I'm not the good guy, I am the bad guy

The journey continues, but it gets ugly. The deep underbelly of the chubbicorn is messy.

So much harm has been created chasing good.

I am a good person.

The bad things we’ll do to be seen as good person.

Performative actions.

Meaningless statements.

Empty promises.

These are actions of an armored person, one who is unsure of themselves, always seeking external validation.

The further I go into this journey, I realize that with each breakthrough, my ego takes over and guides me into a space where I seek out validation from the external world.

Look, I’ve done therapy, I’m an evolved person. I’m better than you.

Then I break through that and I connect deeper with my ancestral wounds.

Look at me, I’m connected to my ancestors, I’m better than you soulless people.

Every fumble, I go to zero.

Every I am statement, I drop back to zero.

Every attempt to be infinite is led back to zero.

Underneath the mask, is deep rage.

That’s my secret, I’m always angry

Calm.

Peace.

Zen.

It’s also a mask.

It sends the message that I am good.

I’ve removed two huge life-changing masks, layers that bury my self.

This third one, was recently triggered with some personal events. I’ll leave the details unspoken for now as the wounds are still fresh.

With all my investment into therapy, with all the drugs done, with all the treatments undergone, I am still broken.

Underneath the calm me, the one that “healed” his anxiety, the constant tenseness, is a rage that 10x greater than what was at the surface.

The raging mask, only hid the deep angry and rage from injustices.

I feel the screams of thousands of my ancestors who could not scream. Their pains live within me. They’re hands, bound. Their feet, bleeding. Their hearts, ripped open.

Injustice.

The rape.

The pillaging.

The devastation.

Not to be spoken of.

Bury it deep.

Put it in the past.

If you see me, you might not love me

And even deeper inside, is a part of me that believes that I am unlovable.

To be abandoned.

Left for dead.

Discarded.

Because if you saw the rage that lives within me, you’ll run away.

At this depth, I am capable of anything. I’m scared of this because all possibilities are here. Every horrific event in humanity lives here.

And if you saw it, you would run.

Yet,

all I want is to be seen.

To know that I am loved.

That I can be loved.

That I am worthy to be here.

There are no safe spaces

You’ll often here this in many meetings.

This is a safe space.

Absolutely BS.

If I brought this part of me to a meeting, they’d call 911.

But spaces are on the spectrum.

The daily normal society space, an absolute toxic mess. Here, wear the mask, don’t be yourself.

The healed listening space, a place where you can share the rumblings of your self with others, and be heard and seen.

The deep container, a rare space where you can open your self up, and be received by a group. I believe that 1:1 sharing can be done, but for the witnessing to truly happen, it takes a well-trained group, to hold and contain the infinite energies repressed.

I am seeing this space.

I am seeking deeper connections.

I am 80.