being ignored.

Even the gas chambers, Frankl writes, lose their horrors after a short-time. He goes on to write about people losing hope in their minds, thus deciding to walk into the electric fence to end their suffering and losing hope in which their bodies which then become subject to disease that would ultimately end their existence. I doubt either type of suicide could be considered anything other than a rational choice, however the key, according to Frankl is hope and meaning. This might be under the ‘delusion of reprieve, that if, even falsely and knowing it so, an individual gets the illusion that they might be spared of more pain and suffering it is at least hope to which can be held and keep oneself going. Sometimes that is enough, things getting better, albeit slowly can provide a hope, allowing other feelings and thoughts to enter. A could is a hope. I am unable to write the following extract in any other words or feel it right to do so;

The thought of suicide was entertained by nearly everyone, if only for a brief time. It was born of the hopelessness of the situation, the constant danger of death looming over us daily and hourly, and the closeness of the deaths suffered by man of the others.

It appears so clearly now that suicide is not a topic of risk and is, perhaps, through the interviews I conducted myself, albeit having to ask with a great deal of courage, not all that an uncommon feeling or thought. Frankl remarkably kept his own wife, unknown to him that she had already been killed, as his hope. It is a reason, rational or otherwise. That even if she had died that having the thought of her as it were, alone, was something of a ‘could hope. I feel that it is now, through my waffling, a need to sum up what has been said here before we move forward. It might surprise you that even after all of this I still have not reached the answer to my original question, we will get there that you can be assured of. I have also likened ‘we must not talk about suicide as an officious myth, it happens to be a common thought/emotion, although a situation that I would find myself unable to cope with. Despite that there are people who are willing to offer at least the recognition of suicidal feelings without any perceiving harm to them or others. Sadly, though I have written about hope and as we all know or perhaps just me, hope is sometimes a fickle b****h! It can be a ‘delusion of reprieve which holds us for now but fails us in the next moment, regardless of the acknowledgment across the ocean. Although both do have its role to play, if merely to push us away from dangerous thoughts and feelings. Viktor Frankl does provide the thing which could replace hope in the longer term; meaning.

Buddha then, life has no meaning and people dont need to create any meaning.

What the hell does Buddha know anyway! I will repeat Viktor Frankl in that our own attitude is the last of our freedoms and personally I prefer it. Also, Nietzsche, who despite appearing to be somewhat miserable most of the time, says if we have a ‘why to life then we can bear almost anything as the ‘how. Interpreting the ‘why as very similar to Frankls ‘meaning in this case. So, we have come to logos or meaning. No pressure to actually present this correctly then, I say with nothing but sarcasm in my mind. Just in case you have forgotten we are in a moratorium of doubt, let it hold true.

Frankls view was very much that potential meaning of our own existence must be fulfilled with our will to meaning, this however is confusing, being aware this makes no sense I will try an example. So, within meaning; Frankls manuscript almost ready for publication was confiscated from him when he entered the camp, most likely destroyed to help start a fire or thrown upon one, it had been lost everywhere but within Frankls own mind. To help him survive the camps, he rewrote notes of it on scraps of paper intended to later help with the recreation of the whole manuscript. While meaning will also be unique and specific to an individual, once it has been found and it is known, alongside it being able to be fulfilled it holds great value. What is meaningful to me has only significance in most cases to me. While thoughts of his wife provide some sort of ‘could be hope, he had a greater tool meaning itself. Meaning being here; the recreation of the manuscript provided Frankl the strength to satisfy what the requirements he was going through emotionally and physically. Meaning provides a purpose and reason to carry on, it looks to the future not the past, into things that are not big or grand, but simple, a place to get to, a thing to do, a thing to watch develop. A person truly knowing their purpose and meaning is perhaps the most content person that one could be, not due to perfect balance rather through the struggle to strive for a freely chosen worthwhile task. The task of meaning creation is a worthwhile goal and in itself provides a meaningful life [for me it is also a physical thing to hold].

To remove ourselves here from abstract thoughts and ideas it would be useful, to make two further notes. Although suffering is not required to create meaning, it can be used and looking forward is useful, perhaps saving ourselves to therapy in which is a place to look back [it should be limited in any case]. Still, if you find yourself in therapy do not forget the meaning [the reason] to why you are there and how being aware of our past is meaningful in the now & in the future. Rather than the personal task to which I often find myself of being stuck in a meaningless ditch of memories. I did not say I was perfect; it is simply something I attempt to do. If we are to use our past wisely it would be better to create something from it, it could be artwork like a piece of music or a deliberate act of compassion. So how does an existential vacuum occur, what are its consequences and how to fill it with meaning?

