Just a blueys.
I then went and sat near a church with a beer. A Rasta asked me for a
beer and I said sure if he'd talk to me. He just spoke about things. His
friend came over and we got in an argument initially. I have very
different views of god to the Rastafarians. And pretty much every other
religion.
I spke to him of real wars. What happened in Sri Lanka. Like a typical
therapist he didn't listen to what I was saying but took what he wanted
from it to make his point. But I listened none the less. The gents sang
me Rastafarian songs I didn't understand but I sat and listened.
I spoke of my life and my heart and my pain, and they understood. They
even said "you have the depression" which I was surprised to hear. I
didn't think they'd use psychiatric terminology to label misery.
They were angry at me for my views on god but when they understood they
spoke to me and my heart. They explained to me my problem: I carry the
weight of the world on my shoulders. I wouldn't have it any other way.
It's yt another part of my dysfunctional character. It's fundamental to
my battle against god.
IT makes me miserable as hell underneath the mask. I take no pride or
good feeling from it, nor want it. It's not suprising I'm so miserable.
They tried to therapise me. They explain to me the value of life and of
joy. They explained the leaf has peace even though the wind rocks it.
They explain the wind but I didn't understand. Their wisdom was beyond
my stage in life.
This is the informal mental healthcare system. Two strangers who didn't
walk on by, who saw my pain through my mask and gave me what the NHS
still hasn't given me.
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