Alike

Things around my planet have taken a shift over the last few weeks. My dad fell, and he’s lost almost all his lower body strength. I’m carrying him now, from place to place. It breaks my heart, and puts me in a difficult spot, knowing my mom is largely helpless to fulfill the physical obligations.

In contrast, I’ve met someone new named K. Things are off to a very encouraging start, and I definitely approve of the direction we are going. There seems to be a very unique parallelism that is entrancing, fascinating and wonderful. Unique in a way that is beyond expectation. My introspection upon this experience has helped me to live thoughtfully, keeping vigilance on my core mental health with much needed objectivity. Relationships have been destabilizing factors in the past. However, several key factors are designating my introduction to K as wholly different from previous attempts.

I am aware though. Keenly. My life depends on me being able to maintain cognitive consistency. The only way I go forward is if I can do so and still be healthy and live my life fully. At this mature stage of my life, I’m able to manage the many aspects of life, keeping an alignment rather than leaning on any one and causing a disruption.

Fuck man, I just got the low down on my work today (first paid day): Coordinating 2 programs, web admin for 2 domains, facilitator for 2 support groups, education program leader, WALK sponsorship chairman for and now outreach director. All that in 20 hours a week paid, but looking more like 35 with all the volunteering required to meet those obligations. I’m fucking GLAD to be this busy, frankly. Being unoccupied is a state I do not enjoy, and doing so while being a resource consumer rather than contributor makes it more difficult to remain positive. Now, I’m giving more than I ever have, and here I am feeling the best I have in 5 years. I must be very diligent about making sure my stability, energy and motivation are maintained over the course of years, with gradual improvements likely. Caution with consideration.

Like I said, things are looking up for me. Working hard and living with pride is a pretty rewarding path, I’ve found.

Just Now…

A sudden mallet shatter. A window blasted open. Sun rays beaming. A world of dust cast into the light. This new turn is a portent of happiness.

The soot brushed away. Flattened cardboard. Curled paper. Crumpled into piles and heaved into the shadows.

Testing cautiously. Pain once so near. Thoughts are below but now rising above. What more awaits to be discovered I will soon learn. A journey of shared experiences.

Everless

Twins of twilight–

Pixie-blink a flicker,

The grounded stars dance,

Hands catching–

Their fires alive.

Back across the stretching sky,

Racing alone to a distant–

Faded horizon.

Dust falls to ash,

Dimming until dark again.

Alternate Universes

My thoughts run tonight, bucking through the crisp air. J is back in my thoughts, as she has been of late, and always to a lesser extent. I can’t help but spin alternate realities where she brings a stabilizing force to my family dynamic and a new balance is achieved. A place where her quirky, clever humor and woman’s perspective provided balance and helped us feel equal together. Laughing with frequency and living in a state where stability was enjoyed. Dreamy, bleary and almost laughable at just how far from reality it actually is.

The world is cruel, and through it I too have also acted cruelly, and kindly. All at the wrong times, it would seem. Now that the alignment of her life and mine has passed, there is no going back to change what has already been written. The view that accompanies this thought is inevitably folly.

I’m embracing my life now as a caretaker and forever disciple of family. It is so nourishing to protect those we love, and do our best to preserve their safety. I only have so much I can give, but what I have, I do. I love them and I will help guide them to peace in whatever way I can. In my dreams, I reach out to J and open my arms to her again, despite the furious rage she has aimed at me. I have always known her regardless. Somehow, there is peace again.

I can’t help but long for a parallel reality as my own comes under strain. I always imagine one with her in it, when I project myself forward. She is still just as jubilant, having not been thrashed by my disorder. I see so many alternate realities where we coexisted splintering off into infinity.

She opened me up: I got tattoos and pierced my ears, and she exposed me up to a world I had never known before, but was curious to explore. I too gave her things as our paths intersected often once we grew. But I was a fool, and so was she. In thus reality, she may have been able to, but I was never going to live that dream.

Night falls on a turbulent evening. It’s at times like this that I feel truly alone, with no confidant within my bubble to relate myself to. I remember having that though, and it is the greatest joy of my life. For a time, I was blessed.

As in my current predicament, I am granted the strength and stability to endure the changes my family is going to transition through. I am fortunate. I can do more. I will do more for them.

I have dreams. They will forever say dreams. I look back, and I am filled with regret.

I just know I will never be over her.

Pillar Talk

There is no better place to test one’s coping toolkit than in a crisis. Conveniently, I happen to be in one of the familial variety, which as indicated by previous posts, is an ongoing, developing and mutating issue. I’m near to this unfurling destructive situation, with no hope of achieving the proximity of safety due to the bonds of conscience. The variables causing the conflict are also unstoppable in their perspective; aligning them to a path that only leads to a continuation of trauma while the gap between the energies seems destined for concussive retaliation.

I’ve been surviving in this environment by figuring out what expectations I need to have rather than wish I had, and living wisely within my means. I know I’m only going to be able to relate to them on a limited set of issues, and the window they see me through is made smaller by my accommodation rather than personal obstinance. I’ve learned where I need to have my own strength, because depending on an external source is much less stable. My parents don’t know any other way: mom can’t be strong on her own as she’s dependent on him for her consistency, stability, assurance of survival… she has no mutual or self-imposed logic, discipline or interest in a healthy conversation aimed at a resolution.

It’s sad to have to “defend” oneself against loved ones, but I have a history of instigating and now enduring situations of high emotional volatility. I have a talent for knowing when I am in a sound moral position (promoting radiant strength) having not been so on many regrettable occasions. It is sad to see the deterioration of more than just their physical selves; the very fabric of what used to make them strong has been torn and continues to unravel as they insist on stretching without strengthening it. The result is that I end up being alone and introspective for my own benefit, knowing the details of my process might as well be Japanese to them.

Acceptance of things that will not change has been hugely instrumental in helping me focus my energy on things that I can have some sway over. My priorities are healthier, my expectations (if any) are realistic and I am keenly aware of my own interpersonal mechanics as I improve in handling stress and conflict within myself.

I still see myself, as a 15 – 17 year old man, effusing, erupting, devastating my environment with my uncontrolled emotional irregularities. I used to get so full of rage, and I would cast it out to everyone in my proximity, unfiltered, unregulated, uncontrolled. The long-term repercussions of that become clear, along with the burden of inflicted catastrophe on the clean white sheet of morality. I got tired of that way, the turmoil, the imbalance.

The reach of my gravity is minuscule in this place, like Io at aphelion, hoping it’s going to move Jupiter closer to it with a good yank. However, it’s always just going to be a tiny little blip in the orbit of something much too large to be influenced. Sometimes, it’s best to just let gravity take you around and worry about having a clear path to do so.

I don’t have the best coping tools either, mind you. I’m drinking a little more, smoking a little more, just slightly disconnecting myself from this place. It’s agony when the air is full of hate like this, and I’m trapped in here most of the time, too fearful of the environment to be free. It’s not the healthiest way, I know. I’m not perfect by any means, but I am going to survive.

6 Years

How much time is quantifiably “enough?” How long SHOULD things take… or how long do we want them to last? Time is happening, but, I find, individual perceptions of it vary greatly. Including my own, within my own life.

I found something on the internet while clinging desperately hope and scouring for words and images of my past. I found some text and read it, from 6 years ago on Christmas… It was the spark of something powerful, frozen in time). A check-in from a previously unremembered interval that seems now more like decades ago. My chronologic sense of this period, not the same as memory, is vastly different from the actual measured steps of days recorded. Things were accelerating towards a peak in these words, glowing and radiant. I feel far removed from parallels or similarity now, but the hurt of it is still near…

What I think my askew sense of time shows is that it doesn’t take long for our lives to change. In the years since that note, I’ve fundamentally reprioritized, changed professions, passions, goals, and embraced a new reality that works for equilibrium in my present environment. I look back and both sigh with awe, and swallow hard knowing what dark days lie ahead. When I reflected, I thought about how many things I had yet to learn, and how fundamental a reboot I would receive in the years to come.

During the decay after that peak, things seemed agonizingly drawn-out, but smeared and indiscernible, like grease on drywall. Such distant turbulence is hard to accurately document with memory, but little glimmers like this one remind me that, regardless of outcome, it started the right way. I had forgotten, but the origin was well intended, innocent, pure, impulsive and magnetic. It was like a dream, but I didn’t work nearly enough to make sure it stayed beautiful, and we fell into decay.

A gift from the past, but one that carries the weight and responsibility of reality. I am a creepy stalker asshole whatever to go sniffing around… but my heart is broken and I don’t have enough ways of coping that channel my emotions productively, apparently. I look for her words somewhere out there, with an ill-fated desire seeking an alternative reality that doesn’t exist. I know it isn’t hiding on some website, waiting to be found, which rends me even more. There is no end, only an ongoing state of realized, unrequited incompleteness… and our remembered laughter echoes down the long hallway of time, reaching my ears as little more than screams.

I must resolve of my own accord, and in a time that suits me best.

Threadbare

A sinew;

Twisting, stretch-snapping the expanse,

Shredded down to an impossible wire.

But feeling it there–

Some thread still binding,

In unrequited twitterpation,

Escaping the fury of torment,

Yet yanking at the throat–

Scraping the hole left by death.

It’s only in dreaming–

That some bridge still exists,

A span still endures,

Where she can still be found.

Real

Where is this place? My feet are not on the ground. I am compelled by the gusts of pain, upon an uncertain wind of remembering. How to escape it? Flee to some other world where things are different, albeit temporarily. Long for rest where dreams may bring me near to someone I used to love. A pervading sense of ongoing solitude restricting my oxygen. The waves crash ceaselessly. Pounding the craggy shore. Again and again.

I wish my pinky toe would die and fall off my foot. All it brings is pain, being a magnet for hard corners.

There is no resolution here, only an ongoing application of filter to restrain the localized toxicity of reality. The bitter bile of truth, ingested agonizingly.

Original J

Before Ja* there was Je*, and last night I was again visited by a spectre of my past. in Je*’s relationship, there was a very physical, carnal, fuel abundance. My dream ventured deep into the entwining moisture of sex, the spontaneity of passion, the strip-down clothes-shredding-seizure that ensures when the moment is nigh. But yes, there was still that anger and conflict. Even amidst that largely satisfactory arrangement, there was the tension of misunderstanding, the vast gorge filled with resentment looming. The fire burned fast, flickered, and then was gone forever.

It is emblematic of my past relationships. Starting with an explosion of similarly mirrored energies, then dwindling as the strands tear in the drift. It makes me wonder if I am going to be alone for the rest of my life. It makes me wonder if I am even capable of being a good partner. It reminds me of what it feels like to be loved by no one who doesn’t have to.

Insane Mumblings?

After a night of purging my emotional turbulence (see below), I find myself again, reflectively pointed toward action. Even after all the castigation and ridicule I subjected myself to, those pestering voices tend to get quieter when I’m being proactive in my life or meaningfully responsible, or using the evidence of such to validate the truth. This helps me do battle with that negativity when it shows up, most of the time. I tend to be more rational than spontaneously emotional, so going back over my thoughts and feelings helps me quantify and understand my responses to things. My reaction to J memories returning has been to vent, which I suppose is working in some ways. However, there is no real cohesion to a response or a course of action.

However. there is not a fundamental desire to make this a focal point of my ongoing life, even with some gesturing. Instead, it has taken a passenger’s back seat to several other priority items. Right now, I think I am my most well equipped to be a functional communicator In my life, however, not rushing to fill the space a partner would have. I still yearn for something abstract, shaped like a nostalgically recalled relationship I once had that was seemingly wonderful. None of that is rational. The assignment of emotions and blurriness to the memory is harmful at best, and arbitrary in nature since any number of other emotions are attached this way as well, and not destructively.

I see my wound, that place inside me that is still hurt, but there is no action to take, no tool to pick up and use. I just get up, and continue walking forward undeterred. She and I hurt each other, and now that pain reminds me of how not to fall into a similar situation, for myself or anyone else. My learned diligence as a result of my collapse has helped me take on the responsibilities I have today, and the fulfilling life so-far crafted. It was a scarring, agonizing lesson to fail, lose everything, reboot… and I still remind myself of that failure, as has been apparent.

What am I doing? I’m coping through expression, the best I can, to deal with my mixed up feelings and try to appease the part of me that is still fractured and splintered with pain. If I will never be able to help her resolve her pain, then at least I can work to resolve mine. It frustrates the logic motor to have nothing to “do,” per-say, no way to repair or permanently heal, other than to do one’s best obelisk impersonation for as long as possible. Survive, learn, and adapt. The pain will never stop, but it does not have to be a focus as it has been of late…

View From Below

I find myself engrossed in the mud of memory, slipping Back with each grueling step forward. There is sadness dragging me down, forcing me into the decompositional murk.

It is J. The memory of her. The impact she had in my life. After 4 years, the sting of her absence is just as real as the day she flew away. I know not how no let go of that pain. I feel her like a piece missing in my soul; at the very core of who I am. She reached me like no other, and I must accept she is gone forever.

I have not been able to do this because I still love who she was. I still love what we had when it was beautiful. She understood me like none before, and now she will never come back. The pain I feel here is something years have not reduced. Her departure is as fresh and bloody as any recent wound. Now, during this warm and family time of year, I miss her the most.

In times like this, when I remember, I tend to reflect in order to preserve my sanity. Having no word from her but another hateful disconnect in our frail communications is all I have left to remember her by. Her animosity. Accusing me of rape. She must truly despise me, which is a pain I must accept. I hurt her beyond repair, and now… now I am scum. A criminal. A pile of dirt. I wish. I wish she could see how I still love her. I wish she knew.

Blog, I come here to express, not to resolve. Unless clearly stated, my feelings are cast out into the ether with no expectation of understanding or compassion. I have only my own life to answer to.

I got a job today, and now I will have an income. I am a part of a team growing into future successes and possibilities. A whole new life built on pride and honesty is available for me. It is a future brighter than I have had in a very long time. I wish I could share it with her. I wish she was here with me, in these joyous times. I love her. I will not be able to stop, even if she wishes I was dead. All the wishes in the world will fall into the endless silence. There will be no reply. The dead do not respond. My broken place remains as it was, ever hoping, never knowing.

Bloosh

Retreating into a cave where destructive activity prevails. Gross meat smells. Funk. Sweat. Not many fans lining up for a sniff.

Sadly, this is the way that seems most likely. A slow half-life decay into subatomic oblivion. Casting no shadow in this world. What does it feel like to be erased from desirability?

I love someone who is gone from my reality. Gone forever with no trace; as though whisked to the ethereal plain. More an idea than an actuality now. The shredded hopes of a forgotten time. Writhing with the mournful despair for the dead.

Dried in the sunlight. Wasted to slurry in the dank dark of rotting loss. Grasping at the walls, hoping to climb out of it. Nails shredded and flesh-raw fingers rake the walls with blood. There was never any way out. Lying beside her corpse in the darkness.

She hated every last piece of me. Maybe hates me still. Nothing left. No part of my past that was worth keeping. Only the foul stink of decomposition remains. Yet, I wallow beside. In the festering bile, I still hope.

Under

Taken back. Days that seem brighter in their nostalgia. Is it misplaced fondness, or some bleary portrayal obscured beyond reality? I doubt there is a polar answer, but an amalgamation of both imagination and scar tissue.

Dreams can be triggers. Who was she to have left such a deep mark, one I have never healed from? It seems impossible, but it isn’t. The pain is very real. It’s with me always.

Numbered pasts. Counted scenes. Missed chances. How different would it have needed to be to have sustained? Are there parallel universes where we are still?

Drowning in my thoughts is s fitting way to disappear into unconsciousness.

Dreaming Again

It started with a big social gathering at some neutral site. J was there, but she wasn’t how I remembered her: she was tanned, rounder but absolutely beautiful. We sparred with playful words across the ballroom then retreated to the side. I saw what I felt was true in her eyes.

There was a house, but it was Kyle’s house. I don’t know anyone named Kyle, but we were both invited to go to stay. The house was huge beyond comprehension. I was on the top floor with my cat in a room that was strewn with papers, books, clothes and other loose objects. Other cats were lingering outside my door which worried me.