The great meaning of life, that is why Nietzsche was so grumpy, he should have thought about the great meanings for life. An existential vacuum is… really difficult to explain. Again, to be honest, I have to use a psychology dictionary, as the vacuum suggests it is a place anyone and perhaps everyone at some point will find themselves in. The feeling of [inner] emptiness, desperation and hopelessness. In other words, it is like being lost at sea with no thought of how to be found. The solution therefore is it must be filled or at least mapped for our way forward. Frankl held great hopes with filling this vacuum, some of it is perhaps towards a psychological concept, my intention is not to go to a place where my understanding fails me. Do not search for meaning, for getting through the day might be necessary, rather consider getting through the day as your meaning. Ignore grandiose questions like the meaning of life and all things in it, that is why so many philosophers are miserable & grumpy creatures. It is completely up to you what meanings you decide to use for yourself but let them be yours. One of the favourite parts in Frankls writing is that you should not ask yourself the meaning of your life, you should let life question you. The responding things being thrown towards yourself is a great way to create a meaningful purpose. This approach is empowering and regardless of what has happened in the past, to feel empowered is far better than being forced into the grip of others in power over you.

Perhaps some practical examples are required although I will attempt to keep it short. So, Viktor Frankl please provide us with something more concrete and like that, he obliges by suggesting three. The first is to create something, do a deed and to meet an end of a goal such as reading a book or cooking a dish you have never tried before. With more complexity the second is experience, find goodness, find beauty you can do this in nature although that is not one for me. It can be found in anothers culture or by just experiencing another person. Enjoy what Frankl calls experiencing another human being in [their] very uniqueness. The third and most complex is to take an altogether different attitude, when the situation itself cannot be changed then we must as individuals change. When the predicament is out of our control then we need to challenge ourselves, as William James said To changes ones life: start immediately. Do it with flamboyancy. Taking something horrific and making it yours. This is not to suggest you have to be at least at all happy about it. Because meaning making is so unique and specific it is difficult to provide more examples but it is not about fostering and reinforcing the past, it is about this moment. Suffering is an ineradicable part of our existence & consciousness, as is death, without it there would be no life so lux in tenebris lucet. Having recently read Anthony Borgias explanation of the seven afterlives, it said that to learn to play an instrument one simply had to pick it up. To me that would be a dystopia, the journey to play a piece is in itself more important than being able to play it. Here I leave you with The Third Viennese School of Psychotherapy if you wish to read further. Still, far from wishing to abandon you, think of how my [our] challenge to people feeling suicidal on 7Cups and how it can be seen differently simply by taking a different attitude. People will still feel suicidal but it does not have to be the misery of one individual.

The man who regards his life as meaningless is not merely unhappy but hardly fit for life Albert Einstein

On the issue of capitulation and hate. No one will ever really be able to tell me why those doctors kill disabled people, perhaps it is something best unknown. The Jewish Ghetto Police subject to the same rations as everyone else often abused their position and power, albeit a weak power. There are many stories that could be told, attacks, including sexual abuse on teens my age, to say the least. The police in other names in the camps also committed acts of violence, it did not seem to stop. Others freely admit to killing others regardless, in one such case a man in recounting said he had killed a German man who happened to not be Jewish because he was just ‘German. I will make this clear that it is impossible for me to make any judgements about their behaviour. When Viktor Frankl was liberated from the camps, it would have been expected to a time of recovery perhaps later hate. Still, the story that I have read about most often is that mentally no one left those camps. In 1945 there was a mass suicide in Demmin, Germany. More than a thousand people killed themselves, mothers killed their children and then themselves fearing the Red Army. I am unable to know if those parents who killed their children are guilty of something or not.

