The end?

Yesterday, I heard from the wind that Its time to stop fighting, its the end.  I thought I was going to die.  Then I was told that people want to help and that a friend who I stayed with from last November to January will help me and start a collection for me to get my physical body and mental health cured.  Now he forgot or changed his mind.

He has been diagnosed with schizotypal personality disorder and PDDNOS but denies that he has either, so either his inconsistencies is due to mental illness, or flakiness.  I am again disappointed and hurt.  I had hope.  Yesterday, I went into nature in hope to be healed.  I heard a voice “Its the end, stop fighting”  I thought that it is a message that I am going to die.  I am ready to die.  Then my friend told me that he is sad for me that my brain did not grow lie others’  (see post from 6/9/16) and that my body is in pain and he said that his Buddhist group has compassion and that he can start a collection. But tonight he said no.

My prefrontal cortex did not develop.  My brain did not develop.  I don’t know why I have a 150+ IQ.

Of course I am ready to die.  I realized that I am privileged in ways some are not.  I have wrote about privilege before.  I have the privilege of being able to be uncomfortable, and to not expect instant gratification.  That is how I made it as an artist.  I never wanted to become famous but I worked hard and had no social life.  I was not allowed to speak with kids or adults as a child so not having a social life is not hard for me.  I learned to act like I know how to talk to people by observation. As I have stated in my posts in December 2014, I am keeping this blog anonymous, and most of the things that would identify me are vague.  I am going to say that I am a dance artist.  I was able to rehearse harder, work harder, make work like nobody else, and get paid (not much, but professional rates) .  I have been in companies with members that grew up attending conservatories and majored in dance in college.  I have choreographed and have been in press.  So my being able to withstand pain and focusing without self consciousness and my conviction not to be like my father (see my posts from December 2014) gave me an edge.  Not caring if I am liked or not because I was hated by my parents is another privilege.  Not having habits like when to eat, or what to spend money on, or needing to called loved ones, because I have no loved ones, is another privilege.  I had the privilege of making edgy work and being nude in any of the works I made or danced in without objection from family because I have no family is another privilege.  I also had the privilege of hypervigilance; people who are competitive have tried to injure me in rehearsal or on stage and I was able to avert that with my stealth and animal senses.   It was revealed  me over the winter when I was staying with a friend (the one who saved me in late January 2016) who worked in academia.  We went to an MFA dance concert and at a reception, a professor said that she knows who I am.  Another instance in the same city, an artist who was there for an artistic residency told me that she knows me.  1,100 miles away I was recognized by artists in the same discipline; one of these ladies, I have never heard from.  I was confused at that interaction, but realize now that I now have the responsibility for being conscious about my body of work.

Now I am ready to die, or get the correct doctors and therapists and thrive.  I am happy with both.




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