i really want summer to be over

It comes.
Again.

A soft thud hitting in the lower abdomen, turning to a dull aching that keeps growing. You feel the heaviness of your swollen insides,and the next thing you know it's there.

You stare at the tiny spot-that's the evidence, that's the sign, your own stigmata. That's the curse that has passed through generations to reach you. Now it is your curse. That's why you bleed. Vulnerable and exposed, your entire frame cracks and aches. You're soiled with blood and dirt and constantly aware of pain-that's how you know you're alive, that's what it's like to be human. A female.

You get one every month and it always brings you down to the earth, never letting you forget that pain is an inseparable part of life. You were born in pain, through pain you will go, every piece of bread you will earn with sweat, you'll be torn by pain over and over again, and you'll give birth to a new life in pain. And the cycle
will repeat once again...the doors to paradize have been shut behind you. You will bear the curse till the end, because if pain is what makes life real [you MUST feel it, all the way through, acknowledging that the only alternative is death.]

and another one

****

Man and woman, both […] proud and experienced, seldom meeting others as experienced. Suddenly both afflicted by dislike for the other, an emotion which, when examined […], turns out to be dislike for themselves. They have found their mirrors, take a good look, grimace, leave each other. When they meet, it is with a wry sort of acknowledgement, become good friends on this basis, after a time this wry ironical friendship [could possibly] turn into love. But love is barred to them because of the first stark experience, without emotion.

Short stories

by Doris Lessing

*
A woman, starved for love, meets a man rather younger than herself, younger perhaps in emotional experience than in years, or perhaps in the depth of his emotional experience. She deludes herself about the nature of the man; for him, another love affair merely.

**
A man uses grown-up language, the language of emotionally grown people, to gain a woman. She slowly understands that this language comes from an idea in his head, it has nothing to do with his emotions in fact he is an adolescent boy emotionally. Yet, knowing this, she cannot prevent herself being moved and won by the language.

***
A healthy woman, in love with a man. She finds herself becoming ill, with symptoms she has never had in her life. She slowly understands that this illness is not hers, she understands that the man is ill. She understands the nature of the illness, not from him, how he acts or what he says, but from how his illness is reflected in herself.

****
A woman who has fallen in love, against her will. She is happy. And yet, in the middle of the night, she wakes. He starts up, as if in danger. He says: No, no, no. Then, Consciousness and control again, in silence. She wants to say: What are you saying No to? For she is filled with fear. She does not say it. She sinks back to sleep and weeps in her sleep. She wakes; he is still awake. She says, anxiously, Is that your heart beating? He, sullen: No, it’s yours.

Life in slow motion somehow it dont feel real

HAVING FEELINGS IS PAINFUL

So you instinctively retreat into a state of non-feeling.

IN THE WORLD AS TERRIBLE AS THIS LIMIT EMOTIONS.

When encounters with the outside world are painful, when you're actually caught in pain, try to remember or take into account some emotions you are willfully excluding.

What emotions?

Joy, of course.

Allow your mind to rest on those first blades of tentative grass that will poke into the light out of the lava in a million years time.

In order to keep ourselves sane we will have to learn to rely on those blades of grass. It is possible that in order to keep love, feeling tenderness alive, it will be necessary to FEEL these emotions ambiguously, even for what is false and debased,
or what is still an idea, a shadow in the willed imagination only.

Or if what we feel is pain then we MUST feel it, acknowledging that the alternative is death. Better anything than the shrewd, the calculated, the non-committal, the refusal of giving for fear of the consequences.

- snippets from Doris Lessing