Frankl wrote that those with more primitive natures did not escape the brutality they had known, being free was a licence to commit acts of violence and to go from the oppressed to the oppressors. Justifying their behaviour by what had happened to them. A friend that was with him in the camps started to destroy crops in a field, when Frankl asked him to stop his friend, an otherwise nice person, became angry. You might be asking yourself why I am telling you these things, the point returns to ourselves as being flawed in how we think. Everyone can be angry; everyone can be hateful; however, it is important to express those feelings but the choice is in this moment of how we express it, this is our only free choice. It is easy to make post-hoc judgements but take away all that we have, will we then do the same things? This is an unanswerable question until you are under threat and thinking that you might not make it to the end of the day. Everyone is capable of such things including me but knowing that everyone, including me, is more than capable of such things is the best defence to not doing such things. Hate is easy to learn, difficult to unlearn but to hate someone, even if it is ourselves, is nothing but a free choice. No one can decide it for you, if you want to be liberated from assumed blame, it is a freedom that you have. That is self-empowerment in a style which should never be underestimated.

I wrote this down but I am unaware of how it came to be ‘Please don't leave me here for I have abandoned myself, it feels right to place it here. There are a few criteria for blame if we are to narrow it down, these are the ones that are most significant:

• You must know what you are doing is wrong (Gillick principle)
• It has to be without threats towards yourself (Coercion)
• By design the act must have not been forced upon an individual (Design)

It might be that the last one is the difficult one, however, it is important to remind us all here that life is not about judgement of an individual or about an individual judgement. Like morality the context changes and with that also does the meaning of guilt. If you yourself, subjected to abuse and thus a perversion of the self, comes to see an act of abuse as not harmful or indeed somewhat necessary by any measures or means, as titled under those that performed the abuse you were subject to, it would be logical if not Morerian to reject all notions that you could understand the acts of such capitulation to all & any degrees. It would only make sense under the proviso of guilt at a later state, free from that same perversion, to judge yourself as anything but confided in the prison, both mental and physical, of those who would cause the abuse & the later perversion itself. The acts might be wrong, even necessary but the guilt could not be yours. It is thus only under the absence of these conditions that you could be guilty for, in the act of being abused by helping others to also be subject to that abuse. To my knowledge this guilt in such a case would not be possible by its simple definition.

Morerian might be a confusing term, it follows that being one of the few that understand Utopia written by Thomas More you can view from a Morerian standard of not only his time but also under ours, that if you create a situation to which someone is to fail it is not a failure of the individual. It is not the individual that needs to be punished but rather the system that has been designed to create such failure in the first place that needs to be questioned. This is still reflected today, for centuries we put people in prison, it fails to work because the crimes are still being committed. If the punishment fails, then we should abandon the punishment and look for the reasons to why the crime has been committed in the first place. We can then stop the crime, which means both no one is punished and no one is subject to crime. When we stop treating people who abuse children, children like me, with hate and anger and approach it with understanding and a little compassion then and only then can we collectively stop the abuse from happening in the first place. A solution to which no child would therefore be abused, I understand the difficulties in understanding this position but it is better than the current system. Threat assessment is not our species strong point, neither is compassion easy.

Some months ago, I heard of something which caused me distress, I gave it meaning by writing this. I did not know where the journey would go or where it would take me, but the point was that it meant something and I was determined enough although it was a risk. It is now time for me to almost end, to move onto the next meaning, the next purpose. Having read accounts of suffering, distress and pain it could be argued that what we share is ultimately that but that is I believe untrue, what unites us is the ability of strength and compassion. To make and create meaning from situations which often feel like an unescapable trap of misery the worthiest goal, to move forward is our purpose. Above it was suggested that therapy should be a looking forward state of mind, this is a free choice we have in this moment and the next. It also applies to both feeling suicidal, how we treat people who are and about what guilt or blame we should take [or not take]. To feel angry is useful, normal even and at times the most overwhelming emotion, whether it is directed at ourselves or others, but those that have seemed to succeed from that trap have slowly left that anger behind. It is our individual and collective duty to create meaning where there is none. Those that seem to be most content with life are not those who have never experienced such nasty things but who have and decided to make it useful. So, this brings us to the end of a large piece of writing, written in my head thousands of times but now in words you have read. On the issues of risk, I see no risk in talking or in having suicidal thoughts. The risk of love is greater and more dangerous but worth it. As for guilt I would never go against Thomas More. I leave you with something I wrote at the start of my journey:

Many cultures have the same two elements; some cultures viewed the sun chasing the moon, but the moon will be beaten again by the sun. In the Catholic Religion we just had Easter to celebrate the ending of winter and the start of summer, still winter will return. The point here is that if you can feel that crappy, have that much despair, then you also have the ability to feel wonderous happiness & joy. Even if its a fight

Nothing but adventure & opportunity awaits us all. The only effect you have upon the world is to affect how others feel & think. Thats all you have and I think that is amazing. This sadly is the end of my moratorium, thank you for staying with me. I hope that I have presented the best selves of the people I have interviewed, the many books all these ideas come from, the wise people around me and of course Viktor Frankl. May I one day be as wise and be at least half as confident. With all my love,

Amalie-Anne

Frankl, V. (2004) Man's search for meaning. London: Ebury Publishing.