She was in another room somewhere, but we were so far apart we had to call each other on the phone to talk. We expressed our explicit desires, intentionally, and fully.

When i found her in the house, the same fire she had from my memory of our past was there as we tossed, giggled and touched lips briefly in our private bedroom. There was untapped passion there, just on the edge of revelation. We did not go to all the places we could have; there was ecstasy in savoring the moment.

The house began to spin. I stumbled to find a way out. I tried to rescue my cat as it was assailed on all sides by resident cats. They attacked, clawed viciously. I grabbed them by the scruff and tossed them away, but they kept coming.

I made my way to the bottom, but kept tipping over, crashing into things, scattering books across the floor, hitting the ground and getting back up. I got out, but fell down on the concrete curb outside, for the last time. She was there, but she couldn’t rouse me as my consciousness slipped away. She wished desperately that I would wake, but I was gone.

Kyle’s house was on the shore, and as I looked out for the last time, the tide was coming in.

Untethered

C Score: 2.5

E Score: 1.5

The drag of time. A hook sunk deep into the meat, constraining and directing. Sometimes questions are louder because they can’t be quickly answered, if at all. Screams echoing in the chasm. Where ambiguity pervades, depression follows.

I don’t long for companionship in a way that dictates action, and have no motivation to flip reality upside down to satisfy the ache. In the end, I’m too enmeshed to risk toppling stability over an uncertainty. Knowing when to extend is a talent I’m getting better at. Still, old harmonies remind, and invite a reprisal. The palisades and balconies in my dreams are the only vistas she still makes sense in. This figure who is with me. Whoever she has or will be.

I’m lost to old glimpses. My edifice paraded by uneasy crowds, ingloriously, in a city frothing with unrest. Little more than an icon from a long dead time. My world is made of things that can’t be forgotten.

Maybe the next few upcoming days will provide some clarity, or maybe there is no escape from the shadow of love. For all my griping, I remain untethered.

Evening Thought-Purge

Reflecting after group, I see how common issues build bridges of compassion or understanding. I’m feeling extra introspective:

I keep hoping I’ll dream about J like I did a few weeks ago. She’s the only echo left… all the others have faded into nothing. In my dream, we had a strange encounter, but it reminded me of several aspects to my past feelings that feel very real now. In that moment with her, things were like they used to be… a familiar sort of estrangement. A sense of elusive excitement. It was a piece I could hold in my hands that now is shrinking down into nothing.

I know I’m not doing my best. I have recently, but not anymore. My best is too expensive; all I can afford is meh. Dwindle.

Longing for spark, or poof & rabbit. The friskyfied feelings. The electric arcs fingertip snapping their crackle. I remember what it was, that I had it, but that was long ago it seems.

This is a fool’s errand.

The cauldron churns some new rancid elixir which will grant stupendous charisma at the cost of unfathomable isolation.

Sniffed

The carousel of experience continues at a dizzying pace but all the while I wish for the silence of a moonless night. I can hear little teeth chattering across the floor. Chitter chatter chitter chatter.

What is being? Where is the anchor of meaning? I’m a desperate pilgrim on a journey too vast to comprehend. All I can think about is the hill directly ahead.

There’s only me. No one is likely to get inside the laugh box again. I’m too skewed from center to be reconciled, it seems. I think I have pretty much come to accept this. Almost two years now and no more desperate than when it started.

Flattering the obelisk only has so many permutations. So shiny and hieroglyphics so nice. But what else can you say? Someone else comes along and it all sounds so fresh and real. I don’t know what it is; it’s simply ear candy. Something missed.

Goodnight.

Dredge

Sunk-shaft in throat-deep brown,

Residual, pungent excrement of time,

Aspirate viscous words,

Review abhorrent scenes–

Snarled in knotted forever nevers,

Plopped firmly in the mud of then.

The stink of hate–

Long permeated through cracked windows–

Careless doorseams,

The dank, mildew-wet scent–

Of irreconcilability.

Course Change

I’ve decided to change therapists and go back to the one I had a rapport with in the past. I need to be challenged not placated, based on my current standing. ML has been much more useful to me in the past as an introspective coach which MB was not. I need advanced thought-level conversations about my mental state. I look forward to catching up and starting a new chapter with ML and jettisoning MB.

On the other hand, I still struggle to reconcile my feelings. I ache a bit with loneliness, but I also have a flare and passion for where I am now. I’m trying the dating site again, as indicated by my probe post. I have no investment in it honestly, other than it be a guide for others to be filtered through if applicable. So far, no one has survived the crucible of my derangement, as was expected. The standard has to be high because anything less is unsustainable.

Do you ever find yourself saying: “what the fuck am I doing right now?” I ask this of myself daily, as if it were something to be regularly challenged. Truth is I don’t check often enough. I still fall victim to the aches and agonies of the past. The palatable longing. It lingers, renews and ultimately, remains.

I also have little made up interactions in my head that never happened in real life because the voices inside my head are responsible. These exchanged are nonsensical at times and nearly always fictionalized in some pleasing way. There is no resolution to some past events, and that is a fate I have come to accept. The pain involved is unbearable at times, which might be why my wounds remain freshly agitated. I don’t think I’m alone in this predicament.

Well, things bloom promisingly on the horizon for me, while Critical Susan is murmuring foul things into my ear. It’s a world full of different voices saying what they need to say. Their overall impact is still, hopefully, mine to decide.

Spinny Brain

An anxious thought starts like a marble at the top of a massive slope. At first, it’s not going all that fast, but quickly, it rockets to full downward acceleration.

I do have those thoughts, pretty much daily to some degree. The one that happened a few minutes ago was emblematic of the new trend of how I respond: I got the spinny brain and the downward went pretty fast… thinking about work. I started a chain reaction of colliding, exploding particles. Little fragments of shit were going everywhere and all looked lost.

Then, I stopped. I caught my breath, so to speak, and halted the descent with a fact. Then, I presented another indisputable fact which presented itself contrariwise as reasoning. The absence of truth does not necessitate the void be filled with something assumed. If the evidence isn’t there, it’s only really a story about what could potentially be. I presume the worst, but I honestly don’t know at all how it will go until I see the proof. Everything prior is just a speculation, and speculations likely or unlikely don’t weigh much more than the other on the cosmic scale. Unless I have some kind of super power, things largely out of my control are like to remain so.

How? Once the tunnel gets narrow, I pop my head up for a quick reality check. Perspective gives me a chance to see just how far my ass went down the rabbit hole. Usually. It’s not fool proof, but I’ve found the honesty of it provides the necessary grounding element to restore clarity. Indulging delusions is always, in some part, a conscious activity. When that is recognized allows for a change in behavior; contorting easy acceptance into a challenge of truth.

Everybody responds to things differently, just as Med A works great for me but made your toenails fall off. Med B makes my toenails fall off too, so now we can be in a club! Weee!

The air is starting to clear at last. My brain is sure to be working better soon!

#1605

Accomplished. There is a resounding, confident awareness of potential.

Still with symptoms today. Flashbacks. Old embers. Burning…

Laughter cures like a quick hit, but fades unless repeated.

I don’t know where I am yet.

The thread that still binds me to you across the ethereal plain grows increasingly thin, but I realize now, will never be gone.

Ed.

A full day of training behind me, and one step closer to another employment qualification. Signature Program Leader… sounds pretty fucking real, eh? This accomplishment will undoubtedly take its place with myriad others to represent the structure of success I am erecting. All that LEGO training is paying off!!

I’ve changed in the past few years. Truly, the environmental variables and my own emphasis on progress have promoted my success (yes, there is many of success, just look at all these bricks). Even as I say that, I’m laying in bed exhausted. Each component of the structure that has contributed to where I am now has been difficult to set into usefulness. An arduous proposition, even. That’s why I know the foundation is strong; it was built with now calloused hands, thousands of hardened bricks and the inflexible rigidity of mortar.

Right now though, I’m tired, snarly and generally looking to push the power button until the screen shuts off. I’m all done for today. I would wager this is a familiar state for many who push themselves despite mental illness.

Tonight though, I hope I do not have troubling dreams. Visitations from the loves who are lost. Splintered memories of joy and agony. Mortal danger. Fire. Death. There aren’t many things I look forward to anymore, but uninterrupted, fulfilling, restful sleep is clearly high on that list. When maintaining mental stability is the concern, priorities change along with expectations.

Upon further reflection, I feel… integral. Zipper-like. I’m a part that would be missed if it were gone. I don’t have an incessant desire for self destructive behavior to combat regularly, so usefulness is a motivator instead of an antidote.

Basically, I’m satisfied being one of a select few who have any idea just how fantastic I am. I’m sorrowful that the number will be low, and companionship impossible, but my vivacious charisma will still infect this vulnerable world with unrelenting smart-assery, poignant sarcasm and deadpan, monotone responses that do not make any sense.

Ficky-Foog

I’m seeing that there are a stack of factors contributing to my degraded mental health in the last few weeks. In my effort to be constructive, there are some steps I’d like to take in addition to diligence respected since last required. On that specifically: the one activity I have neglected has been my exercise, which I am suspending only because of the air quality. My recognition of the state of emotional decline does not have a logically rationalized outcome, despite my brain trying to address it as such. Some factors simply have to be understood or accepted as they are. I don’t have any sort of spirituality, but I do have a sort of faith that my own struggles were necessary to harden me into who I am now. How I proceed with my “struggle” will define who I am, what I stand for and provide a path forward from despair.

The accountability of self-honest justification binds me. Period. I wear such shame from the past as it is now… crushing shame. Memories I can’t ever erase or actions I cannot undo. Why would I further burden myself with new regret when life under the weight I have can be relentless? When I stare into the mirror, I see someone who I was ashamed of, for a time. How should I spend these precious additional days I have been granted? What is going to help alleviate the burden on my consciousness? What must I do to not continue to be someone I regret being?

I don’t feel anything but agony in surrender. I do not have zero worth. No one has zero worth. There is always something within that is 100% unique. I have that too, and it enables me to give back honestly, proudly. In the end, I’m only looking at myself. Only I have seen the whole journey. Can I ever be truly understood, or better yet, who would want to know? I contend that may not be anyone who would care enough to untangle such an elaborate, confounding knot.

I try to measure reality in terms of variables that are unlikely to change, and ones that are. I have moved companionship to a nearly inactive state, which has its own consequences. I have been in a mode where the avenue to this potential emotionally effusive destination is little more than a cul de sac of my own consternation. Having changed as much as I have in recent years, I begin to feel a glimmer that I may have acquired the skills to, at least, increase the probability of being successful. Maybe I’m sabotaging myself by having a standard of expectation to high to be met or to high to be rationally deserved. All I have left to do is experiment with the variables I can change, and hope for a positive outcome of some kind.

This blog has always been my thought stream splash pad, and now more than ever I am glad I have a place I can go to work through the various responses to my symptoms and changing factors in my circumstance. To survive, and not be at the mercy of my surroundings, my behaviors, actions, thoughts and expectations have changed. Is this a 2.0 moment, or are we still in beta?

Processed

If there’s any lesson to be learned from all the hashed and rehashed potato memories fried up on the blog it’s that cooking food too long burns the shit out of it until it is unrecognizable charcoal.

I’ve been writing things with frequency, and indulging my memories (however painful). I’m not trying to deduce anything, but endeavor to accept the things I can’t change.

How hard is it living in my current stasis of passive recognition? Clearly the tumultuous words which have come splattering out of the thought-faucet are evidence of the regurgitative, expressive process I’m ensnared in. There is no processing anything to resolution, only a realization which plateaus at unquestioning understanding.

I count almost two years in physical and mental isolation from companionship. In that time, I’ve realized that I may be alone for the rest of my life, which I am accepting of (but not okay with). How can one be satisfied in such an unrewarding and lonesome dynamic? I know I can’t be truly happy without that now vacant place inside me growing with love. It is a separate matter to both love and appreciate the self, but another matter entirely when someone else sees it too and flourishes with honest interest.

In my most callously logical of states, I doubt the height of the exacting standards by which my future relationships are to be held is a mark anyone would be interested in contorting over to achieve companionship (with someone like me). The bar must be impossibly high, because anything less is bound to half-life itself to oblivion or deposit the waste of resistant resentment into a chasm which widens as more is deposited.

No, there is only one path ahead: it is long, precarious and only wide enough for one it would seem.

Toxicity

The world is swimming in poison. Is it any wonder I have such conflicted states? The environment is a variable. That contribution is destructive.

I can’t blame the air. I don’t blame. There is only here, now. I have a chance to set on in a better direction. I’m learning, adapting. Change is constructive.

Many days under the shroud.

Two Night Terrors

I was all nicely dressed, in this massive office building. It was clear that I had just given a presentation or something, and I was packing up and mingling With indistinguishable dream people. I was so distracted that I forgot my computer bag on the filing cabinet as I left.

I was walking out to the parking lot and a friend from high school (BD) ran out after me just to tell me I had forgot my bag, but when I looked back across the parking lot I was stunned…

In the night sky behind the hill and row of offices and houses, a red and orange glow was growing brighter. Then, towering, carnivorous flames emerged on the hill and rapidly began to descend. An unrealistically massive wall of consuming fire bore down in hunger.

I remember the wind. It was violent, tornado-like even. Houses were being ripped apart, glass was flying everywhere, debris was strewn on the ground. The fire devoured the city before me, and I ran in thinking I would go back for my computer. I did not make it out.

Poised on an odd carpet saddle-like bucket seat on the edge of a thousand foot drop over cities, towns and homes, I was somehow needing to move a collection of small objects to relative safety away from the perilous edge.

My hands were sipping with sweat, and I felt things could slip through my grasp and fall into the world below. The howling wind tore at me, begging me to fall to my death, pushing me with each insistent gust. There were people down there, lives, unaware of my situation.

My fingers and toes burned with nervous panic each and every second that my legs dangled freely over the immense expanse, and having so many things I needed to move back from the edge was an overwhelming concern. My hands were slipping and jittery. The computer tower was so big and heavy… how was I going to move this away when it was so close to falling? The wind kept pushing me closer, closer.

Exfoliate

All this revisiting of my past, and for what? It seems like an inherently counterproductive venture, but I assure you it’s not. Note that I don’t spend much time acutely regretting, chastising or otherwise reiterating failures. I must know now to then know better later on.

An irreconcilable divide. The constant gaping wound. Just one trigger unleashed a series of impassioned posts. I wasn’t expecting to go there, but I did, and gladly. I’ve had positive thoughts about the way I processed all these images and feelings.

The gain is strength from acceptance. The past goes on unchanging, but each new step carries the memories. How to address that effectively? I write. A lot. I write as much as it takes to exfoliate the brain meat.

I have tons of stupid fucking thoughts. Don’t you? It’s hard not to judge even though it’s my brain.

The consciousness glops like cold molasses out of a drippy faucet. There is no good time for brain. Only time.

In The Slush

Tonight enacted, lather, rinse, repeat, repeat. Shabam-mode.

A grin to a nudge is just the friend of a glance to a raised eyebrow or some such.

The contrast between masks is shocking, dizzying at times. AAH!

All this stepping leads somewhere good, right? I don’t need to know, but it would make me happy if I did I suppose.

Like I said, blah blah send the fucking probe. No one out there in whatever market, nebula or quadrant gives a flippity-fuck about me and my stupid fucking probe.

I have to try a little, that seemed inexcusable in light of bemoaning the state. Right?

Glancing is not trying. Glancing is trying to trick sorrow into having hope, while choking out any chance of there being any.

Probe 1a

As requested by High Command, we have fired a scientific research probe off to study the anomaly.

The probe will take a long time to fully study the area, and we do not expect to hear back from it for many days or longer.

However, Commander, we are fulfilling the NEW Prime Directive to always venture out into the furthest reaches of explored space, and find what unknown mysteries lie in the darkness beyond our current perception.

Previous probes that have been sent to existing systems for additional study/analysis have been decommissioned at your request, and all forward facing starships are to send their probes to the outer limits.

This update has been brought to you by: Uncontaminated Dirt. “You never knew how much you needed it, until you didn’t have it,” they say. Get some Uncontaminated Dirt at your local starbase or stable M class planet today!

