Up at 4am

I woke up a little before 4am. I've begun doing some mind exercises last Friday - no, make that last Wednesday - to help myself.

I am supposed to work on my Governance Innovation Report but I found myself organizing one of my Gmail accounts. Admittedly, it felt good, lighter even redirecting some of the e-mails to another account. I felt these were encroaching too much on my personal space. The clutter and the stuffiness these brought seemed to reflect what has been going on recently with me.

Yes, it has been a while since I've updated this site of mine. I am sorry for not having lived up to my promise of doing so.

Just like my personal account which was heavily bombarded with so many e-mails (it really messed up my personal space and did not leave me much room to enjoy my sanctuary), I was struggling with my own issues of happiness, liberation, satisfaction, stability and independence.

Why I encountered this stifling sensation frustrated me. It drew me into a vortex that led me to doubt and insecurity. How I am dealing with these is another story. But I am now in a better disposition compared to before.

What I would like to share in this entry is how much writing has been the salve to soothe me.

My inner demons which brought me so much turmoil, distress and desperation were released and contained (somewhat like the Ghostbusters' electromagnetic ghost trapper) in a journal. My journal has been detailing the feelings, process, realizations, existential questions that brought me to my own decisions. Writing has been my constant companion as of late, calming me and freeing me of my own internal battles.

Before, I would use to tear up previous journal entries - and now that I am older and wiser, I regret doing so. I think this is a side of me which refused to reconcile a phase or a stage I had to undergo that was really awkward - embarrassing at times, painful, foolish. I thought these did not describe myself. I wanted a different projection of me. Now, I had enough sense to keep intact my diary from the time I started writing - and this was when I was ten years old.

Hahaha ... as I wrote that sentence it brought tears to my eyes. Regretful? Sentimental? A little of both I believe. Wow, that was a good release; not a full one but at least it eased the pressure inside of me. And so, here I am on an initial attempt to be more forgiving and accepting of myself.