This was written with the help Brahms Violin Concerto in D Major, it helped me form the pattern of how I wrote it. https://youtu.be/UFl9xuYP5T8

This was in a random second hand book, I am not sure why someone wrote it but I kind of like the idea. Thought I would share it because it made me smile (and is kind of spy like). No idea who wrote it!

This will be difficult to write without crying, but kind of need to get things out. On the 11th January my Papa, mommys daddy, passed away. Despite me thinking and worrying in the past about people dying it kind of never occurred to me that my grandparents could die. During the summer holiday he did have medicine, but it was not in my mind that it was anything more than medicine to make him feel better. At the moment I am not sleeping all that well and I keep forgetting that he is no longer here, so I write things down to tell him but then I remember which then makes me sad & upset. During Christmas we were there and me & mommy stayed until 7 days after he died despite the fact, we are kind of not religious it sometimes is important to follow custom. My Papa called himself with too much humility an amateur violist, the truth though is what I got from him was really important. He gave me my first violin and he was a medical doctor. Even after he retired, he was not content to be an oldie, so he would go in and help new doctors. This accounted for the, what felt like millions of people, who came to visit him. Even though my sister kept me away from all these people who I did not know, I felt kind of angry that they were in my way. He was my Papa after all, though perhaps this was a measure of the people he helped.

Family stories tend to change after being retold but when I five and confused at the world, he worked out why things did not make all that much sense. He took me to see a Beethoven piano concerto and the confusion of seeing sounds went away. According to the story that is now told, it was the first time that I sat still, without making a sound myself and just watched the colours. He knew that I had this ability because he had the same ability, for those that do not have it, I am helpless but to think how the world must seem a little empty to you. Despite the fact it took me a while to not get upset or confused by noise, which only happens now when I am tired (or grumpy). He said to me, translated badly, that there was nothing wrong with me, rather it was the world that was at fault. The world just needed to learn how to change for me. After that I got my first violin and he helped me control things through music. Although I prefer violin concertos, even now when I need to enter a different world or need comfort, of a sort, music is the way I do that, a way to escape. The measure of my sadness is the measure of how much he meant to me and as long as I have music, I will always have him. This is a unique gift he gave to me and I am grateful to have received it.

A long time ago, he was a boy with little to no money to his name but with the determination to make the world a better place left his home. He travelled from Valencia and met a very passionate girl from Barcelona who was very active against the fascist regime at the time. They got married and stayed together for a very long time. He should be considered to be saint since the girl was Mama, mommys mommy, who is very loving, protective but also at times ‘difficult. In the letter that Papa left me he talked about something he said we would do with Mama and that is to visit Milan. When they got married, they could not afford to have a honeymoon and it was not easy to leave a country control by a dictator. Especially when Mama punch policemen and demanded girls & women should have the same rights as everyone else. Years later when things changed, they decided that they would have that honeymoon in Milan. A few weeks ago, Mama and me had planned to complete the plans that Papa had made for us to visit Milan. To me, I was thinking that it would help me feel better, that if I just went then something in me, the sadness perhaps, would be different. Sadly, due to the virus thing I stayed with Mama and we did not go. Still, if they could wait years for their honeymoon, I could wait as well, if anything, it feels somehow closer to what Mama and Papa experienced.

I did, however, spend some time with Mama without all these weird, strange people being there and it was nice. It gave me to a chance to feel sad, which I know might not make sense. Although I still feel sad of course, it was a good way of feeling sad. It also allowed Mama to tell me some stories, some of which was about mommy and how at 13 she came home drunk. I think that I have been giving mommy too much of an easy time, so I will have to think of being naughtier. Our family lost a husband, a father and a Papa and trust me when I say it is not just our family but the world who lost a good man. This virus that is happening now, he would be out helping people even at risk to himself just because that is the sort of person he was. Each year 11th January will be the official day our family remembers him, but every day I will remember him. The risk of loving someone is sadness but the risk of not loving someone means your life is empty. I prefer to feel sadness rather than feeling emptiness. So, Papa, thank you for all you gave me, for what you did and for always being with me every day until I am a very old crazy lady shouting at children. Mama and me will visit Milan, when we do, I will light a candle in Duomo di Milano, on that day I hope wherever you are you will see it and know you kept your word. You already know how much I have always loved you.