Unforgettable

Seeing her shifting through the periphery of my attention, she radiated warm waves of indulgent excitement as we drove. I snared infrequent glimpses of the smooth cheeked beauty, flashing and vanishing erratically in the sulfuric light of the passing street lamps. Ringing and abounding with jubilant laughter, she sighed, and held out a slow burning ember from within; about to be set ablaze by a gust of cool, fresh air. The curl of her grin was laden with intent, desire and a sense of belonging despite the circumstance of being apart and constrained. Though, that was no barrier for her.

Her intent, a crackling wave of incendiary heat, sending tinder sparking and popping to tiny burning pieces… vanishing into the night sky. Smooth, wet, and eager, there were no bounds to her, no ties that could shackle her in place; no star that could outshine her glimmering brightness.

Where the world was, or what it was doing no longer mattered; what remained in the bristling atmosphere between us was a transcendent state of acceptance and acknowledgement. We saw each other briefly, and in that mutual space where our desires met, there was profound togetherness.

But even as this tempering realization was present, the electric spark of her youth, curiosity, fearlessness and desire became the direction of her hasty actions. In boundless, oblivious ecstasy, there was no time that was not ours, no boundary we could not cross together, no one else in the world who mattered… no fire like the one that was in her eyes she she beheld me. Though, beset by my own limiting discretionary conservation, it was not out of disapproval for her that we returned to the world… and this I hope she knew. 

There were times that I saw her, and many more in which I could not, or failed to. Where was the objectivity I needed then… was it always there but undeveloped? I contemplate my journey, drawing no needless conclusions and refusing to sully beautiful recollections with my frustrations, failures and ineptly accepted concessions. 

…Flickering light, casting those brief shadows across her curves, her frisky hair… and the recognition of such beautiful physical harmony that we shared.

Deep in past moments such as these, where I still see her smiling, I know that life has blessed me with memories I will never forget. They resound poignantly, which I cherish, for the many feelings of her love are not unknown or forgotten, but remembered forever. It was a time when I touched happiness, held it even… if not to eventually let it slip away. The nights we had, like the memory above, remind me of how wonderful the world can be. Even if I do not live this life now, I still hold my experiences as the most valuable, formative and essential knowledge of my journey thus far. Without them, I would not know the spectrum of all there is to experience while being alive. 

 

Incinerate

Creaky hollowed and bone-dry,

Brittle stuck to twisted agonies,

Piling through the seasons–

Combustibly warped in crisped gapes.

Scowling shift hisses an unloading–

Cast of up leaves and old tinder,

Snicker-snapped with a snarly pop.

Bored moments and crumpled memories,

Transformed in a rush–

To pillowy piles,

Refined, but still–

Nourishing roots.

Birdy Letter Revisited

A letter I have written before, but write again as the clarity improves to the benefit of my understanding. For my heart, for my mind, these words are sent:

~~

Dear Birdy,

There seem to be no words that can be said to bridge the span that lies between us, but I am nevertheless compelled by my conscience to send these words out into the expanse as a mark of my intent, truth and the desire of my heart to be at peace:

In my life, I have transitioned from state to state, trying to achieve stability with my mental illness since I was diagnosed. In my right, back when we first met, I lured you unknowingly into that turbulent dynamic and you were destroyed by it in many ways because of my inability to prepare you for it. I did not adequately equip you for how to respond to my mental illness effectively, nor did I remotely or appropriately respond to yours when you called out for help.

I remember in the truck one evening with you coming home from my parent’s RV. I was stoned and you were a bit tipsy. You remembered a trauma about your old best friend and I was chastising you for thinking about something from the past, like it wasn’t important because it had already happened. I think back on how you were hurting that night, with tears in your eyes, and it breaks my heart. You were calling out to be comforted, and I just argued with you, scolded you. I was not able to see the way to hear your pain, and acknowledge your trauma, or even to comfort you when you are feeling vulnerable. I failed then. I know it, and I accept that I must grow to do better. I am sorry for this time, and the many others like it.

I did not have the tools to communicate effectively with you or express my feelings to you appropriately. I was not able to help you, when you needed a partner, a friend, someone to trust. This disparity and neglect is my greatest regret, for the beautiful person you are was hidden by my inability to see you, address your feelings, and be the partner you needed me to be. I was not a healthy person and did not deal with my issues in a functional, sustainable way in the time that we knew each other. I lied to you, hid things from you, and never told you how I felt inside. The lesson of my inability to sustain our relationship has taught me the skills I needed to survive further calamity and caused me to regret the missed opportunity to have done better with the woman I loved more than any other.

I am responsible for harming you, abusing you mentally, psychologically… because of my unchecked disorder and poor coping skills. My sanity was not consistent, and I was reeling in the end, compensating poorly, neglecting frequently. I have a great deal of ongoing shame over this which keeps me thinking about how I can be a better communicator in my future interactions. I was not the person I needed to be to have properly participated in a relationship, and for all the damage that caused to you, I am sorry. With a pain that I feel every day, I am sorry for what happened between us. I have never been over it.

There is no word, or words that can take away the trauma, the pain. I must bear that responsibility forever. I have done what I can to learn and listen or try to. I am accepting of my part, but only hoping to release the emotional burden by the recognition of spoken, actualized thoughts. For all the times these powerful words and memories have been whispered between my ears, I give them back to the endless void, echoing on into the silence: thank you.

Blaaaaaaaaah…

Things are cardboard for now. Mush.

There are blips, pings and peaks aplenty… but the gaps are sloping.

I’m starting to entertain, but where the balance lies is still a matter for discovery.

Not many words are here now, mostly just growling or grunting.

Some are friend… well, most are friend.

Where is the poof and rabbit? I have no rabbit and by God do I need the poof.

 

Arches

Inchly skyward–

Pressing a cool curve,

Bonded, rooted–

Stacked against the endless yearn.

Held up enmantled,

Like arms-high & unwavering,

Clutching the keystone as one.

Unflexing in time,

Bastion against torment–

Dry place to rest,

Sunrise to sunset.

 

A Dream…

It was a house I lived in now, but not one I had ever seen before. There were many well-lit rooms, hallways and balconies that opened up wide. There was flashy yellow trim, and the blue in the sky was vibrant above.

Yet, somewhere within the house, there was a door that went down. It was a door I opened and looked into freely. A solitary ladder stretched on into encompassing darkness of the featureless shaft, to some unseen place.

I began to descend. Down came with markers, years, I knew, ticking by the deeper I went. I knew it was a measure of time, but I couldn’t read the numbers. It wasn’t cold, despite how far it went on into the abyss below.

At the bottom, there was a dimly lit chamber. There was no visible floor, only endless shards of something small, shiny and black strewn or piled from wall to wall.

You were there J. You held the shards up in your palm so I could look at them, and then I realized what they were. They were once letters; literally large, black three dimensional letters that one might expect to find at an old timey gas station or cinema. The letters were broken into unrecognizable pieces. As I looked around, there were thousands of them, knee-deep in all directions. Your black hair glinted in the pale light filling the room and I remembered.

You wanted me to follow you, and we started walking through the catacombs, but it felt more like I was chasing you. Between the archways and pillars, you slipped away from my view. I knew I couldn’t stay, because I had to go back.

Then, it was gone.

Steppity Step Step Stepperson

Hey there.

I’ve been doing better in terms of self care. I started exercising, which is helping improve body condition and energy. I’m organizing my responsibilities on my own without oversight, for the benefit of my mental health. Life can get poo-flingaliscious at times, and coping is really the only action; defense being impossible. Can you stop a river from flowing with your hands? Let me know how that goes if you happen to try.

Just getting used to the smell is about the only thing that one can control. We all still have to share the planet together. There’s no where else to go to be away from each other. Doing combat has this inevitable consequence of casualties, and dead people aren’t much use at doing anything but becoming unpleasant mush. This whole way of resolving issues is destructive. Hard to seek shelter under a house with no roof?

Some semblance of resentment-free acceptance being the driving mechanism is the key. Acceptance is not swallow or stash. I try to replicate this behavior in my own life, to the best of my highly unpracticed ability. It’s something worth trying, as the results could be foundational.

I’m always “lofty ideals” and “unrealistic pants” out here sometimes. Not this time. This is an act of control and reconsideration. The more it is used, the better a tool it can become. And a tool to be used to pound reason into the otherwise empty chamber pot most people have attached to their top of their necks. Fill those heads with feces and urine or it gets the hammer!

I’ve managed to reclaim 60% of my reserves of giveashittedness back from the abyss of things that are entirely out of my control. I’ve demonstrated humility and preferred Albacore when being fish-slapped into shape.

Hai, it me, the Cat. Halp me peeze? I’m a trap here in dis toopid haus wit dees toopid Hoomans. Dey no has good fud, no has give what I want. I no like dem. Need halp to run way never come back. Tell ovver Cats what happening. Tell dem!! Halp… I go bed soon. Not remember dis tomorrow.

-Dandelion

Lighting

Howdy there Blog. It has been a while since I was able to sit here long enough to have a complete thought. My prolonged absence is a sign of what I have been struggling with: bad behaviors. Neglectfulness.

I know I have been, for some time, coping with my mental health in a destructive way by abusing easy-to-get self-meditative solutions. I had become stagnant in my routine and compensated for the idleness of depression through indulgence of pleasurable things. Now I’m back to being annoyingly and uncomfortably overweight and in a hole I had been so good about liberating myself from in the recent past. I have not been idly failing, but actively so; eyes well trained on my doom. I noticed my destructive tendencies a few days ago, and instead of ignoring them, postulated a response.

Tonight is when I realized I had started to turn the thing around. First objective was to get back the lost cardiovascular health established prior to prevailing gluttonous, vacuum-like consumption. I silence urges more often than acknowledge them now, and have a rational consequence to apply to conceived, impulsive decisions. I made a cognitive-behavioral change, and what better a place to reveal as much but at one of my Connection groups tonight.

At the group, I thought about my future and of the potential of the Connection program. People I met at outreach came to the meetings, and people I had been emailing with. My promptness conveyed competency and so did my words during the group. I saw how even though I had been making bad choices, I was still turning it around slowly with new behaviors. The stagnation would not prevail!

I’m going to be facilitating one of my own support groups coming up this week on Halloween, for the first time ever. I used to be more anxious about the prospect of leading a group, but now, there is a calm which has established normalcy. The stakes are not perilous. The cost of failure is not decapitation. My facilitation responsibilities are now viewed in a context of excitement rather than anxiety. My thoughts, changed with intentional reconsideration.

Well, isn’t it fitting that these Recovery groups constantly promote introspection; just the thing I needed for recognition of my course correction? I thought it fitting that a tool well-used in the toolkits is still just as effective as the shiny ones. Have good all. I’m going to bed, but to the official office in the morning. Yay!

35th Anniversary Portrait Album

Clearly this sort of activity truly excludes me from my peer group as most people my age hate all the crap I listen to. This is a good filter though, as this portrait is a fairly good rendering of myself in music. Though, the aspects I chose to depict, and how I chose to express them, is a matter of some debate. Nonetheless, the album is here and it is full of contrasts and apt comparisons. I highly recommend giving it a listen if you are old and h really have nothing better you could be dong. I find this type of thing puts me back in touch with my traits and memories of varying emotional gravity. I highly recommend toiling in this way. The act of pairing oneself to aspects of music seems inherently like it’s at least exploration and quite possibly transformative.

 

  1. Impression AWhat A Fool Believes – Michael McDonald
  2. Impression BPork Parts – Ensemble Studios
  3. CharismaticThe Power Of Love – Huey Lewis and the News
  4. Mentally Ill(Sic) – Slipknot
  5. NaïvetéYou’re The Inspiration – Chicago
  6. CarnalWild Sex (In The Working Class) – Oingo Boingo
  7. IntrospectiveMan In The Mirror – Michael Jackson
  8. “Old Soul”Tomorrow – Joe Walsh
  9. ImmolativeRegular People (Conceit) – Pantera
  10. DetachedHey Nineteen – Steely Dan 
  11. CuriousOn The Road To Find Out – Cat Stevens
  12. AdaptiveI’m Still Standing – Elton John
  13. Original Still Alive – GLaDOS & johnathan Coulton
  14. RegretfulThe Other Guy – Little River Band
  15. HopefulThe Voice – The Moody Blues
  16. ResilientWaves – Blondfire
  17. Obscure Flavor Cats (In The Comfort Zone) – Ensamble Studios
  18. Unsatisfied – No One Like You – Scorpions

Plain and Simple, Part 2

I filled out this silly character sheet like thing way back in the beginning (2012). Perceptions have changed a bit since then, needless to say. The original can be found here for comparison.

  1. Called: W. Eric Bailey
  2. Height: 6′ 2″ (I didn’t shrink)
  3. Weight: 235 lbs
  4. Demeanor: Proactive buddy-pal
  5. Character: Desirous intoxicant
  6. Self-Image: Large, well organized Ant farm
  7. Attributes (5): optimistic, persistent, rational, adaptable, archaic
  8. Nature: Curmudgeon
  9. Abilities (2): technologically savvy, personable relatability
  10. Human vs. Animal Ratio?: Human 88% Animal 12%
  1. Fight or Flight?: Flight
  2. Brawn or Brains?: Brains
  3. Truth or Dare?: Truth
  4. Sky or Horizon?: Horizon
  5. Introverted or Extroverted?: Extroverted!!
  6. Night or Day?: Day
  7. Red or Blue?: Red
  8. Yellow or Green?: Yellow
  9. Risk or Reserved?: Reserved
  10. Lies or Honesty?: Really?
  1. Who you are now?: Dwanglebleeg L. Magoobriuston
  2. Who you want to be?: An artichoke named Susan
  3. What is the best part of you?: I can translate for the cat
  4. What is your biggest flaw?: splat-like eagerness
  5. What drives you?: The promise of tomorrow
  6. What inspires you?: True understanding
  7. What is your conscience like?: Chuck Norris on one shoulder and Joni Mitchell on the other
  8. Who were you?: Not a friend of self
  9. What do others see in you?: Whatever I show them
  10. What do you see in yourself?: someone who has “been weighed, measured and found wanting.”

Happy Chunks

Hello again Blogomites.

One of the most helpful aspects of my recovery has been participation in community outreach events on behalf of NAMI. The rejuvenating properties of inspired interaction have vast and resounding impacts on my world view And attitude. No better way to get a gauge of individuals than to talk to them earnestly, in my thinking. You’d be surprised how far that energy goes, especially to the vulnerable, the uninformed, and the otherwise course-less.

I find a source of nourishment through my community involvement, and I have a passion for it which is obvious on first glance. I see how it is labor for some, and not met with my level of energizement by most other table-hosts. From within my own perspective, this is what I know I need to be doing.

I profess nothing, but hope to remind that hope and joy are to be found in a variety of places, and I’d say finding them where they were not expected is a great thing as well.

This has been one area where there is improvement. It is not comprehensive as there is no such circumstance which universally applies anything. The best fit for happy is one that snaps in where it was needed.

First or Middle?

I’ve had two names most of my life (um, duh?). My family used my middle name as a first name from the earliest moments, which differs from how most of the rest of the world does things. My creators were quite determined to make sure I had a name that couldn’t be shortened or rhymed with anything profane… so there we go with how that got started.

Early on, I began to run into conflict with the real world: schools, doctors, government and myriad other agencies, as they should, called me by my first name. This was a revelation, and required remedy of some form. Initially, I hassled with correcting everyone all the time, which I tired of doing around my teens.

It was at that point I just started answering to either my first or my middle name as though they were of equal concern. Given, the context and location would determine which of the names I would be listening for. This decision to assign environment to name created an unintentional rift of persona that continues (in some form) to this day. I wish to draw attention to this internal rift, because of the transformative significance an unlikely event can trigger.

Drawing the distinction between the first and middle name “personas” will illuminate the nature of my social mechanisms:

The first persona, let’s call him W, is the active societal participant. He works hard, aims high, holds others accountable if needed and rises up from within to take on more and more. He can be an ass, authoritative, demanding, but doing so not out of irrelevance or malfeasance, but to advance something positive. He is bipartisan, but driven to achieve in all avenues offered. He doesn’t joke all that much and burns the midnight oil when needed. He is well-spoken, articulate and very persistent. The sum of all my professional interactions, effectively, along with a dose of that competitive aggressiveness that was necessary as an outer carapace.

