Notes To Myself On Living

The same fundamental chord of experience which causes me to experience mental illness over and over again is not something I can change. I can be very well but I still have it playing under my skin.
I can refine my habits and change my lifestyle but it will not stay quiet. I can find work and find love but it will not stop influencing my experiences with its abstract tones.
I can pray to God, do the right thing, confess my sins, however, the ringing wound opens up again requiring healing. Further more I can exercise, meditate, contemplate, read, study and learn. I can play guitar, learn more computer and sketch with no great affect on it.
I often pause to be glad I can do so many things. I am happy to volunteer but there is no cure to be found in doing charity work just a welcome sense of relief and happiness.
So I have to stop and think what more can I do to help myself. I have only managed to do a little bit of those many things in life to just a certain depth. I was hoping and yearning for a single occupation that I could call my life's work. It has eluded me. I thought I would die and then be punished for the lack of finding and pursuing a single goal relentlessly to perfection. A subtle fear of God stalks me. My conscience sorrows and I wallow in it's mire regularly.
Well-being is the best I can do. Keeping well. The responsibility for looking after my own condition. As cruel as it may seem to be. A mission to stay well in life. A short straw. But it is not as bad as all that the voice of reason tells me. It is a good life to live with higher values like:
Gratitude and a rare sort of peace and contentment.
While pushing myself round the bend or allowing others to do so gets exhausting although it needs to be done to a point where it will remain therapeutic. Hence a healthy time limit on paid work. Then I must stop and heal.

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