@AmalieAnne He sounds like he was wonderful person and I am touched to read your words. You have a beautiful soul and so did your Papa.

My condolences to you and your family.

@mytwistedsoul Thank you, it is very kind of you. I am kind of worried that perhaps I wrote too much about me and not my family but they miss him as well of course.

@AmalieAnne Dear Ame, you don't know me yet, but you and your Papa have been in my thoughts since I read your post last night with tears in my eyes. It was extremely sad but also extraordinarily beautiful. I am unable to find the right words to comfort you but I did play Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata today morning in the memory of your Papa. I would also like to send you some hugs in case you need them. Some are from me and some are from my buddy Burt who has helped me to get through some very difficult times. I believe you know him well. ;)

Thank you for being who you are. 🌼 <3 🌼

rarelycharlie.github.io/xTsGiq9XYX9KVL86re260xDjhw2MAMRAC3pPzcobL8

With lots of love,

Rinny.

@intelligentWheel627 I did not want to make people cry, so sorry about that. Thank you for honouring my Papa [and me] by playing Beethoven, in a weird way those are the right words. I still have Burt recently I received a friend for him but she does not have a name yet. I always accept & am in need of hugs, so thank you. Not sure what else to say but:

rarelycharlie.github.io/AlF4hcHM0OLPsTdbtWE2yzH32-9X1r9Cpzf8MrG7GT

@AmalieAnne Thank you for the cuddle! It was very sweet of you. I too am always in need of hugs. :)

You still have Burt?! Does it mean that he is a real teddy? For some reason I always thought that you drew him from your imagination. Have you thought of any names yet?

@intelligentWheel627

Hugs are always available, although you need to put on a spacesuit. Burt is real, Granny knitted him the jumper which are the colours of the flag where I was born. He is a bit worse for wear now and kind of needs a bath but that would make him different so that will not happen. My new teddy is a penguin but I still not thought of a good name yet.. It is a big decision.. any suggestions? She is a girl penguin.

@intelligentWheel627

It is official now; Florencia is her name

@AmalieAnne That is beautiful! I had a tough time giving any suggestions, my old head was completely empty. I'm sorry. Florencia is a perfect name! I love it! 🐧💖

I'm wearing the spacesuit, in case you are ready for hugs. 👀

@intelligentWheel627

Roo, with baby Joey and Florencia (she is being taken care of) Hugs always welcome

@AmalieAnne

Thank you for the wonderful surprise! It made me smile. :) They are all so adorable. 😍

I love how Florencia is being taken care of by Roo and baby Joey is so cute!

I'm sending hugs and cuddles to all of you. With the spacesuit, of course. 👩‍🚀😉

@intelligentWheel627 Well it can be scary being a new teddy, like when you start a new school. If you have someone to look after you it makes it easier. Thank you for the hugs *spacesuit hugs* It is a pain in the bottom having to put the spacesuit on but I guess we will have to make do until all this virus thing is done and people are better.

@AmalieAnne

I agree, it can be scary being a new teddy. It is good to have someone to look after her.

Roo reminds me of Kanga from Winnie the Pooh, always so caring. :)

I guess it might take about 45 long wiggly minutes to wear the spacesuit but It's worth the trouble coz it's very safe. Thank you sweet Ame, your hugs brighten up my days! 👩‍🚀 :p

@intelligentWheel627 We live in times were we have to put our spacesuits on sadly but it is kind of worth it Florencia seems to be doing alright as well. I have no idea who Kanga is because I think it is Disney and I do not really like them, trust me when I say we do not want Granddad singing "Let is Go" over and over and over again. *sigh* He is easily set off with that song. Any who, be good *spacesuit hugs*

@AmalieAnne

Well yes, sadly we live in times where we have to put on our spacesuits but I think we can handle this tiny inconvenience. Just to think that only a hundred years ago spacesuits didn't even exist! That makes me feel lucky to live here and now. Sorry Ame, I'm not sure if I'm making any sense. My mind has a mind of its own today.