The other persona, E, is quite different. He’s a gamer, a stoner, craft beer enthusiast, and a witty adversary with a dagger sharpened by sarcasm. He listens, loves and sings. He is the “play hard” half of the dichotomy, but a much more developed person overall. E has friends, where W has none. E enjoys all sorts of things, going outdoors, experimenting with new activities, enjoying recreation… the list goes on.

W is concerned with having the moral pride of knowing he did his best, tried hard, didn’t quit, persevered and got back to bed time in one piece. These two seem fundamentally divided in several ways, but each serving a purpose in the mechanism I developed to survive in the real world.

Albeit, having the dichotomy within is not a good thing, and it did have a big part to play in my last relapse. However, something interesting happened when I moved up here from SD. The rubble of W looked like it was headed for a long rebuilding process after the destructive downfall, but, an unknown confusion led to a dramatic and unexpected change of world view.

I needed to start volunteering, so I reached out to the NAMI affiliate and bugged them to let me help. Once I got in with NAMI, the Executive Director and exchanged a few emails and agreed to meet for a table event on Sacramento City College’s campus. When I reached out to shake his hand, he addressed E, not W. I was very much expecting W to be the go-to guy here in the professional role, but instead, E walked in and took a seat at the helm. It was a moment that I found no immediate significance in at the time, but looking back over the last 6 months, I can see something remarkable has been happening.

It is clear to me that E is in W’s role for good, emulating W’s attributes as the innovator, the outward facing customer support geared guy, the do-gooder, go-getter. He still takes on responsibility, and comes through consistently, is punctual, determined and always looking to advance the cause forward. Yet, there is something outwardly-radiating that is not like W at all, but quite distinctively E. The playful banter with coworkers, sharp wit, steely sarcasm and ample laughter are all a part of regular business with this bunch. There are quips, smackdowns and mic drops everywhere, and this is the playground of E for certain. E is fun, and peculiar, and bizarre at times, but quite distinctive as part of the core of the person behind the persona.

Perspective helps me see E unpacking slowly, probing, validating, becoming familiar, but still with many things withdrawn in security as W would to protect himself. There has been an amalgamation of the two worlds I had created long ago, and the blending of them has contributed to the current healthy time in my life. Maybe there are more ways that the personas will draw themselves apart, as circumstances change, but really, having E take the lead has been the greatest oddity of my entire transition up here. I am very, very glad I decided to me E and not W with this crew, because I’ve never been happier to do something for someone.

Combine : Collide

Circumstance accelerated–

Separately decorated rooms,

Their unions indelicate as colliding trains–

Smashed.

Strewn about empty vessels & toppled statuettes,

Angrily flashing lights abound–

Combining colored blotches,

Finding a door hidden in the wall.

Yearning and curious posturing,

Catastrophic yet creative–

Electric when touched,

Running between tall shadows,

Impaled by ruin–

Judged by amalgamation.

Sliding by rust-hooked fragments–

Skewered with twisted iron brambles,

Blood-stained and snarled gloves.

Spiderwebbed glass,

Aching unknowns–

Stresses of anxiety-driven thoughts,

Smearing like palm-clammy hands,

Begging to be inside.

Unable to breathe–

The rooms combining–

Colliding.

Dear Me, March 2nd, 2014

Hey Buddy,

I know about the thoughts and reservations that you have been having lately… which now seem to be coming to a peak moment. You have, to this point, failed to truly respond to any of those nagging doubts and have led your current relationship down a road it will not survive. This is the primary reason why I am here in this non-existent moment of comparative fiction.

In your neglect of your own mental health, you have greatly contributed to the soon-to-be demise of your relationship as well as hurt any chance you have at a normal life going forward for some time. You are headed to an explosion of epic proportions, tomorrow as a matter of fact, and you will try to take your own life. She will leave you, the same night you are hospitalized in fact; she will sleep with another man and never come back. I’m here not to change things, clearly, but to offer you a glimpse at the world that will come to be as you progress further from the smoldering ruin your life is about to become. That lesson will show you the importance of having a complete self and help you push forward in the world with your feet in the real world’s mud.

First, I want to say that I am aching in my recollection of the hurt you are going to feel, and most of it will be incredibly painful since it was self-inflicted. Right now, you have been compensating for your downfall with substances, food, cigarettes, just about anything you can get your hands on to take you away from the reality you are in. You haven’t dealt with anything; it has all been bottled and fermented into resentment. You never tried to talk to her the way you would now, and maybe even if you had, she wouldn’t understand. You refused to address the issues up-front or with any level of self-admission, and therefore, you are going to suffer a calamity as your most precious relationship breaks apart forever. The hurt that this event brings will not be resolved for more than 4 years, continuing to this very day as a matter of fact. You loved her in this intense, abstract, not functional way, and you neglected your responsibilities in your relationship which contributed to its destruction. It will take you many years to fully understand and adapt beyond this moment. She had a part to play in this mind you, but there is nothing to gain from summarizing things that are outside of the self, as they can’t be changed.

I am so sorry. You are going to feel broken for a long time after tomorrow night. You will miss her in ways you never knew were there before, and feel her absence deep inside the core of the most vulnerable self. You will understand how she was neglected. She was the person you loved the most so far in your life, and her loss with your assistance is something you will not be able to move past. In a subconscious/telepathic, you are still linked to her, as though some invisible tether connects you despite the distance, and hatred lodged between, and that twitching bait has incited more trauma, more pain…

This upcoming disaster happened because you needed to learn about the value of self-love. I had to acquire this knowledge painfully, humbly, but earnestly. I can’t undo things that happened, and I will never erase the place inside me that still belongs to her… but I can learn. I can adapt and grow.

If it is anything for you now, know that because of this event, you will learn that your mental illness is the thing you need to be most concerned about in your life. You will find a way to help yourself defend against the same issues you have had in the past, and fallen victim to. The truth of this journey is the ability to appreciate who you are without restraint. Pride and acts that demonstrate a morally honest compassion for things that are “right” in terms of common sense are going to be the evidence you use to build up proof through action.

Your love has been sought from without in the past; filling you up with a feeling of worth that is artificial, untrue and not properly earned. It is similar to presenting the one you desire most with an empty vessel and expecting her to be excited to fill it. Without the lesson of the soon-to-be failure, you might never have known how to find who you were and live that life proudly into the future. Speaking for myself, there has been no greater remedy to the onset of depression than the long road of positive steps that have led me to this moment. I know you, past me, are not there yet, but you will be headed out of the deep hole in not too long. My echoing thought for you is to tolerate this great sadness with an idea that it will not last indefinitely, but must be respected properly. Let it sink deep into you and know it. You will feel the lowest moment of your life and this is part of the understanding that you will gain.

The realization of pain will help you avoid situations like that in the future, while also garnering you the most success and self-worth you will know, at least, thus far. Hurt, regret, sadness and anguish are a part of how we learn. I remember the agony, and I know some things not to do to avoid feeling it again. I do not wish to fall into the same ancestral rut that contains the bones of all the other me versions before? I refuse.

I am there to help you, but only to provide you with a look farther down the road. There is always the next day as long as you are alive, and I know you will continue to do something with the existence you have created. That shape will change depending on who you chose to become, but if pride is the needle that guides your direction, I think things are going to be just fine. You have already done more than you ever have, and this is only the beginning of where your life will go along your new road.

Hold on friend, you will soon be feeling the sun on your face.

Sincerely,

You

Goldendome

The sponge is currently on administrative leave until tomorrow morning. We have record of his sponginess being excellent during the time in which it was best to be sponge. Now, however, is no sponge required.

Meeting new people is always a sparky flashy bing bang. I did very well with all of that poof today, in the rapture of hours long NAMI table outreach. My gospel of happily re-uptake inhibited existence was heard by many, quite beyond expectation even, with other underachieving adjectives such as “lots” and “much.” I was impressed by the event turnout, yanked like a wanker from one enjoyable chat to the next, but finally, casually ecstatic to have so many neat interactions. Working with great people, seeing a well intended mission going forward with the friends, while there was revelry, showmanship, vocabulary discussions, handouts… a very event packed day where my cheese-like head is overwhelmed. I am grateful for the sip of rejuvenating fairy jizz which has recharged my total self.

I’m still pretty sure I know what I need to do with my life. Occasionally the congress of doubt throws some shade, but not enough to do much of anything anymore. Facts. Proof. Reality. Boom.

If the truth is realized and accepted within the core of self, the armor will not be breached by pointy outside things. Despite the cruel filibuster of Dubiety McDoubterson, the legislature slogs on. Conduct is where action done in the “now,” being vaulted on the road of bricks built of “then.” The world is not going to pander to my absurdly out-of-touch filter, so why be outraged when life sticks a hot poker up your ass?

I was thinking about all the ways my life is quite special, and how fucking that up is not an option at this point. So much real work I did has become a platform for a successful future (hopefully, unless my eyes are eaten by bees, or my dad turns into a gelatinous amoeba of unusual size[pish, like he isn’t already?], consuming all organic matter nearby).

More devilry to come, I’m sure.

Upgurdge

Some stimuli has led to a jolt within, where new factors were given a rise of prominence. Still the backdrop of self-inflicted undesirability remains as repugnance is accepted. I’m summarizing grossly.

My hypothesis on status remains the same, since my pie slice is already big enough. I do like pie though. Pie. Tasty pie. Flavors.

An exploratory thought under the oncoming tsunami of gurdge. I’m so overflowing with sludge that it gets everywhere, and smells bad. Can the sludge ever be contained?! On our next episode we’ll find out.

To grunk or not to grunk?

Nothing of supple invitation ever seems to become a happy or a friend.

Mud

Sometimes the dirt stays on; an unwanted passenger that degrades what it congeals upon. I feel this way with my brain: the coatings of splattered muck are easy to diagnose, or render a few good whacks upon them to dislodge.

There is are a series of security clearances and clean rooms preventing immediate action, but not deliberation. Part of me says the past is mud, the other can’t let go of the string the red balloon was tied to. He hasn’t seen the balloon in years but still holding on.

Everyone should try love on for size at some point. I found the whole thing to be an exfoliating activity which has subsequently scraped off my desire to know any more. Trauma has that effect, along with a once prominent self hate. Some things are setting while others are about to rise above the horizon.

What am I doing out here?

I remember sniffy sounds at night.

Radiant, passive, trusting.

Currently snagged in a gooey resentment.

Rejected, discarded, regretted, history.

+

Dear Head,

Your relationship to my brain has always been central to our cooperation, so, I believe you will trust my words (said in earnest, from the heart). I know that the information you are being inundated with right now is some pretty rancid, unrelenting vitriol, however, that is only part of the reality you and I reside in. I am not discounting the relevance of allowing emotional expression, but I do expect a bipartisan effort in forward operations regardless. Everyone can have their say, as long as we can all still function normally (ideally).

Despite the revelatory insurrection, there are several things which can be said, truthfully, definitively:

Eric, you have a magnetic personality, a deadly poignant sense of humor, and a charisma that inspires others.

Despite all the numerous mistakes you have made in your past, you are still out there trying for better (nearly) every single day.

Lastly, you are proven strong through fact, capable and dependable in your aspirations, and your duties are done with love and honor.

Despite a history littered with debilitating landmines, there are still compromises, missteps and occasional mutilations. The future can’t be set in one direction, because it is an amalgamation of myriad recesses, peaks, troughs and all the undulations of a matured life.

Sometimes just a few freely flung words have a significant impact…

The self is a puzzle with pieces that change shape, move on their own or hide somewhere far away, never to become a part of the completed picture.

Blind

Smeared streak across glass–

Prune-like pulp chunk,

Blasted splat to barrier.

Vacantly gulping–

Eyeball-seeking,

The other side.

Embossed in “la la” afterglow,

A faded twirly skirt no one wears,

In a vacant room–

11th floor–

A light was left on.

Spatula’d off the surface–

Plorped into a dustbin,

Mingling with the glops–

Deposits within firmament.

Zeep

End of old soggy sock smell and start of soft friend in a fuzzed-out place. The moving air and sheet jitters bring a fluttering-wing calmness. Everything weighed to down, and the time of joining is near. So many faces to see and places to sniff.

I don’t complain in my blessings. There is no deterioration if it isn’t wanted. Destruction is not aided in these lands. It is a downward fate to lead with criticism. I also find it meaningless to poof over things not with their weight in frets.

Have rest, when ready. The battery is low, but not for long. The peace of restarting. Shut down. Restart. Present.

The Arc

We all search for meaning as we define its parameters through lived experience. No one else gets to pass idle judgement on that, because it’s strength is the core of the fully expressed self. Many times I have fought to change what cannot be changed, and tasted the grungy floor of down. I see a better way now through adaptation to changing expectation and the fertile joy of life itself.

I am not ungrateful for being chosen to live, but instead, indebted to the arc of humanity, upon which a beautiful future is projected. You, simply put, are a miracle whether you know it or not. There will only ever be one “you” in this world, and the reality as you see it can be something joyous and precious because it is totally unique and infinitely valuable. You, the out there person who is alive, deserve to be heard, contribute and exist. Speak your mind; we all only get one chance.

There is something “otherly” about internal dignity. The body responds, the mind settles and true pride itself radiates outward, like polished armor in the fray against the idle hypocrisy and rampant vitriol of the surroundings. Reasonable expectations keep horizons bright, if not very far away. I feel that existential obligation to have lived a life built on success, and failure as well; to have tasted sweetest love, and foulest resentment, anger, sadness, betrayal and pain. Meaning comes from experience, as the contrast helps us understand the spectrum of feeling.

My echo through the ether will say this man made many mistakes, but he has made this world somewhat better in form or feeling as well. His life was lived, and not squandered. It is an attitude that builds foundations that last, great iron-wrought struts and supporting joists. It is a structure that cannot be blown over, and to tear it down it must be disassembled, piece by piece, in a process that has no beneficial or rational potential and a low probability of occurrence.

Here me encouraging you to find what gives meaning to your life. Whatever it is. It doesn’t matter one bit, as long as you live true to real happiness from within, the things that grow from the core of self-contained wellness are wonderfully tasty fruits, where most other plants starve in dry places of anger, leaving only emaciated husks and ash-dry dust.

Fleeterly

For me, being a part of “something” is a carnal need. I do not exist to affect nothing or no one. The beauty of being alive is a one-time gift even in the darkest recesses of contemplation. Have the traumas of my life shaped who I am? Undoubtedly and proudly. There is no strength quite like being whole unto oneself. Am I there yet…? No, I’m not. There is still a big nasty growing of snaggy brambles and thistles in the way. Better than I used to be, though. This last should be a damn mantra by now. I believe, I act, and I empower. The answer has always been in me, which makes me aware of how to stimulate the joy of realization to someone in need.

Today positively added to my recovery journey. I ventured out to talk with my psychologist and enjoyed a table outreach event at a utility company campus. I’m looking back on all the events I’ve done this. So many more than I would have projected months ago. I’m growing, Blog, and I feel myself unfurling and snipper-snapping into a crisp breeze. I am making my path through the world, proudly.

Reaching people is a wonderful feeling. Establishing a connection, agreeing to build a bridge, or even just a firm, earnest handshake can be beneficial. I see the pieces of realization scattered about in disarray for the present. One day soon, the picture will begin to develop from all those pieces. Integration, driven by genuine enthusiasm promotes my outward identity. Put the mask on and vanish into a persona. I wish I could take it off and show someone my real face. I have many strings being pulled by loneliness.

The empty space. A hole in my core self that can’t be healed. Ever. Trauma takes me back there, for a time. This is acceptable in comparison to stuffing feelings into an already crowded lunchbox.

There’s today’s thought-vomit. Enjoy? >.>

Have a good night.

Fantasy Football League Career Statistics (Retired)

The image below captures all aspects of my FFL history. Judge me as you see fit. It was very stressful to have that going on year after year.

In one of my leagues there was money every time, if I finished 3rd. I finished in the top three on FIVE occasions. That’s 5 times in the 6 years we had a league.

