I just can't.

I still harm my body when a person or situation defines me and when there's a break in my brain because of a contradiction (which also triggers psychosis). Every action one makes is seen within the context of the other, and I can't stand that kind of attribution anymore. I have lived my whole life understanding and loving my lack of solid identity, I had my times of struggling to define something in me to think in a certain way or just function at all, also went through the realization of not having to try anything but just live, and understood the discursive, historical, biological, psychological, spiritual and all kinds of boundaries that shape the self; I have worked my transparency to communicate all of it, and still there's people that will keep defining me, no matter how toxic they know that is for me.

I was diagnosed with BPD and schizoafffective disorder, then developed and got the diagnosis of schizoid personality disorder, and I just took it like I developed the latter out of fear, laziness, comfort or something that took me far from a better living, but now I realize I protected myself from an identity given by others, or given by the sole interaction with them. They're not mirrors, they're bouncy walls and the feedback is too noisy.

I understand their position, but it seems like I don't integrate that understanding to live better near them, and that makes me feel disappointed both of them and myself for not reaching that mode of mere conduit, which is for me the purest way of and only value on helping others. I'm failing to teach something through me, and that sole fact is defining me...

And my body is the only thing about my being that I can actually destroy... More than it giving me a sense of agency or control, I really think it is about "avoiding" the curse of definition via relations. Can't keep dialectics up when the position of others kill the possibility, so being forced into a position kills me slowly.

 

(I'm working hard on that behaviour and overall dominating my vulnerabilities, this is just a necessary verbal exploration).

Almost.

I'm crawling on this realm, trying to not lose the entire sense of language, as I can't not look every tiny part of entropy unfolding, and the declaring of concepts renders futile, or worse. When I feel like I have a lot to say, I don't like it in it's entirety because when it reaches another brain it will become another bifurcation of chaos, not reconcile anything, no matter how pure and worked my thoughts are. When I feel like I nail the feeling, I don't feel like I want to talk at all. So is that impossibility a natural feature, or a hopeless point in the eternal damnation of humanity? Even: Are both statements true? Being the agent that separated them is kind of painful.

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What I'm trying to communicate these days is that the problem these times relies on a profoundly damaged sense of self. Fed by a tumultuous history of relations (with others, with land, with concepts), the self is deeply confused and can't get out of it's invisible cage. Emotions, which were originally developed to guarantee survival, arouse from the menace of it's "integrity". Whether to call the menace real or fake has no space into the discussion; not even as denied, but it has no sense when the self is set at the point where the pulls and pushes start and end, where the last 20 words lose any meaningful meaning... That blind spot that became "me" and "us", that separation and interdepence, that collapse into itself. "What are the structures that hold that definition floating around in search of identification?" should be the question every time it reappears. Is it the only way to be alive?

🦎