I have no idea if Winnie the Pooh is part of the Disney collection and I'm very cautious about wishing your Granddad to start singing, lol! I was actually referring to the book, it is one of my favourites. There are many quotes there that I can relate to. This one, for example: When late morning rolls around and youre feeling a bit out of sorts, dont worry; youre probably just a little eleven oclockish. That's me today. Not lazy or sleepy or tired or anything else but just a little eleven o'clockish. 😋

*spacesuit hugs* 🥰

@intelligentWheel627

I am hoping that the days of requiring spacesuits for hugs will be over soon, before I become crazy and start biting people. You are right we did not have spacesuits a hundred years ago but we did have chocolate.. yummy!!! I think you were having a blaaah day, kind of when your brain is not working and everything seems to be difficult. They can be difficult days or days when you just do nothing and be happy about it. I hope that is has past by now in any case *spacesuit hugs*

Winnie the Pooh is part of Disney and I am still angry at them about the extension of copyright law and the Let it Go song. Please do not make cause for granddad to start singing it again, he just needs to let it go :P

@AmalieAnne

Oh my dear Ames...

I know how much he means to you and how much you love him.... I'm really sorry for your loss and pain Ames.

He sounds amazing I love the way how he showed you how music can make things make sense in this crazy world we live in.

I now understand where that feisty streak comes from... Your Grandma, she sounds like quite a character and must have amazing stories to tell and pass on. You should write them down xx

I find acknowledging sad extremely difficult and try push it away as much as i can so i am proud of you for saying what you did about listening about your Grandfather even though it brought pain, because remembering and loving is important.

Hugs my amazing Ames (the germ free ones 💜)

@Avaray I kind of hope that you now understand that I had a bottle but no message because even now it still is difficult to talk about. I still miss papa and my sister is the official person that write these things down. I remembered a picture which took me awhile to find. Although this photo does not have anyone, I know in it, during the Spanish civil war people from my part of Spain escaped. This included my great great great mama (I think that is six mommies back). She was part of this, to be honest if I had been part of this I would be really scared. So, I guess the girl

@AmalieAnne

They lived through extremely hard times...

This is a reply to the original post made by Charlie, found here:

https://www.7cups.com/forum/GeneralSupport_28/DiaryEntriesConnections_1597/Charliesnotebook_211723/3/#forum-post-2268019

Against Empathy: A Mad Girls Reply

Once I realized I did not have to make any sense, it was of great relief. I could just then say what I liked and force the thinking onto you!

[Me sitting at a saloon bar in the Wild West, with my hat on, my moonshine next to me and a badge which has the word ‘Sheriff written on it of course. The boss in this here town, two metres tall with a mean look about her (me). It is my imagination, what are you expecting! Then Rarely Charlie, a short little thing comes in wearing those fancy old glasses for educated folk, walks with haste through those pointless swinging doors]

Well... Well… Well… in the EuroPeanLand they say look at whatte cat dragged in, youal a funny lookin critter arant ya, Charlie, I say.

You approach with a book, while those silly doors continue to swing behind you. Well maam sheriff, ya outta gawt ta look see at this book, it gawt me all. confused. You say while trying to not be scared.

I put one hand on my gun, the other goes to take a drink of my moonshine* and I stand up, towering over you Well… ifin' ya evher cahwl me maam sheriff again ah will take this hair revolver and shoot you in ya BEE-Hind. Ts Maam or Sheriff but there anit going be no maam sheriff in this here parts. Now letta me look at this here book gotya all confused.

*My moonshine is better, although it might make you blind (still in testing).

[End of scene] I shouted this at mommy while I was having a shower, she wrote it down. But apart from it being funny and made-up it serves a purpose that I will now make up. Language can put someone in a position of authority and make others the subject (or a play thing in my imagination). But language is not really a collection of static words and meanings, it is built up collectively. Ludwig Wittgenstein would be happy I found a way to be more confident in writing this though!

This will be a short reply, so the first word that I noticed a while ago in your notebook was the word ‘Freedom. I thought about saying something at the time, but then I did not. Using inductive logic, albeit backwards so you can understand it, you can understand why the results frustrated me:

Ame has the freedom to kick Charlie
Charlie has the freedom to not be kicked
Ergo there is no freedom.