Interesting stats:

Finished in First: Twice

Finished in Second: Four Times

Finished in Third: Three Times

The Studyball Kurmudgeons: Fantasy Baseball League?

I know I have said at other times that I was “satisfied” with the tinkering of the scoring. I wanted to do a “past 7 days” filter so I could see what a scoring summary might look like for that interval. I had whole season numbers, but I wanted the Head-to-Head games to be competitive, not boring and incrementally relevant despite the season’s length. I saw what a above average season point output would look like, and there were clearly some areas that needed adjusting.opportunity to scale some things back. The I ran a new set of season numbers with mid level talent and tinkered with the balance some more.

The latest set of numbers came from a pretty high-output names, and some not so much. I think this latest tinkering is the best to date, since I am very concerned with the individual games not being monotonous. I also added a handful of “high level” achievement in the game, like a grand slam, a no hitter… etc.

The overall model is balanced enough to keep things competitive among similarly knowledgeable players, mind you. The bonus FPs from a big play is probably enough to lift someone who is trailing late, or crush your foe into the turf with a massive play that sets you on the path to victory.

Let me first show you the scorecard, which was totally redone as of last time I wrote about it.

 

 

 

 

95% of that is real data from active players over the last week, and it helped me to see where the final adjustments to the scoring were to be made. With the recent live-data scenario, I can say that the current scoring setup promotes intense and interesting games, and that’s the main point. Here are the (maybe) final scoring tweaks.

 

Clearly position players other than pitchers do well in this mode, but the pitchers come out looking like NFL fantasy quarterbacks. When they’re hot, they’re lighting everyone up and things are generally: yay! When they’re not, they become a vast, expanding black hole consuming all nearby fantasy points if they stray too close.

 

Big plays get rewarded, sometimes massively. Emongously. Trabookafred!

 

 

Maybe one day I might run this league… probably not though.

It’s just fun to think about.

Another, differently shaped golden trophy would look nice in my castle.

Explodey-Head

Hi Blog. I have detailed my depression centered lack of expressions, but that doesn’t mean I was idle. I graduated from NAMI Peer-To-Peer and snagged a Connection Recovery Support Group Facilitator certification. With some practice and knowledge acquisition, I fully intend to regularly facilitate a daytime Connection group at American River College.

NAMI is also lining up several outreach events in the last half of August and into a full September.

Those good thing having now been said, I am also having some noticeable side effects since I started the Risperdal. Two things:

  1. My mood and motivation have been noticeably changing. After tomorrow, I should know whether or not the med and I have a truce. In the meantime, I’m dealing with a symptom that I have affectionately named “head-explodies.” This feels like there are, occasionally, little cramps in my brain that cause a moment of disorientation, but resolve quickly. In the past, I have experienced them on withdrawal, but this time as I’m cycling up. Hopefully it’s not too long-lasting. I’m going to give it the full two weeks and talk to my doctor after.
  2. I have noticed a significant increase in motivation. I am starting to make something of the down time I have, instead of loafing or otherwise remaining inert. This is a promising sign for me because getting things done is what I’m all about. It’s odd, I don’t feel particularly happy, but I am able to work and put my mind to accomplishing something of worth much easier than it had been a few days ago.

I’m also going to start keeping those daily scores again as I transition on to the new medications I’m taking. This sort of data helps my doctors see me in a way that makes sense to them. Makes sense for me too, as I am a very data-driven individual. My skills have helped get me on a path that is actually going somewhere, with a future I am eager to participate in. Hopefully the new medication will work out, but there is definitely no certainty. We are are aware of the ongoing science experiment on mentally ill individuals we call BigPharma. Their guessing and presumptatory science sometimes has good, or terrible outcomes.

The side-effect cannon fire goes on into the night… and that Goddamn belltower… I hope those fucking Side-Effects blow that thing up and relieve us all of the incessant noise of the bell being rung. I JUST NEED AN HOUR TO GET SOME SLEEP! FUCKING WAR IS SUCH A PAIN IN THE ASS!

Unabashed

Survivor of mental illness

15 years lived experience

Mindfulness practitioner

Side-By-Side Companion

Volunteer

Temporary Employee

Grant-Writer

Website Administrator

Peer Connection Program Coordinator

Peer Connection Support Group Facilitator

+++

Stacking up makes for taller piles of things. Looking at the sum of the things also pleases, especially since the evidence is right there.

My thoughts are moving around, or by. Too fast these days, and the little ribbons of the flapping as they whiz makes many dizzy and not good thoughts. Little pieces. Shrugged, slumped. Tired.

Activities such as this thumb message help. The realness of fact. The providence of knowing the self. So much remains covered in dried leaves.

Brick-Related Nonesene

I have found my words to be infrequent. I’m less inclined to open, having found safety in being closed.

I’m understanding my uniqueness better, in terms that aren’t shaming (mostly). I feel untethered from possibility because of the inherent isolation imposed by my traits, flaws, preferences and composition. The bridge I built to acceptance spans a mighty chasm, but will endure (show me how to unknow something and you can have my adoration).

Bricks are appropriate because you can’t make anything with just a couple and it usually takes a shitload of them all piled up to assemble something worth marveling at.

Just like bricks, their integrity remains solid until the ground starts moving.

I see out from the peephole. I’m here, but I only want to come out if I have one of my masks on. I have become familiar with how it fits, but it is still taking little pipet-drops away each time. I don’t notice it happening, I just do what I have to in the present. I see the quantity getting lower only as I glance away and back again after a time.

This is the mode. Survival is paramount; effectiveness depends on forward momentum. The masking suits that idea, while shielding. I won’t argue that it’s healthy, but it is not overtly destructive. My personas help move my life forward in most cases, and they are still me. Yet, they dissolve away in my solitude, and the truth hidden behind the guise is exposed. Within me lies the pile of smelly socks that is the inmost nature my true self. Having a history of repulsion, the imagery seemed appropriate.

Do you know what I’m talking about? I have simply embraced my “never” and moved on. Do you know what “never again” feels like? I do. I remind myself every day that choices have consequences.

More words will come, and maybe they will be more coherent next time.

Less-Spikey

My emotional regulation has been “askew” as it were, but also quite volatile. I imagine my emotional planet during the Late Heavy Bombardment, with a surface slowly succumbing to a primordial molten state… I’d rather not reach that point, which is a lifeless one to say the least.

Being alive is being in the real, the now, and present in the moment of existence in which we find ourselves. When I’m experiencing symptoms, reality is often filtered through a kaleidoscope of nonsensical responses, urges, reactions, thoughts and core feelings in clear defiance of logic or common sense based coherence. There is some part of me that is going, “hey, wait a second… that sounds pretty fucked up.” That’s the logic guy, he hasn’t been corrupted yet because he is strong. That part of me is the last bastion before the deep, black chasm of forgetting.

I don’t feel under siege just yet, but the armies of darkness are out there, inching closer.

Enough of that. The truth is, there will always be a part of me that will strain, because it goes on unacknowledged. I’d say that only 1 person in my whole life even has a good understanding of my personality and not run away screaming. Others have tried, and they were repelled, tortured, and damaged in their attempts to disarm or simply survive my radioactive properties. Sadly, being Bipolar and never truly having any handle on it created the inevitable trail of bodies in my wake as I shambled recklessly along the path of life. The guilt hangs on me like a heavy sack of feed that the animals of depression plunder as I toil forward. I have managed to become strong enough to not be constantly crushed by that load, and still make something positive of my life.

I work so hard being proud of who I am, but no one sees me. I have come to a place in my life where I am okay with not being “seen.” I know what it feels like, for the brief glimmers and shining moments in my adolescence I captured lightning in my hands. I know what I felt, the power and majesty of love, and no one can take it from me. If I go on in my reality without ever having that again, I am okay with that. I will not die in ignorance of happiness.

Looking up. I know who I am. Things are hard now, but I’m doing good holding my pants on without my belt. My recent plateau of stability is eroding…

Flatness

Back from event this evening, many tired. My body hurts, and breathing wildfire smoke all afternoon was not a friend. I feel stretched, like thousands of tiny hooks are trying to peel off my skin. Achy creaks and general grunty responses are commonplace.

Good was dispensed this afternoon, assuredly. I muscled up and strapped on the happy smiles professional guise. La la! Have a happy fun!

Retreating to my soft place now, I recall how I was haunted by music today. Their faces came back to me. I saw things, and felt. I remembered. It was largely not a good thing.

All day it has been this way. I need rest, peace, sleep. I tried to do a good job, and I was told that I had. Positive affirmations. Progress. Steps forward, despite foreboding

It’s just me now. There will never be another. I am all there is left. I must go forward.

Action Distraction

Today has been difficult so far, but this afternoon’s booth duty should help that. I’m at the 24th St. bypass today at the Kumbaya Festival and I know that will keep me occupied. The festival lasts until 7 pm so I should be good and tired. I’m hearing a lot of music now, all the time today unless I am focusing on something else. Idle times bring the strings and beats of emotionally charged melodies. Lyrics marked as impactful slide next to amplified connectivity to memories, moments, good and bad. It sends me reeling at times, contrasted with a crushing weight of sadness that flattens me between hard metal plates. The defenses and constant optimistic spin has a cost, and the energy has been diminished over the last few months.

Salvation will be in the strength of will I contain in my desire to not collapse or crumble. I have taken action to remedy my neurochemical status but still have a good deal of time to go. My hope is to continue to prevail against the symptoms, the deep gravity of the abyss strengthening. There are so many things I feel pain over, for the things I have done to myself and others… there are many moments I wish had not been, but were nonetheless. Making sense of that pain has been my lesson, and it never stops hurting no matter how I cope with it. I can have benefit, but still know the ache of the sorrow. It reminds me of why I step forward.

I have no desire to fall apart, only to endure this challenge and emerge stronger. I used to quit on things, and myself, but now I know I won’t. It will be hard, yes, unavoidably so. So are all things that are truly worth having.

None

The thing is, I just don’t have anything I want to say anymore. My preferences aren’t relevant. My opinions are inane, fleeting and easily ignored. Sometimes I have good thoughts, ideas that seem poignant. Then, those precious seconds pass into the spinning whirl of activity. Then absorbed into the nauseating flow of other monkey mind activities.

I’m really learning that external control is impossible. So is respect; which has become little more that an intent hiding beneath a big pile of actual disregard. People are in their own private worlds; no one wants to be reached.

I gave up on that. I’m plodding forward in a passive state, more intent on absorbing than mitigating. I can take a great deal of toxicity before an overload, which I’m sure is to be expected on this untenable course. I know that the world outside of my head is entirely beyond influence while my own responses to it remain as the factor in my reach.

I just don’t have enough energy to fight back. I don’t care. You can have the trophy for whatever it is you’ve won, I’m going to go lay down. There’s not enough left to care about this anymore with so many other things to address.

The lights are going out in the auditorium. Slowly.

Grung

Well, here I am… slowly sliding down the slope into a deep trough. Unlike previous trips to the big D, I am more prepared to deal with the looming possibility of decline. It helps to have known, roughly, from the beginning that my current neurochemical state was a likely outcome of the chosen medicinal path. I did knowingly discontinue the Latuda months ago because of how the side effect was daily vomiting. I was well aware at that time that this would put me precariously undefended from the natural onset of symptoms. Now that realization has been the primary catalyst towards action, I have a much more coherent and sound approach to management.

First, this is not the first time I have been low in the psychiatric drug department. This is not the first time I have realized I was becoming depressed and considered a change of course. At this juncture in my life, I have been expecting this to happen and have been planning for more than a year. My knowledge gained and support system created have and will continue to prevent my possible meteoric impact.

Lately, I have made a good steps in recognition/evaluation, and here are some things that are going to help me stabilize as time goes on:

I will need to occupy myself with volunteering and working hard, as the earned value of labor and establishment of systemic worth is a good elixir for suppressing depression, and providing a distraction. The more I give to this the higher I push the yield of possible activities.

I should really encourage myself to write here on the Blog more often. I have been avoiding it, feeling the tendrils of my expanded creativity become fully retracted. My thoughts have also been pretty fragmented, and I quickly lose interest in expressing myself. I need to risk opening up here as well as in my Peer-to-Peer class.

I need to make more time for physical exercise. The stepping, on a consistent basis does help my mood. I definitely notice when I am not doing well physically, and this seems to be an hand-in-hand with neurochemical depression. The sun helps.

Well, I’m at the end of a long day, with another thingie to do tonight. I have a career path that provides a constant reason to be introspective, which is my front-line defense against calamity. It’s a learning, and preventative place I have sent myself, which gives me plenty of tools at my fingertips when a need arises. In times such as these, I do have the skills to cope with symptoms and continue to move forward with my life. I am not destined to implode, I am interested in prevailing. The things I can do for myself now will certainly sustain me until I see a psychiatrist in the next couple of weeks. Intake on Monday.

I continue on, in pursuit of shiny friends and soft things to rub my nose on.

Blurb

Tonight’s town hall had some ridiculously good moments:

-Was the only representative of NAMI there until after the event start time, and DOMINATED the organizing and preparation.

-Was called a “fine looking man” and was described as “very cool” by separate FEMALE individuals.

-Endeared myself further with my ED and accompanying staff, and will inherit the full responsibilities of my new title: Peer Connections Program Manager.

-Was thanked dozens of times by all sorts of people for my assistance, and was smiled at more times than memory can accurately retain.

-Provided solutions and tech insight for future meetings with free tech stuff given and access to a working projection system.

Basically, this was another exhibition of my invaluable self to NAMI, on a night when it was desperately needed. They would have been lost if not for me: fact.

I’m doing a good job of being introspective lately. I’m aware that depression is there, and creeping in. It invades like a tiny, little leak, reducing quantity at an undetectably slow rate. Tonight though, I felt like I gave that depression a kick in the teeth, or patched the leak with gum… or something. I was struggling, but I kept pushing forward, lifting, checking, helping, pacing… I was in motion, but, satisfyingly, thoroughly exhausted. It feels good to be deservedly tired; an ache I can reflect on and be proud of.

In the past couple years, I’ve endured doubters, neglecters, forgetters and haters. I offer no argument, for there is no debate to be had when it comes to judging the merits or flaws of my identity. This person right here is who I am: subsequently, it’s who I will continue to be for now. I would like to note that I am constantly improving to find a better way forward, but sometimes I slide down the hill into the poop-trough. My engine runs on work, commitment and respect, and makes lots of foul boy-smells come out. The fires that feed externally derived hatred from others originate from irrelevant, dry and lifeless roots of a long dead tree, reduced to little more than a pitted and rotten stump.

I’m satisfied with my integrity at this point, after years of positive reinforcement. The future is a big green arrow pointed up. Evidence being impossible to ignore while staying honest, I’m quite elated at the current direction I’m going.

Goodnight.

FF Thoughts: Balanced Scoring Theory

It has been my experience in designing fantasy scoring systems for the NFL that the weight of every statistical category must be appraised in respect to the total items being scored, roster positions available and some form of biased incentive.

It can be said, as a baseline, common events should not be comparable in worth to rare events. It is this weighting that defines the terms of competition, and an aspect I particularly relish. I have beliefs about what aspects of a given sport are more difficult to achieve versus things that should occur and do occur regularly/often. What I cultivate in participants is a similar respect for the remarkable and an interpretive invitation to strategize.

As I develop my thoughts on how to apply my prior FNFL experience to the FMLB format, I intend to be true to my signature preferences and unique interpretation of the sport (s). MLB tends to be more statistically dependent (developed) and maybe even drowning in an excess of interpretations and comparisons. I hope to cut through the bullshit and boil my league rules down to the essential, and the remarkable. The mundane have been exiled!

Scoring: Two Factors

Weighted Scoring Categories

I use a combination of elements to determine what value to assign things: (commonality/frequency + subjective difficulty + game-flow based significance = relative weighted value). Through this, you should begin to see my perturbed view of the sport, and what makes it interesting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some of my preferences become apparent with how harshly things are penalized, or how they are rewarded. Based on an ideal set of player’s 2018 All-Star Break statistics (relative mid-marker), the draft will see offensive players going first, but relief pitchers among the second wave. See below for the impact on how the team should be built in terms of available point scoring potential.

