Thin ice under foot

I am informed by others who depend on the delusion of a concerned supreme being that they find great solace in faith. I have tried but can never maintain any belief. The more I learn about how we create narratives to structure our lives the harder life becomes. I am told that realisation of the self illusion can be liberating. It is not being so for me. Today I go to see my key worker. I have to attend these appointments periodically. Though I enjoy psychotherapy I am aware that what is happening is the creation of new narratives to understand my behaviour. It was in my teens I first fully realised the pattern of action first then construction of justification or reasoning later. Science works this way. Create a model then search for evidence of its truth or lack thereof. During my psychosis I remember seeing the fibre optic cable network being installed. The online self I adopted was a different self to most I normally live by. I had become unrecognisable to my offline self. Now we can all link our brains together through the net to be part of a greater whole. The inversion of this saw me as hard wired in to the earth. Workers in high visibility jackets raced to complete the network as broadband providers fought for contracts in television advertising campaigns. This subterranean network was hastily reaching completion. I had gone from looking at industrial architecture to surveying the vt amount of underground tunnels. From world war 2 munitions supply tunnelling under Box hill, a vast labyrinth explored with help from K, to the priest hole tunnels through which Catholics escaped. The subterranean history of Britain continues. I can still believe it and find myself drifting back to that pattern and away from the conventional pattern. I hit the Internet late and my psychosis was to a degree public. How could it help but be anything but. I can feel the connectivity, that our minds one day will all be linked through this network. The term net has trap like connotations.
To escape the tunnels I stopped using computers. I still rarely use them. Only my iPad seems to be untainted with memories pulling me back under. And making things always helps. Engaging with matter. Touching, shaping, sculpting reality in a tangible way. Words and thoughts don't exist. At least not like objects do. There is no story where I succeed through interaction. I could never have succeeded touting my wares through the emotional battlefield of private views and metro centric networking. The idea of business disconnected from the personal is impossible for me. The things I make are xtensions of my self. Extensions of the illusion of self anyway.