It has been awhile since I have gone through all the logical fallacies, but you might be right in saying this is wrong. You could actually say Charlie has the right to not be kicked, but it does not help anyone here by doing so. So, if you concede for a moment, then you will notice the word freedom itself is negotiated, it is only by being negotiated can this word or any word have any use. This brings me to Steven Fry and one of his stories:

While talking to a Romanian driver charged with moving Mr Fry around New York, they discussed the downfall of Ceausescu and those who were assassinated rather publicly when someone shouted out you "You're naked" meaning, you have no power here, now we can see it, now we do not fear you. The driver had escaped Romania years earlier and went to America becoming a driver, I will refer to him as he since I forgot his name or even if he had one. Through bribery he got his mother on a plane, out of the troubles in Romania and he picked her up at the airport. His mother, was impressed with her son picking her up in a limousine, but that was his job as a driver, so she understood it whilst still being impressed. He then said to his mother we need to go to the supermarket because he had been busy and required food for their evening meal. He stopped at the supermarket. Got a cart and he started to shop, putting in things and getting the items he required. Then he noticed that he was no longer with his mother. When he found her, she was on the floor crying her eyes out, beating the floor in anger. He said:

"Mother, what is the matter?" And she replied:

"They lied! All my life I was told only the rich Americans could eat, that all poor Americans had nothing and were destroyed by capitalism. And you, just a driver and you come into a store like this as if you own it. We were told you were miserable.

I am kind of not quoting here, but it is in Steven Frys book because I am just going on what I remember. Of course, if you knew of the Eastern Bloc you would know that poverty was a real thing, you had little choice and despite, as Mr Fry puts it, that we tend to look down on capitalism what we have is a choice. More importantly groups & movements like the Suffragettes only once knowing that they could be free did they set about going about getting free (albeit messy at times). The problem with freedom like compassion is that we have to know what it is, only once we are free from our ignorance.

If I can take you back 13 million years to a species call The Pierolapithecus a humanoid ape kind creature that walked in trees, living happily in what is now called Spain. It is thought by Professor Pascal Picq this is was the first time in the history of the earth, the first species that had ever had the trait, that empathy was first shown. It is argued this was the first place and the first time where modern humans got the genetic ability to actually do so. This has been called taking the p*ss by others. Perhaps saying; a great deal of creative & scientific liberties has been included in Picqs work is more polite. Sadly, I am unable to share his work with you because it is in French and as we all know French is a completely different language to English. You cannot make one the other, that is madness, and if you speak French while reading this shhh... or I poke you in the eye. Sadly or not, the Pierolas did not last long because the continent of Africa rather rudely squashed Europe out of the way and up, the Pierolas made their way to the vast green plains of the Sahara desert turning into another species altogether… perhaps… maybe… the Sahelanthropus or Toumai which then perhaps… could of… been a common ancestor to the great apes and the humans… maybe!

Much later in the 18th Century on a Saturday afternoon one could take the family to see a local event which happened a lot or similar kind of events, where a cat was placed in a sack, the sack was placed on a pole and the sack was then lit on fire. The point is that while both the Pierolas and Toumai actually lived longer as a species than modern humans, to say we were better is perhaps wrong. Still, both the humans of today and in the 18th century shared almost exactly the same genes. At least we no longer treat cats in Europe the same way and I hope that is true everywhere. If we have the same hardware, why do we now care about a cat being used as entertainment in such a fashion as that. Steven Pinker does give us a guide. Saying that we once cared about ourselves, we then cared about families, then our tribes, then our communities until we started caring about animals and so on. A never-ending circle of inclusion! He also said many years ago that it is good that The United States does not bomb Japan anymore because he would find it difficult to find parts for his camper van if they did. I am not sure if he still has that camper van or in fact what a camper van is if I am being honest. The point is here… err… that is right, we are always changing definitions because of social factors. We care about parts from Japan and cats, but until we did, we did not. Certainly, our awareness of others pain has significantly increased even if we are assuming, we have the same emotions across cultures.