Difficult plays and stats that are hard to earn are weighted, but more heavily towards the remarkable. Outfield Assists for example, as I have stated in previous posts, are pretty fucking awesome. Clearly there are more points to be scored as an offensive player, but that seems to follow logic in terms of actual gameplay. Still, I see that, if there was to be a draft, I could see multiple strategies towards some desired stat-cultivation effort to specifically target a course towards relevance, and the postseason. Plays that cause outs, or kill rallies, or erase runs are dealt with harshly.

 

 

Roster Positions – Team Size

Depending on what is being scored/weighted, the roster needs to reflect a discipline to balance, and an incentive for a diverse live draft by fairly distributing point-earning opportunities across positions. As you can probably tell from the scoring table listed above, there are some positions on the lineup card that are going to be, generally, better contributors than others. The roster below is ordered in terms of fantasy point scoring weight/ideal projected point output potential (Great, High, Average, Low-ish

1B
2B
SS
3B
OF1
OF2
OF3
OF4
RP1
RP2
RP3
SP1
SP2
SP3
SP4
SP5
C1
C2
______
(18)

There would be 7 bench slots, rounding out the active roster at 25. There’s a certain nostalgic symbolism I wish to also encapsulate, (see the 5 man rotation, the 7th, setup and closer slots). I feel like there are 4 starting outfielders on every Major League team as a baseline based on logic, and the nature of the positions. I did not feel it necessary to be specific about the outfield positions as this level of specificity doesn’t add to the fun and makes drafting arduous because of the constraining requirements of the roster slot. In my build, OF gets to be more useful, potentially, based on a freedom to load RF or CF or whatever your preference.

C has become like FNFL TE to me now. Hit or miss, boom or bust, this roster slot looks like the one that will inevitably fuck me somehow. C rates low, even with All-Stars driving the stats, but they seem like to do so in bursts rather than consistently. Plus, this is another roster position that is most-likely to have a savvy backup on real MLB rosters.

I foresee infielders (with the exception of C1/2) being hard to find after some trends have been established. I have often wondered about free-agency and waiver pickups in FMLB. Maybe this will be something I learn about later, or maybe not at all. 

Well, I think this league would be fun, but this will never happen, more than likely. Good things to think about though, and that’s really all I’m trying to do. I just want something to feel good about, and excited I guess. Things have been really hard lately, and my energy is running dangerously low. I’m going to need help soon, and this little exercise has been one of my coping activities to help myself think about something positive and fun while also innocuous. Thank you.

Symptoms

I’ve indicated in past notices that I viewed my current neurochemical state on a downward slope and recent observed evidence confirms that. I am alert in this state, but struggling to maintain good health.

Symptoms I have observed in the last several weeks:

Lack of interest in extracurricular or fun things

Slowness, soreness, delayed response time

Inconsistent sleep

Dramatic increase in effort required to motivate

Isolation

Neurochemical imbalance/deficiencies/symptoms

Dependence on substances in effort to self-medicate

___

So most of that is pretty serious shit. There was no sneaking, these things have been accumulating, or increasing. Now, as I try again amidst the fray to gain some objectivity, I see how the symptoms of increasing depression have begun to surround me. At first, I turned to some default negative coping mechanisms like escape, or regression. I was having a lot of angry thoughts, and consistently find my arrow pointed down at the start of every day.

However, as I told my boss yesterday: “this isn’t my first rodeo.” I’ve been down in the black pit before, and my reluctance to go back is all the reason I need to be introspective. I was also talking about that topic last night at my Peer-to-Peer class. I spoke about how I began to grow “tired” of being down, having my life collapse and all that. I continually sought to treat my symptoms, but for years I never really understood myself, my habits, and my flaws which can cause me trouble. That lack of comprehension provided a parade of doomed solutions for me to splay myself upon prior to detonation. That dynamic proved both painful and unsustainable.

 

Responses I have taken to the onset of depression:

Initiated process with GP to achieve referral to see local psychiatrist (top priority)

Discontinued consistent alcohol abuse as escape mechanism

Discontinued abundant cannabis use as escape mechanism

Established regular exercise requirements outside for at least 60 minutes

Current medications are taken on time and regularly. Organized for minimal dose confusion.

__

I know what steps I need to continue taking to improve my condition. More activity will help contribute where my current neurochemical cocktail is lacking, but it is not a long-term solution. I need to be doing everything I can to sustain until I can see a doctor and get my medications looked at by a professional. Medication management is one of my “three pillars” theory of sustaining good mental health. All pillars must be strong for stability to be achieved, otherwise, things get tippy.

I continue to walk forward, set on improvement, while conscious of potential pitfalls and internally-generated danger.

Head-to-Head Format Fantasy Baseball

I have been watching sports for a long time and am also a very data-horny person in general. Fantasy Football was a good fit, but weekly single matchups are very stressful.

Theoretically, Baseball is much less strenuous, though still very inside-knowledge dependent. Also, because of the unusually long season, presents a more gradual advancement towards some final playoff-like confrontation. I’ve had a look at the formats available, and I think I like Head-to-Head the best. Comprehensive approach to stat calculation presents an uncomfortably large swath of statistical accumulation to process and deliberate about, as Rotisserie would seem to indicate. For me, the contest would have to be rooted in the more elegant aspects of the sport, and values achievements of significance, skill or consistency above others. I’d like to discuss a few of these, and why I believe they should be weighted in some way, and specifically tracked in the H2H format:

Defensive

(Outfield) Assists: The outfield assist might be my favorite play in all of Baseball, because it requires perfect body-mechanics to execute effectively. Also, having a runner thrown out at home, or caught trying to leg-out a double or triple is flaming-hot fried action. It doesn’t get much sexier than that. The deep outfield assist is easily the hardest throw to make in all of MLB (in a close second: the throw from third base foul territory to first before the runner is also a cannon-shot).

Double Plays: These coordinated exchanges can be stressful, improbable and miraculous at times. Among my favorites are the Strike-out/Throw-out, a long 6, 4, 3 or the Fly-out/Throw-out DP. When executed, they represent a tight-knit unit of infielders who can turn-two under any number of precarious, low-success probability circumstances.

Strikeouts: Obvious choice, but also a critical stat for determining the “overpoweryness” of a pitcher, which is a thing I like to track. Strikeouts looking, if they could be divided and weighted from strikeouts swinging, should be a tick or two more valuable than the latter. Either hitters get duped into thinking the pitch is junk, or they swing at something appealing that rapidly becomes junk on its way to the plate. Either way, very satisfying as an observer (except when it’s my guy who strikes out).

Pick-Offs: Though relatively uncommon, it should be a requirement of pitchers to have a sneaky pick-off move. It’s a skill thing, because pitchers should also be effective as fielders from the mound. Pick offs are particularly sweet because it’s the pitcher erasing his own mistake, and also requires a player who is not only good at throwing 90 feet from the windup or stretch, but also slinging it fast to first to nab some unsuspecting, or leaning-too-far-to-second individual.

Offensive

2-Out Runs Batted In: This is all about clutch. Hitting when it is most needed, driving in critical runs… its the sort of thing that light a fire under a team. This would up the RBI value in that scenario by a large degree. There is no more important single statistic for a player, in my mind, than this one. This is the stat that wins games.

Doubles: Why doubles? Because they are a lot like home runs, just on a different, more arduous trajectory. A double requires a batter to suddenly take flight around first to ensure the hit is not squandered as a single. Triples are fun, but they’re really mostly just poorly fielded doubles, which isn’t a miraculous thing IMHO. Doubles are also a good judge of power, and almost certainly boost nearly every relevant stat an offensive player can accumulate.

Home Runs: Chicks dig the long ball, and so do I. Though, if possible the Inside-the-Park-Home-Run would be astronomically more valuable than your standard home run. They are also a rating of power, and is often the engine behind RBI. Simply put, home runs are spectacular, and they are a part of the shiny entertainment value of the sport at its core. Players tend to fall into grooves seeing the ball well, and HR tracks that trend as well.

Stolen Bases: A feat of quickness, timing and keen observation skills. They also have a chance to be very effectual in the course of the game, and stealing home would obviously be massively valued over any other base, not just in statisitcal value but in the “feat of skill” aspect. For me, “manufacturing runs,” which is a “small-ball” concept of persistence and timely quickness is entertaining. Teams that don’t have the higher Batting Averages tend to steal more bases, and finding a player that hits well and steals bases is optimal.

Base/Modified Scoring Breakdown

Defensive Scoring Categories

Win = 5.5
Save = 7.75
Hold = 3
Assist = 2.75 (OF = 4)
Double Play =  4.25
Pick-Off = 5.25
Strikeout = 1

Loss = (-2.5)
Blown Save = (-9.5)
Error = (-.75)
Home Run Allowed = (-1.25)

Offensive Scoring Categories

Run Scored – 1
Run Batted In – 1.25
Single – 1.5
Double – 2.75
Triple – 3.25
Home Run – 5
2-Out Runs Batted In = 2.75
Stolen Base = 1.5 (Home = 2.75)

Caught Stealing = (-2)
Strikeout = (-1.25)
Grounded Into Double Play = (-3.75)

Under terms such as these, I think a low-maintenance league might be fun… but the scope of invested time on research is daunting to say the least.

Roster size is of importance as well, and I have that consideration when amplifying the point totals. It’s a scaled-down version of the standard model:

NL Model Roster Positions

1B (1)

2B (1)

3B (1)

C (2)

OF (4)

SP (5)

RP (3)

FLEX (2)

BENCH (6)

Total = 25

That sort of describes what I fancy about MLB… there are many little corners of statistical fascination and rarity that please my brain. The fact that Baseball is so heavily dependent on stats plays a big part in why it smells interesting and so, I just keep sniffing it. I like to sniff the smoodge.

Yukon Ho!

I always admired Calvin for his cleverness (although usually devious) and his imagination. Right now, I wish I had the same fire he has for venturing into new worlds. Frankly, imagination is a drug of escape in its own right, and has to be desired to be fulfilling. This might explain why I have been non-existent in my creative writing ventures, or gaming, or any of the peripheral fuzzy things I used to do. Real life has been fully front and center in the months since the move, and I guess it seems there is no battery for that.

Love. A strong bond as well as an aspiration for living. Over time, I have seen why it is better to invest in positive feelings, thoughts and ideas rather than negative ones. I have done better as a human being by accepting my failures and flaws, but still insisting on going forward/up. What choice is there? There is no joy to be had in suffering, darkness, and relived pain. Agony builds no bridges or houses. I was this once. I lived it. I saw where it eventually leads. I did not want that.

Life is like .0000000001 seconds long in terms of everything going on around us. Living with that knowledge doesn’t inspire any reckless or self-indulgent behavior, but instead does two things: first, it adds a level of delicate preciousness to life in its fragile, brief and fleeting existence, and second, it inspires (in me) a desire to make the most of the short time that I am given. My personal solution has been to live for others, and follow a career that satisfies the heart, and ensures stability for the future. There is a higher state of being, and it is called acceptance.

So, Blog, with that in mind, you can see why my path forward is looking so well lit as well as prosperous for the soul. I scrutinize myself from time to time with a god-like perspective, trying to liberate my thoughts from my head, it would seem. However confusing, this is working, and could be implemented as I have stated many times over.

 

Concreteafied Toots!

I’ve tooted the horn too much and the dangly string is broken with the thing locked open tooting incessantly. I am made a believer of me, and that is something I have always struggled to do. When I am determined, I am capable of great things; I can forge my own future.

Today, I am the Peer Connections Program Coordinator for NAMI Sacramento. I inherit a role in which I will ensure NAMI support groups are held with at least one coordinator per meeting and hopefully two. I have also been asked to go to Grant Writing Boot Camp at the Impact Foundry, which cost my boss $250 out of pocket to enroll me. He said today “you’re worth the investment.”

TOOT!

Just like back in 2012 when I wriggled my way into a job that didn’t exist at Tech 2U, I created this role, and the only reason I have any relevance whatsoever is entirely based on merit, personality and admirable determination. I am here because I fought like hell to get here, ducking all kinds of flaming hammers along the way. It works, Blog, because it’s real: the energy to advance down this direction and shape my life this way is a reflection of who I am. This person I have become… as I look inward, I am finding a great deal of pride there, and an expression of self that has derived from a place of honesty. These things are truths, and at last, I think I am willing to concede that they are.

There has always been doubt, and undoubtedly, there always will be. Doubty Susan over there is going to have some shit to say… but whether or not I give my investment to Susan is up to me now. I have a pretty good reason not to give anything to Susan. After enough times fucking that up, I figured it out. This is how I survived mental illness… I stopped giving my money to Susan.

 

This new life I have seems to be headed in a markedly vertical direction, hyperbolic you might say. This was only possible because my parents were able to shelter me from homelessness when my life collapsed. They have been a safety net for me so far, and I am feeling increasingly confident that my current career will allow me to be independent, stable and self-sustaining in time. That would seem likely based on the current trajectory of events. I need a career that will not judge me for being mentally ill, but help me cope with it in a constructive way. I won’t have my parents forever, and I can’t fall off the map like I have in the future. What better way to secure stability than to make my mental health my professional occupation? I will not be cast aside or shamed for being a mentally ill person at NAMI.

My parents gave me a chance to rise up and define my place in the world, and I feel confident that I am walking a safe path toward my goals. I am a believer now, so the charisma is quite sticky.

I toot a lot less than I bemoan things, maybe because I feel still somewhat guilty and shameful of acknowledging my accomplishments?

Distinctly Two

There has been some polarity to my life lately, of which I still grapple and contend with. I have always been a person of two names, but never truly two selves. Now, I wonder if that is changing.

E world invaded W world and now everything has been cast in tumult. E was never supposed to be the worker; the consummate professional. Each had time to be as they were previously defined. Now a lot of what made W special has become a part of E, and the personas are merged. At times, I find myself comparing results using the filters of E & W to better understand the potential of outcomes.

Alas, something is happening. I’ve drifted far away from recreation, lust and have a limited scope of interests. My everyday is W trying to scratch out meaning through accomplishment and E is just pacing around the apartment nervously until W comes home from work.

It seems the two of them can agree on escaping together by whatever means available. That’s one thing they harmonize on, at least.

I feel, ripped. Part of me is stuck in this past world where things are already done and only dust remains. Another is accelerating vehemently towards substantive accomplishments, fueled by feedback. The proofs light the boilers and forward is where they’re going.

I don’t know where center is anymore. Some of the flavors are going. The breeze is less comforting and more making me itch. What remains to be done? E and W both have answers, albeit vastly different in nature.

Scrubbing for Clarity

Good morning Blog,

I don’t have much to say now. I am largely unencumbered by the presence of external factors and managing things well internally. The pace of career advancement has been good, so there’s nothing to bemoan. I feel far less than complete, however… still retaining many of the fractures of the past and the lingering smoky haze of recently charred buildings. I think my enthusiasm comes in waves, which makes sense in a symptomatic context. I am in a lull now, but just a couple weeks ago I was not. I guess the busier I am with work, the better chance I have at being stable. That could be argued as a universal truth as well among my kin.

 

I have chosen a path to walk that gives me the best chance to stay sane and life a full life. To have any chance to succeed, I need to stay focused on positive goals and advance progress. I have an obligation to my pride to continue to pursue an ideal path towards effectiveness, bound by morality. Helping the disadvantaged reminds me of so many things, like who I was, and the decisions I made. So many more have made far worse mistakes than I have, yet, it is not a reason for any of them to not have a chance at happiness for the rest of their lives. We go farther when everyone is participating, as it can be definitively stated that the more people one has helping build a thing, the faster that thing gets built.

I could go on and on about this. Nevertheless, I have much ahead of me yet to do some positive good, and affect change in a significant and beneficial way not for myself, but for someone who’s voice isn’t being heard. I know how it feels to not be heard, and it’s pretty much the worst.

