Did you ever have a look at yourself self-honestly and go wow I'm a real jerk? I'm one of those people I gossip about, I'm one of those people that gossips, I'm one of those people I despise, I'm one of those egotistical freaks, I'm one of those addicts, I'm one of those people I loathe, I'm one of those selfish people I resent, I'm one of those people who lies to themselves and everyone else, I'm one of those people who is weak, I'm one of those people who is afraid and scared, I'm one of those people who is greedy, I'm one of those people who likes to win and thus accepts losers, I'm one of those liars, I'm one of those people who consumes, I'm one of those people who likes division, I'm one of those racists, I'm one of those prejudice people, I'm one of those people who feels sorry for themselves, I'm one of those people who is fake, I'm one of those people who cheats, I'm one of those people who uses, I'm one of those people who abuses, I'm one of those people who judges, I'm one of those people who steals, I'm one of those people who doesn't know themselves, I'm one of those people obsessed with body image, I'm one of those losers, I'm one of those people who hates, I'm all these characters I claim to hate yet I deny it by blaming others of it.
Self-honesty is not fun or pretty it can be quite fucked up to realize everything I have accepted and allowed and even more fucked up to realize that I have fucked myself so much that it has become hard to face, see, realize understand and take self-responsiblity for myself. Who knew self-honesty would be difficult? Who knew I actually created myself in such a way that I would find it hard to consider others and look at myself and correct myself and stop participating in my creation.
Before I found Desteni and started walking my process writing and applying self-forgiveness I thought somehow in this world I had a purpose in life and I thought once I found that purpose I would be fulfilled and satisfied. The purpose I wanted was only to please my ego and self-interest, I never really gave a true fuck about anyone else or anything else just simply cared about how I would look to others for my accomplishments and about the fuzzy feeling I would have. I have the opportunity to do something and give myself a purpose I realize it is difficult because I have allowed myself to be programmed. The purpose I was looking for was actually just a means to acquire energy like a vampire sucking blood from its victim.
I still haven't cried properly, I'm not sure what I'm holding onto and not sure why but writing has been supportive.
This got me thinking, a lot. I do a lot of what you described and sadly am not aware of it until I actually think about it. I agree with you that writing can be supportive!
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