Wow... What was the question? So, while taking a shower, with mommys help we found out two broad definitions the first is sympathetic this is when someone who feels for you. I asked my Granny a couple of years ago why she always had balloons around when I was there and she answered because I like to use the hoover (vacuum cleaner). What? Nope, that was actually the answer and I was expected to know what was meant by it! She knew that using the hoover would scare me when we started living with her so she put a balloon above where the air came out of the hoover and thus my fear, according to the Granny, was no longer there. The air would make the balloon dance as if it were magic, according to the authorities that be, I was mesmerised and got upset when the Granny stopped hoovering. She at no point shared my fear that the hoover was a dangerous beast of untold damage. An empathetic reaction is the feeling of sharing the emotions, I have fewer examples of this. Still on the occasions where I have seen my fear in anothers eyes, it has very much scared me even further. We, being that of mommy and me, reject the notion of empathy, according to Blooms rather clumsy use of the word. It is important to note that people including myself are clumsy with words most of the time.

BUT… I hear you scream, on these occasions mentioned above the person had to know me for either a sympathetic or empathetic reaction to occur. We cannot understand these things in a vacuum of knowledge, but we can in the presents of knowledge. The first is knowing how the I feels or thinks, so you have to know how I feel and think, without knowing me that is difficult. It might be possible, yes, that similar experiences give you a good idea. Unless you are a psychopath of course, then I am not sure what happens, but certainly nothing like what I just said. Empathy though is to go from knowing to sharing… take sadness, I certainly can understand and share that, can I though? Take gender dysmorphia, being completely honest here that is something I can never share. I was born in the right body, there could have been better models, of course, but I will have this one if that is ok. To feel like that you are not what your body's gender is, must be horrible. Sadly, if we talked for the next hundred years, I doubt I could be empathic towards you [a person with gender dysmorphia] but I would hope the sympathetic being would be enough. My inclusion is to be there doing the best I can to either stand beside you or to completely ignore it depending on your wish.

We have to run the course, to experience and hope that one day those experiences are written down so well that we might at least have a glimpse of the inside. You say Charlie that the lack of a definition is the problem, it might be so but the journey to find the definition, this is perhaps the more beautiful way of knowing compassion/empathy and what it means. People often say. Yes, they believe that language is the expression of their thoughts. Still, this is an unknown, what is to say that language is not the construction material of thoughts rather than the assumed position that thoughts use language as its tool for expression. The more language we know the greater our thoughts can be. This is a very complex thing to read about as well as messy, that I freely admit. Either way, if you do not know the language, it is difficult to explore this and if you do know a language, then you have been corrupted by it. One thing is for sure, you should not let me get away with using the words, sympathetic and empathetic since their etymology in English is very much the same! I say this knowing that you would let me get away with it. I did point it out after all!!

Perhaps though you are being too harsh my dear fellow, now I have my pipe and evening slippers on! Think Sherlock Holmes my dear man and you will be closer to what is in my head. You see that being clumsy is not having the crime completely sorted out, and if I might say so, I only solve crimes that have been clearly and precisely planned to perfection. If any old copper can use his noggin to solve the crime, why is myself, Mr Holmes required in the first place! Nonsense, if you ask me! To be listener, you have to be sympathetic, true, but to show true empathy is difficult and a demanding task, can you be truly empathic towards me without knowing at least something about me? Perhaps, but this idea is a little rotter. If I were to stop being Mr Holmes and you Dr Watson for a second, perhaps I could be Amalie. The most beautiful combination of things is not the most complex, but the most thought-out. We have to learn the Waltz [dance], to follow not only the music, but also the other person. And, of course Watson then the results you are expecting or hoping for, require sufficient experience of both life [the music in this case] and the other person. It will only be beautiful when the two come together. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains… you know the rest. You know my methods, Watson.

Why me learn the waltz with these two left feet! The act of feeling you say, we feel unless we do not, there is nothing to be had about it. If I could learn to control my feelings it would be a rather strange thing to do, but then again if you are attempting to be ‘inside my head, I certainly feel sorry for you. Wait, this was a short reply… I did not even get to Aristotle… wait…

MOTHER, HES KILLED THE DOG AGAIN. That thing has more lives than all the cats in the world put together. Then again, who is the scallywag here, I think it is me, but I cannot be sure it is not you. Care to learn the Waltz? If you want to be a listener or a wise person be prepared to learn it.

@AmalieAnne A short little thing!!! Oh, that was only in the imaginary play. Phew!

That was quite a journey. I think I might have got lost along the way a few times, but I really like the conclusion:

Care to learn the Waltz? If you want to be a listener or a wise person be prepared to learn it.

It should definitely be in 7 Cups' listener training.

Charlie

@RarelyCharlie A lovely little thing to be sure

*starts mean me*

Now Listen Up You Bunch of Scoundrels, I