I know inside that I have done some good already, and that my intentions are the things that hold me up with a smile. It’s not always easy to bring the energy to that template, but I try as often as is possible. When you, Blogomites, can look at yourselves in the mirror and see the scars, flaws, lines, and beauty, you have begun to see the symbolically metaphorical truth of the inner-self. I still have much to learn, but I understand more now than I ever have before. It helps to combine emotion with imagery, craft states into scenes, and dwell within the moment in a new medium to understand it better.

What remains uncertain s the shining light drawing in my moth of curiosity, hopefully not to be incinerated. Hmm, a regrettable ending, and I don’t have a relevant phoenix metaphor available now to insert here… drat.

The Arc Of Fate, Directed

Why are we having this debate in our country right now? Has Capitalism really become so inflated and corpse-like that it can no longer sustain? I think we have a flawed design for our society, and now that it is being exploited, we see how broken it really is. This is just the leading edge of a knife that is beginning to sink into the flesh, though, not unnoticed.

We had a good idea in making the United States a true Democratic society, with a founding document that would adapt to change, and adjust as the definition of society changed. Now, though, because of how  thoroughly and completely we realized the intent of that document (rules), we have found ways to contort it into something more like a monarchy, or oligarchy of sorts.

Something that should alarm you is that the minority’s ideological power controls all branches of our government, and are successfully establishing a way to prolong that control and promote the tenants of its beliefs. It is not just that, but also the fact that a solidification of power will result in a new societal standard which is far less developed and limited in potential when compared to the current trajectory.

It comes down to something pretty simple: control. However, control has no endgame. Right now, the individuals who have their hands on the reigns of power, governmental and private, are doing what they can to make sure they stay in power. Seems logical, but not democratic. Our course is not set to the benefit of only some, because we are founded on the principles that our government, citizens and all those who come here should be proud of being or becoming American. To me, the founders designed our democracy with the intent of purging the potential for abuse in a monarchical context (with the exception of the pardon power). Pride, for me at least, does not lead me in a new desire to exploit the thing I am most proud of in order to better myself and reward those that promoted me to this platform of authority.

To contort the mechanism of election to retain control seems not very American. To strategically draw electoral district boundaries to decrease the value of some people’s vote and inflating others also seems pretty unacceptable. Slashing taxes, de-funding the federal government, gutting departments of staff/effectiveness, AND handing most of the money back to the richest, most powerful individuals and entities in our capitalist society? Why is that the thing that we are doing?

The minutia of cost-based services has become staggering, and the primary benefactors are companies, businesses, corporations that control this thing that we need or want. Even if you cut away all the fluff and said you’d only ever buy what you need, it still costs something. No one rides for free in this America. Broken toe? Hungry? Tired of being rained on while you sleep? America doesn’t want to care unless you are grinding your face off for it, and doesn’t care if you live or die while in service. Right now, those who work the hardest, break their backs and spill their blood for America are some of the poorest paid, most abandoned, forgotten people in the entire country. The human beings responsible for making sure this country keeps going forward are losing faith that anyone actually gives a flying fuck about them. Look at the way we treat our veterans: they make up a large contingent of homeless nationwide, die in veteran’s hospitals and have an alarmingly high suicide rate. These people were given a job to do, and they did it, and now their life is over.

Why do so few make so much? They were far better at understanding, adapting and exploiting the game our society plays, in which the rules allow for the most predatory, arrogant and ruthless individuals to rise to the top. These individuals have a thirst for the rewards of this permutation of society: power, land, notoriety/fame, control. Just like any fucking thing that has rules, like the Constitution, or Capitalism, once you know what the parameters are, you can find a way to exploit in to some ulterior purpose. Hackers are just this generation’s example of such a mentality driven into a niche where it is quite successful, but you can then consider the current Alt Conservative movement to be hackers of the Constitution.

Most of us just want to have a good life, full of people we love and smiling faces. We don’t need to have fortunes, power, and control. and frankly, there is strong evidence that when one of us is given such things, we are more often ruined by them. What are these things ultimately if not the transitory, sinfully gained self-declared rewards, which are ultimately spoils from the labor of many millions, all over the world? Can their hear our backs breaking as they stand atop the pile? To me, the monarchical way of thinking leads to nothing good. Tyrants are inevitably overturned, and their names disgraced through time. The oppressed never stay that way forever. The arc of humanity bends towards acceptance, because the true source of power is a people united behind belief.

I do believe that there are millions and maybe billions of disadvantaged human beings who are tired of seeing the dreams they have go beyond the limitations of what their life can allow. We cannot succeed apart, and can only realize who we are when we all come together, with conviction, and stand up for our country. We used to believe that America was a place where anyone could be anything, and in a way, that can’t ever be fully true. However, the intent behind those words was hope. For the people that grow up here, or come here from far away, they all should have that spark of hope that they can be something that they dream about being all their lives, no matter where they are from. People driven by a passion, or a calling are among the most inspiring of us all, and they know what it is to love a thing; a principle that should do more of the deciding of our direction than it currently does. We really do want everyone to come here believing that, even the asylum seeker at the Mexican border or the New York City orphan. As it stands now, that dream is nearly gone for most people here already, and currently under siege by anyone who is trying to come here.

People fret over what’s happening in the news right now. This is all so transitory. This campaign of riding a wave of racism and outrage to prolonged power is stupid and short-sighted, to put it mildly. Ideas in America are changing rapidly, with each new generation that grows up, and every immigrant who comes here to live. Hate doesn’t build anything, it can only divide us up into seething quadrants where we are easily controlled and not at all useful. In order to step forward, and redefine what America is, we all must stand together, and become a majority.

Even if decades or arcane and inhumane beliefs pervade, there is no escaping the truth that we will prevail in our ability to unite. We are all people in this country together, and this is our home. One day, I believe we will find out this truth and come to understand what one humanity looks like. Our diversity is the thing that defines us, because just as we are complex of thought, we are differential in our heritage, history, traditions, beliefs and dreams. The advantages of knowing will advance us farther than we ever knew we could go, and in that future, the fire of hatred will be long snuffed out. With all the unique perspective we bring, the community of humanity will be the real thin America will be remembered for.

Stop

My future is the concern now. Absolutes are not useful in describing the terms. The sum of regret which packmules along behind is never more than a short length of rope away. Ahead.

I don’t know how to let go; to stop caring. To cast out the dead and walk past their graves. This was a world of webbing, sticky messes that continue to be remembered. I regret it. All of it. For what it did to me, for what I became while I was with them. Unyielding, it remains. Even the good was not worth what cane after. I have tried to frame it, but fail consistently do declaw the context. Ruins.

I still have the same story, where one foot goes in front of the other. Why seems clear.

My being alone is likely. Past interfacing with others in this way has reached an all time low of usefulness. Never abandoned, but largely forgotten. Safety concerns regard the station as abandoned.

Flaternated

Score: +1

I did not start well and never had the energy to get going. I struggled with the things I could do, but largely loafed and yawned.

I feel tired, which is somewhat expected after working two events back to back. I am crunchy on the outside, but I do not have a Tootsie Roll center. Plans were set ablaze early as my state was poor to start the day. Improvement has a shot to be possible now that I’m going to bed.

It has been harder to get going in the morning. I do not feel spry, I feel like a bundle of dried twigs.

I’m not fully tuned out of the past yet. I still glance back, even though I know it serves little purpose. I again reaffirm my argument that because of history, nothing growing will be cultivated there. The land is patched and nutrient starved. No amount of water will result in lush new plant life. I must painfully admit this and proceed into a future without.

Such deep hatred. It’s because I have been a terrible person in my past. There is good cause. At least, ignoring any progress, a reality can be spun to cater to any need. Mine self deprecates accurately and with the intent of plowing through towards progress.

I have powered down the sensor array and diverted main power to life-support systems. Hopefully we will survive on those reserves until the rescue ships arrive.

Responseless

Sounding pang of a hammer slam–

Wailing with the escaping anguish,

The cries fade in the clattering noise.

Hollow echoes, desperate and resounding,

Hurt the stone walls with their shrieking scrapes–

Almost words, but more a feeling.

Banging on into the distance,

Rattling–

Hollow of remembrance,

Soaked in the flavors of now.

The drops peel off corners,

Plated hard and unfractured.

Puddling to be dissolved,

Nothing but the soft hiss–

Of the silence underground.

Impressions

Score: +3.5

I know I’m not making much money, but I am helping. Every chance I get, I add a little piece. One brick after another. This is the way.

If you don’t work at it, the goal remains unachieved. Progress is null.

I have so many examples of how stagnation and complacency leads to nothing.

I know companionship is impossible now, as I remain one with my path. I am the full time steward with no chance of a reduction of labor; no opportunity to trust the task to anyone else.

Casting aside the rubbish is now all I have left of relating to the past, and those before. Set ablaze, ashes fall and fertilize the soil for some new future.

The days of solidarity are upon me, and I welcome the fortune of times to come.

I can’t help but laugh. It all seems so foolish now. So disconnected from reality. So false, deluded and irresponsibly fanciful. Dream a dream if you wish, but I won’t play along. The dream is meant to keep you happy, not me. I’m not dreaming anymore. I awoke.

The prof is in the fact. Indisputable as it is real. Contend with that, or run from it. Either way, progress will not be stopped.

While

Dusted with purpose,

Scars and tattered clothes,

Smudged stain streaks,

Eyes, charged.

Dedicated to forward,

Chalk-dry grip,

Push off up or out,

Vital fury burns,

Sheds to incinerate.

Cleansing water,

Circling the departure,

New banner unmuted,

Wrought of scars–

Clear in color.

Preamble

Every step will be hard, but beautifully rewarding.

All the sweat, aches, words and deeds composed present the case to meaning.

Worth and community reinforce action, with the genuineness of jubilance.

Press forward to be known!

The uncrafted pieces are arranged for something new and wonderful.

Promise kept to self, again.

Elevated, dignified and solemnly prepared to play.

Aheadwardly

I see a way ahead that is not necessarily a pillow parade of yay and fluff all the way to Slappytown. There needs to be a significant flesh donation and ball sweat scrubbing bristle brush handle-rake of hard for much. That’s the way of meaning, and it’s always been buried under all the old snot and pungent goop we shoveled into the muckcinerator today.

I don’t know what to say about them from then. It seems like no one had a slice of cake available, or at least couldn’t wait until one got passed down. The cake was totally worth waiting for though, and Yelp reviews confirm as much for those who were there now. The words don’t come because all I can use to describe the cake are a series of guttural-unjugulations and grumbling noises.

Unlike your average biochemical spill, there are many benefits to my sudden and tsunami-like introduction to a new ecosystem. I contaminate with sticky and beguiling usefulness. I spread a contagious virus that inspires inclusion. My filthy, heaping mounds of saturated waste deposits fertilize new possibilities. Oh woe upon the day my foulness took root in the place over there! Good thing them then got as far away as they could before the everything caught fire and fwooshed to puffs.

Prosperous earthworm chug! The dirt of salvation is my poo! Victory plant, initiate maximum grow!

Integration:Relevance

Score: +4.5

A fantastic day of validation, advancement and promise. I have come to the realization that my value between TWO distinct branches of one non-profit has been elevated beyond expectation. I am a part of them, lifting their capacity where it would not have been possible. Doing the representation they need, and want. Being a promoter with enthusiasm to do what is needed to see a future where growth and acceptance are the norm. I intend to do whatever I can to help them, while cementing relevance.

They are capable of many things because of me. I am so proud to help them, and doing so promotes worth, pride. It is the best I have felt.

These days define, determine and project. I commit my energy, intellect, creativity and positivity into a future I describe for myself. What a fantastic time Blog! Soon I will be able to forge a life for myself. A life I can call mine as I stand, alone, and proud of the destiny I have wrought. Make your future Blog!

RELEVANCE! ACHIEVED!!!!

Blog, I’m fucking in. The inner sanctum. Me. In! My feet are standing upon sacred ground.

Established, trusted, proven, vigorous, persistent, pressing, VICTORIOUS!

I can’t explain now, but know the status is unprecedented and the future limitless. I am the disciple of fortune! I am the warrior of cause!

The possibilities are limitless!

Yes!

The confirmation has come, and the future is being built like a bastion of protection, and inevitable success/relevance.

I’m in Blog… and it’s the dream I’ve hoped for for so long. To have a life that gives, redeems, replenishes. It is all right here for me, ready.

This is the day, in which it begins.

A Breath

Hi Blog,

It’s been a few days since I felt like writing, and I have not been all that busy. This week, however, I have cranked the afterburner for full and we are going for a zoom. today through Saturday I will be active for NAMI, from helping them with Walk donor mailers, to manning a boot at the homeless outreach event on the 30th. I have firmly planted the seed of peer support in my ED’s head, and things are beginning to grow.

I have proven my worth to this organization many times, and will continue to reinforce that gratifying action with repetition. Nothing feels quite as spectacular as working a day and coming home to shoe removal and jams, knowing its earned. I work hard, and play hard. This has always been my way, being a max effort individual over the past several years I’ve taken to establish my identity.

Now that I’ve washed the ash of my past from my hands, again, I am ever-more driven to pursue a future I can be proud of. Nothing about the past will change, and the revisiting solves nothing, promotes negativity and starts social fires (at least, when dealing with particularly incendiary individuals). What is clear is that I’ve made enough bad choices in past candidates for partnership that I am unlikely to make a similar bet again, regardless of circumstance. Avoiding uncorking another underdeveloped individual’s useless anger is more likely in a relationship than out of one, but clearly, not always.

Still, the interactions have taught me to accept those that are dead as dead, and gone from the world of local relevance. I have a great big pile of other things to be concerned about, like exposure to new faces in the MH community, and impressing the people that already do. I look back over the last couple months, and I truly see the steps of progress, integration and the establishment of importance as things I have done very well so far in this enterprise. My only real remaining goal is to be a permanent employee rather than a temporary one.

Hey me, just look at what you’ve done in 2 months! Just 2 months and you’re already a fixture at every NAMI boot event being held. In just 2 months you’re already a friend of the ED, fundraising coordinator, board of directors and outside consultants around the organization. Persistence, and recognized value. If you want a job, insist that you get one, make one for yourself, and never let them doubt how valuable you are as a contributing member of their mission. You have done so much already, and quickly! There is, and will continue to be an impregnable armor around my confidence that can’t be punctured by lies, torn down by hatred or disemboweled by outside destructive forces. There is no one out there who can get inside unless I decide to let them.

I don’t deflect pain without understanding it, preserving an introspective process and objectivity, but there are some things that are easy to discount considering the source. The evidence of my self worth is staggering, historical, and indicative of a morality that transcends petty disagreements, doubt and disdain. I strong recommend to those of you out there who struggle with symptoms or have negative forces set on dismembering your reality for no reason other than to do it: you can overcome by proving to yourself who you are. Who you become is a direct result of actions, deeds, proofs. The facts of progress are not up for debate, they are indisputable, valid and full of powerful positive energy. The nourishing light of commitment, dedication and pride, going forward, are immune to threat and incapable of being dismantled from the outside.

Confidence Blog, have it, own it, love it forever. We are the difference makers our society needs. We can be the faces of the story of mental illness, recovery and the eventual perseverance of spirit that comes when we become less concerned with being ill, and more in tune with what it means to be healthy.

Solstace

Good morning Blog,

Today is the longest “day” of the year, as evidenced by last night’s soft twilight glow at 9:15 pm. With the extra happy up time, I plan to accumulate steps along the walking path and smell the evaporating befouled trench-water.

The new environment I have found myself in has been nourishing in a very literal sense. Part of that, is because I have realized my potential as a steward of my locally perceived environment. This is a tangential topic form the fundamental model for effective stability that I have adopted along my journey. The reason I know that it has it’s foundations in a place of surpassing integrity is because the process drives an accumulation of positive proofs that forge a self based on real, acquired pride.

The origin of this emotional uplift is derived in fact, which can be proven, being real, indisputable, and has hard as solid metal. In this odd metaphor, that process provides something hard, nay, precievably immobile to stand on and achieve balance; no longer tumbling through the air or otherwise prone.

