Been Gone From Blogging – Well, Things Were Messed Up!

Dandelion growing on curb - Löwenzahn wächst auf dem Kantstein - © Stefanie Neumann - Kokopelli Bee Free - All Rights Reserved.

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It’s probably safe to say that whatever you’re feeling is a normal response to a messed up situation.”

This is what a very kind person told me, recently, when I was in need of a friend.

I have experienced a lot of messed up situations. And you know what? I have not heard many people saying that (or something similar) to me. There was definitely no-one in the past ten years. The last five years of those were particularly consuming, for that matter.

When I was reaching out for psychological help in 2015 because of one of those messed up situations, I never got it. I got responses like:

“Our waiting list is closed.”

“If you still have that problem in six months, you can call back and we will see if we maybe take you on our one year long waiting list.”

“If I take you as a client, what is in it for me?”

And then there was that psychiatrist who left me breaking down in her waiting room after denying me the help that I needed, without even offering me a Kleenex or a glass of water.

I could just as well have killed myself right away. I did not. Instead I decided to not waste my energy on a dying system and instead pull myself out by my own hair.

I did pretty well, too. I even had an appointment with my integration contact person at the Jobcenter because I had thought up a few things and wanted to talk about what actually is possible.

Just when that appointment approached, one of our direct neighbours cracked and went into paranoia. Unfortunately he made me the pivotal point of all his problems – albeit I had nothing to do with it, except for that something within him might have remembered that I would notice the emergency and try to get some help for him, which I did; without any success, so far. But I did what I could and even more.

I have already mentioned on other occasions how it started with him standing in front of my door with a pickaxe in his hand, wanting to “polish my face” for some incomprehensible reason. Even more incomprehensible to me is, how it can be that he obviously had previously announced that to another neighbour and they never went anywhere to tell. Neither before nor after the incident – and that would have been really helpful.

I have also mentioned the defamations, the threats, the fact that I am not going in the stairway on my own, anymore, that I have to determine carefully if I can stay home alone and how I am playing “Grey Rock” for over four years, now – a measure that is supposed to be taken short term to make yourself as uninteresting as possible to the person who is threatening you. It is not supposed to be used over such a long period of time. But it has been my only anchor and it has kept me safe. No-one else did anything.

Not the landlord company, who knows about the problem and sees it clearly but decided to not do anything about it.

Not the police, who is busy with keeping hooligans in check who come to the nearby soccer games but in cases like mine can only do something after someone got hurt, according to the information they gave to me.

Not the attorney, whose only goal it was to get me going to court with it, which would have ended in a complete mess, given the situation.

Not my mother, who kept telling me how cute she thought that certain neighbour was when she met him, first, and then kept pulling old, unrelated stories out of her sleeve to make me feel even worse about myself. Until I cut the contact under tears.

Not that friend who found it more convenient to just turn away from all the mess.

Not my father who, until quite recently, failed to see that his daughter was fading – and I mean it. I was not sure if I was going to make it through all of this alive. But that is an old story between my father and me, anyway, as I did not experience this kind of behaviour for the first time.

Not my husband, who saw all this but unfortunately, has problems with facing harsh realities, and for whom I had to be a therapist, instead.

Not my house doctor, who, this time, at least saw how badly my health was impacted and gave me that official form to validate it, but never gave me those full 7,5 minutes which I asked for only once a month to at least give me the chance to talk to SOMEONE.

Things could have blown up under my buttocks and no-one would have even noticed. My husband would have, but only because it would have been his buttocks too, that would have gotten blasted.

I would call that a messed up situation. And that, eventually, my life-force was beginning to leave me… I would call that a normal response. In those recent years I have been facing more than one person can take on their own.

I had my hands full with surviving and not much space to feel through all the pain that came along with that situation. So I stashed it away for later. Not because I wanted to. In fact I begged people around me to give me some space so that things would not end up in a mess. I never got it until this apocalypse called Corona came.

In the beginning of this month, it happened. All the pain made way for itself and emerged at once. It was almost too much for my physical heart to take.

I am still here, though.

Had it not been for some amazing experience of “homecoming” that I had in the last week of April, I would not have been sure that I would make it through that pain. But because of that experience I know that my time to leave has not come yet and probably is still quite a bit further in the future.

And in order to make it through, I reached out to someone – I do not know if we can call each other friends, yet, but I feel quite confident that there is a good potential for a pretty beautiful friendship.

They showed up, too, and not only did they look out for me, all day, they also realized it:

It’s probably safe to say that whatever you’re feeling is a normal response to a messed up situation.”

And they did not turn away after doing so.

I could not be more grateful for that.

You know, once, when my time has come, I will be ready, even if I would die of a broken heart. I will look back at whatever it is and say: That was worth it.

But right now is the time to live. And I intend to enjoy my life. I have had enough torture for at least 10 more life times. Enough is enough. Anyone who intends to bring on more of the same will have to just suck it up and take a good dosage of their own medicine, for a change.

A side note: You might have noticed that the topics I am currently writing about are not always shiny-happy-all-is-well. It has never been the intention of this blog to be all shiny-happy. The intention has been authenticity. Or, as someone I know would say: being real. And in the face of shit hitting the fan you just will not find me white-washing everything. I have met people who assumed that I would be too innocent to name such things. They have been wrong. Innocence and kindness are rooted in a true heart. And a true heart never denies the truth. Not for long, anyway.

With that being said, I am sure that most of my readers are able to handle this, because I know that you folks all are awesome, strong and beautiful people.

Are you ready to shine a bright light of awareness on the path of beingness, today?

Much Love,
Steffi

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