Risking mental collapse

Prior to starting, I'm going to say that I hate reading Reddit threads of the feud between mysticism and scholasticism. Catholicism is for everyone. We all serve a function in the House of God. Finally, at the risk of sounding divisive, please consider how stupid it is to reject mysticism and to be a practicing Catholic. It's inherently mystical. The idea of rationalizing the irrational makes no sense to me except through implication of our Fallen nature. 

Some remarked that one should keep mystical experiences to themselves. It's a mark of humility. Sure, but I will proselytize through deeds and revelation. God found me. I didn't exactly search for God in this. I do understand, however, the risk of that horrible sin "envy." It just breaks my heart. That's why I do a lot of alms. It's just a horrible thing for others to experience. I understand that others would like a mystical experience or experiences, but not everyone is cut out for that. That doesn't make anyone bad or of less quality. That's the risk of a mental collapse. I'm close to undergoing one.  Because I'm morbidly aware in the subdued sense that I'm always at risk of that, this is what I'm going to say.

I took it upon myself 8 years ago to do this translation project. No advisers for years, doing a language that I didn't know and could somewhat pronounce, and a vision on my end that no one saw possible or feasible. It's all starting to come true.  

What's the cost? YEARS of isolation. My heart aches so much about the many, many people who would no longer recognize me. I didn't have a computer or cell phone for years. I didn't get their names because I usually don't ask. I pay attention more to their moral qualities and character. It doesn't help either that I'm facially blind.

You work on this stuff [translation] for years on end. Like during World War I, I thought the war would be over my Christmas. It wasn't. Maybe 4 years in? Nope. 8 years? Time passes. Information gets lost. Doesn't help that my mother always threw away my archives - archives with invaluable contact information that I scribbled - archives now that total 5,000 pages at least, none of which factors the years that I spent working on perfecting my glossary, with two dozen failures, which required that I start anew, back to scorching the very same words de novo. I might be done next year... or not... It was a fight for which I always wished but a rational person would have either abandoned or forsaken entirely. That's what happened to my math papers. I burnt 1,300 pages on a whim and never returned - something that took 18 months out of my life. That was a total scribe job. Was that a waste? No. What I didn't know is that what I burnt proved indispensable for what I'm doing now. It was all part of a (sick) plan to destroy me so that I can see a deeper reality.

So I'm enthusiastic, I see things, weird things happen to my body, but then time and years alike pass, and more people die. I can't think of how many have died so far. It is at least 6 people. They never got to see the final product

Then after days, if not weeks, if not months of constant work, I'm back in the real world. My heart aches. What happened to so many whom I used to know? Where did they go? What were their names? They were so fond of me. I was so fond of them. I may never find them again

I guess I get the reward from the Heavens of knowing that there is the afterlife and that what I did was not for naught. But geez, I really miss these people. I'm no longer recognizable. 

I could not imagine what Hell it would to live a monastic life, besides the fact that silence makes me go mad. I need external stimuli and study that way accordingly: music, coffee shops, liquor stores, the homeless, just basic traffic. On the other hand, even monastics have a social support network. Besides my husband, I have ended up with none. 

None of this is self-pity. It's for what I signed up.  But geez do I miss a lot of people whom I might never come in contact again. It has been that long. And tonight, I'll continue fighting the temptation of chasing a ghost - the ghosts of those whom I used to know. The more I chase, the more my heart will break. 

Update I: posted a picture of the Moon centered between my eyebrows from my smoking spot taken for my breaks since my focus is great. Could it be a sign from the Heavens? I'll accept it. I don't think I ever see the Moon like that. The buildings aren't here are so tall that I can barely see fireworks on the 4th of July

Update II: Dad texted me out of the blue. Haven't heard from him in years. We texted for two hours. Longest we ever did. Strange in light of my isolation. His texts were a Deliverance 

Update III: looks like I'm managing methodically all the cases of Être. Only 120+ cases of that. Then will do the rest of the conjugations - what I call Derivatives as a legacy of my Calculus studies

Update IV: I can now sleep. 

Update V: This song best encapsulates my mindset as a modern Medieval Scribe. It always feels like I'm going to be scribing in a monastery up until the End of the World, where I'll continue scribing as a massive asteroid ends human existence

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=ZcEqCsDflY4&feature=share