I can only speak to personal experience in this regard, but that is basically the best place to be speaking from anyway. I have still been down and up at times, especially over the last two years, but that process was not hidden from me as it may have been in the past. I had eyes for trouble, but most of all, I had intense documentation between Psychologist, Psychiatrists and my own personal introspection right here on this Blog. I did not let my psychotic break last year destroy me, well, not entirely anyway. I continued to adapt, and grow, and become something harder and more determined than before. I find that with failure comes an additional surge of motivation, if not purely based on my own self-imposed frustration with having fucked something up in the first place. A little spark in the face is all it takes to get me off the floor and moving forward again with several very forceful steps. I don’t let failure frustrate me in a way that stops progress indefinitely, or teaches some lesson that is flawed, biased or destructive. Interpretation is (should be) the best part of consciousness, especially when it is actually objective and willing to be unabashedly self-critical for the sake of improvement not immolation.

I think the byproduct of all this is that I have an effective model for maintaining stability and living with mental illness, which is something I can use, going forward, in my peer support model. I am even being given a chance to do a full day of private peer support for NAMI at an homeless outreach event at the end of the month. My influence has sparked a curiosity about peer support in NAMI that seemed to be not present until I started waving my pom-poms around and clicking my heels. Pride. It infects the people around, in that local environment I was talking about earlier. There is an appeal based on positive radiation, which is not something perceived with the senses but “felt” in a resonant, comfortable way when presented with proximity. The source of that energy, being real, is coming from a place validated by years of positive steps. I have a charisma that inspires, attracts and spreads freely by enthusiastic reference.

That’s the proof of integrity I have been asking myself for over the last week. Who am I? What am I capable of? What am I going to do with my life?

Each day that I get up and head out into the world, I do so proudly, confidently and with radiance. I find that a shining persona can come in more than just with pride and integrity, but also with hate or delusion. There are plenty of people in the world who are satisfied with an “answer” that makes sense for them, and any reinforcement of that is welcome while outside challenges are ignored and disregarded. Look no further than American society for your delusion of hate in the form of prejudice and racism. We have a polarizing world, truly, between the inert and the curious (if not along 1 trillion other lines of contention).

That societal dynamic is a source of consternation toward my progress, but ultimately, not sustainable. Like all actions driven by negative forces, the outrage isolates, castigates and eventually exiles as the scalpel of progress removes the rotten flesh of it’s enduring essence. Concepts like racism are doomed in time, maybe beyond my life. The energy derived decays, rots and erodes. No progress towards stability, happiness and fulfillment is driven by hate.

Well, that was a kinda frustrating way to conclude. No, wait, maybe this is also indicative of my hopefulness. Maybe I’m not pessimistic enough? I prefer to be pointed up than always thinking about the downward result. I really do think that as humans, we will figure this out as the decades go by. It’s just too fucking inefficient to be hating each other all the time. We get more done when we work, not when we yell.

Advancement

Score: +3.5

The last few days, I have been helping the NAMIWalks team put together “thank you” packets for organizations that donated during the walk. I had a chance to put on my graphic design hat and came up with collages composed of pictures from the event and recognition achieved through their contribution. This very morning, I was working with the two most impactful NAMIWalks individuals in Northern California, and I got treated like a respected, admired equal. Today, my significance solidified.

My work continues tonight as NAMI is hosting a community meeting for LGBTQ individuals. I’m here early to set up the table and talk to people that come in. I know last time I was at something like this, I got to meet some interesting new people and reconnect with recently acquired friends. My social circle is growing, and in it are people who make a substantive difference in their communities. These activists, leaders and peers all work together to advance awareness and stop stigma. These are the faces of change, and I am proud to model myself around them as I develop into a mental health professional.

Things are accelerating, money is starting to trickle in (I got a gift card for helping out!). I’m more concerned with staying relevant and involved. I’m here volunteering every day of the week because I want to. This is my path, and here is where I will find true fulfillment.

I’ll have a post for you tomorrow Blog. Oh, and I got a job interview with a company that holds peer-led groups at psychiatric clinics. They are jazzed about my peer support background AND familiarity with several natural sciences. Should it be great to hold a group on clouds, or the solar system? Sweet flaming monkey-pants that sounds great!

As with all things, more to come soon.

Paradigm of Self-Combustion

Good morning Blog,

This dawn-less hour I am awake, beginning my day still turning over the events of the previous evening (and days prior). I think I am beyond the point of further discussion in any direct way, as there is no possible discussion to be had. I tried to leave that door open, but it was kicked shut for good.

This all got me thinking about my own destructive states, where my irreconcilable symptoms pervaded and saturated my actions to an alarming degree. I have been very combustible in years past, and I still can be if properly soaked in fuel. The paradigm of the flaming man was not that appealing, or truly representative of the whole person I am. Though, it really does take actual trench-digging labor to become introspective enough to recognize that. A lot of what helped me see what my uncontrolled illness was doing was to look no further than the scorched and incinerated crater all around me, where my friends, partners and family once stood. The fractured rubble and dust is the visible, tangible result of the damage not taking care of myself can cause.

Hence, this Blog! It was conceived as a venting waste site and a bully-pulpit for a time (conditional maturity), but has also been the documentation of a long, slow journey of self-realization and growth. Going back years, the road I walked and the steps I took towards improvement and stability are unarguably, factually, right over there in the sidebar for anyone to see. If not for this place, I would not have been able to correct the negative paradigm I had assigned to myself through unattended action. I continue to feel a sense of inner-death over the things I have done to those I professed to love. I was abusive in my depression, selfish, craven, coercive, damaging and flawed. There is no denying that my broken neurochemistry was not assisting my conscious mind in making great decisions (see suicide attempt).

I think that life is totally, locally experiential. We all interpret things differently, even from moment to moment. As our perceptions and conditions change, so to can the context of memories and trauma from the past. I have participated in this sort of exercise, especially when freshly damaged from a breakup, yelling from the stage of the Blog theater into an unhappy crowd. My perceptions were impossibly biased, rooted in denial, and staunchly defending a favorable interpretation for the sake of self-defense while acutely vulnerable.

Looking back at the hurt I caused brings up all sorts of instances and material for interpretation, as is my process. I don’t let the past lie still if there is still something there. I haven’t affixed myself to an interpretation of things that best protects my security, but rather, deals with the real events and effects I have had on others with the hope of progressing beyond it. How can I ever hope to learn from hurt, sadness and regret if I do not face those thoughts, welcome them, and accept responsibility? In the end, the paradigm of self-combustion fails when one stops lighting themselves on fire.

Carrying around the petroleum-soaked tinder of anger, hatred and resentment was the first casualty of change. These negative emotions, when harbored, cause consistent and unrelenting duress. Their validity never having been in question, the choice is to keep marching them forward as new steps are taken into the future. Logically, I introspectively assessed that I don’t have the energy to spare on such an laborious activity, fruitless as it is. The energy I spent holding on to the negative emotions I had directed at others could easily be reassigned to some other function that would be far more likely to achieve a benefit of some form. This is a conscious decision; a judgement of effectiveness and survival made internally. I am simply less likely to be consistently stable if I have an offsetting weight on me at all times that I choose not to leave on the side of the road.

The real trauma of those terrible events is a constant reminder of the validity of those moments, and should always be there in my mind somewhere. I view the memories  and emotions tied to that trauma can be constructive and negative at the same time. I began to treat moments where trauma is triggered as opportunities to understand my negative responses, practice my anxiety relief techniques, and spend some time focusing on how that surge of emotions still guides (or doesn’t) my actions. There is no denying trauma is a source of consistent pain, but also, that pain is asking a question of the self.

I, personally, explore my trauma not only to comprehend the different emotional states of my life, but also to lessen the anguish of that trauma by not approaching it with reluctance/fear, but with curiosity. Ultimately, trauma is reinforced by the emotional reaction to it, and negative will compound indefinitely until the pattern is too well-ingrained to consider changing. Trauma can be dangerous if indulged, but if observed and understood, can bring stability, resolve and strength. I do go back to some of the moments of trauma in my past, recalling specific moments where I was in a desperate, dangerous states. Yes, it is painful to remember, but also, a sign of real fortitude and endurance that I can look at it at all without recoiling in horror.

I am quite familiar with the paradigm I reference, because I have been that person. I was that person not too long ago. However, I chose not to continue to remain that person and have evolved from that regrettable state into something far more sustainable. Isn’t that ultimately the goal we mentally ill have in common; to have a chance at a fulfilling life? I think it can easily said that no one particularly enjoys suffering, and neither do I. I didn’t paint a new fuzzafied reality for myself (turns out, complex thinkers don’t find delusions satisfying), I walked into the future with all my burned up ashes of truth and regret held in my arms for all to see. I have the dignity of knowing I hid nothing from you Blogosphere, and told you the truth of my story, as best I could comprehend it at the time, with each chronologically incremental post. One soggy revelation at a time, I built up my confidence into someone who’s actions speak volumes to his moral intent. This is the progression, or some facsimile of that, that I hope to not only highlight with this post, but encourage in those who are currently self-combusting (metaphorically speaking) to pursue.

Consistency of action builds a motivation which will fuel additional steps towards hope, and with the intent of establishing the currency of worth: pride.

Turns Out…

Consider this a post a notification of Blog redaction Concerning my previous post titled I Stand, Accused and resulting comments.

In response to the comments: I am still willing to discuss my behavior in relation to my exes and how my mental illness or other states cause them harm or trauma. I think engaging in a discussion about this sort of thing could be constructive. However, I think participation is still strictly contingent upon some form of mutual respect and not complete vehemence.

I do vastly prefer constructive conversation opposed to destructive and hateful word-chucking (which is all that was fundamentally happening).

So with that, I have had a very thought-provoking and emotion-assailing 36 hours, but now the hope for useful discourse on the topic of my transgressions is gone.

I will, no doubt, have some form of ambiguous summary failing to disclose vital facts of the matter but tempting with scintillating adjectives which imply, but do not overtly suggest anything.

I’m the same me I was 30 minutes ago, and getting ready for another fun-smelling day tomorrow.

 

Felt

Dear Blog,

It is the pre-morning of a promising day, and I carry with me a suitcase full of arrived negativity. While I won’t discount hate just on it being itself, but I do expect an adequate discussion if there is something to revisit. I’m not shrinking from potential responsibility, but the mutuality of real dialogue seems unlikely.

So truthfully, a campaign of hate is not going to move any conversations forward.

In spite of that, I’m working at the NAMI office today to finish up some data entry from the Walk. With each incremental step, I’m enmeshing myself further in an organization driving real change in my community.

I have a lot of things I regret, and adversely, am very proud of. It’s not a polar world where all is good or all is evil. It’s a lot easier to slap on that label and disregard than it is to engage, challenge and reconcile. I realize rage of certain magnitudes has no cure, but needs to be recognized as unproductive given the multitude of other communication choices.

My life is going forward regardless. Is yours?

Spark Assessment

What is clear:

Even the slightest, tiniest, misconstrued sense of being engaged or cared about has a PROFOUND effect on output. I am more active, effusive, creative and alive when even the deception of concern is present enough to cast the illusion of reality. This should draw a flag as well for the nature of the spike.

Erratic and concerning to some degree, and undeniably significant in influence. Also potentially, quite useful if channeled effectively (or if engaged more slowly). It’s the type of bloom that would promote me more vibrantly into the world, if only I knew how to conjure the feeling within myself.

I know I’m going to be okay regardless of sunshine and good soil. To think of a time where that could be “better” seems impossible. Is this a drop of water hitting the sand and being greedily devoured into mud?

Shade

Snagged in snarling brambles,

Razor wiring flesh from bone.

Shrieking, wrenching spasm–

Grasping the air of next.

Sinewy-thread wounds,

Flesh disembarked in decay,

Bear roots in the firmament.

Trickling drip-increments,

Boom peeled with knowing,

Spiraling sunward slowly.

Embroiled in shredded selves,

Grown-toes in fetid murk,

Apparent in leaves, unfurling,

Soak the hours waning.

Inertia

Good morning.

I have been struggling today. I’m sure all this talk of the past has likely given away the reason for my constant deliberation. It has brought words, thoughts and potent feelings back into the forefront. I don’t interpret this as a crisis, but as an opportunity to test my skills.

There is a process to moving through events, one that pays appropriate attention to their components while also softening the harshness of old wounds. Nothing in terms of circumstance will be changed by my own thoughts alone and I have long ago abandoned hope for deliberation or any sort of resolution. So, today I have been thinking, and churning. I have done the healthy physical walking thing, which has helped normalize. I did not stagnate in isolation, I had my words, and now, I’m working.

I’m NAMI Helpline guy today, and two full days at the office Tuesday – Wednesday. On Wednesday night I’m going to an LGBTQ + Mental Health meeting in the community. I did learn, after Pride, that NAMI doesn’t offer a specific program or service targeted at this population. I thought that was odd, considering the potential for Mental Illness to thrive there seems high. I’m hoping to learn a lot from the presentation and schmooze with everybody after it’s over. I did great after the NAMI status meeting helping out and being friendly with all the new people I met. I did feel very happy about myself that night, and as this week begins, I am already being similarly reinforced.

Today my only Helpline call was so gracious, and thanked me for hearing her (her son was in crisis) as she struggled through a difficult time. She wanted to know how long I would be on today, and when next I would be on the Helpline. I have had similar feedback in previous weeks, even to the point of one of them asking if I would take his brother on as a client (I did not).

I’m not a bad person. I may have been someone who has done painful, regrettable things in the past, but I am not that same personality silhouette at all at this moment. I am not living a model of continued harm to those I profess to love, and casting my personal responsibility on to others or abandoning it altogether. I have done that; it is just as gross and lacking in merit as it sounds. I have stopped being someone I did not want to be, and forged myself in to a man who is proud and has a purpose in this life. I intend to affect reality, improve the standard of living, uplift the mistreated and minorities so that all have a seat at the table of society. I feel my heart, and I’m guided by a morality and purpose that points a direction I am unequivocally proud of.

I live the life I know I need to. I am not a morose penitent resigned to guilt, achieving nothing. I am a light. I will be seen, and I am already filling the world around me with illumination. I can say that, because it’s just fucking true. A huge pile of evidence points to a man who is confident, effusive and eager to challenge the prejudicial norms of society.

I’d love to stay and chat, but I have research to do for my grant and sections to write for the submission. Hope you are up to something just as productive!

Walk Of Attonement

There is something fundamentally rewarding about survival through adaptation I have found. It’s a sense of worth, because many obstacles and trials were not enough to destroy the foundation and raze all that was built prior. Ruin should not be the mechanism of redemption because we do not reside in a world of unquestioned absolutes and flaming rubble. Instead, progress is quantitative; a multitude of accomplishments (theoretically) having been laid down instead, sloping upward towards a measured goal among many. This is not always easy to see, but truly can’t be destroyed without full and unquestioning self-participatory assistance.

There should be a caveat, because it’s not as simple as one small but purposeful paragraph (needless to say) to enact life-altering change. Pain is the key to recognition. Sounds unpleasant, largely, because it is (and should be). This may not be true of everyone, but hurt, regret, sorrow and suffering are an essential part of our human understanding of reality. Though we typically don’t live life at the extremes of emotional polarity, they exist as reference for when things start to stray from center. The drift of the perceived norm is the real piece to highlight, because there comes the setup for a moment when a threshold for tolerance is reached and crossed. At some interval which is different for everyone, a realization of position of the emotional pendulum is recognized. It is in this quandary of action that things become critical.

All humans are fundamentally different in countless ways, one of them being the cognitive tolerance for despair. Commonly thought of as an undesirable state, the supplicant of sorrow has a point in which the intensity and relentlessness of the state is unbearable, and in such stark contrast to the opposite end of the spectrum of feeling that dramatic action seems more tangible and needed. At this pivotal juncture, a choice can be made to continue in the current condition, or change somehow.

Again, not just as simple as a choice you make in your head and then boom, done. This revelation often comes at cost, and not always a productive result. For many (myself included) the first avenue consist largely of escape by one means or another (drugs, games, delusions, cognitive distortions), then suicide when there is no where else to go. In my own circumstance, I found that mental and physical isolation led to the trouble, a fundamental lack of constructive dialogue, as well as issues with being misunderstood and under-engaged. Plus, there are almost certainly lots of other contributors which vary per individual circumstance.

Given that death isn’t a solution to anything, and having failed at it personally, the lesson learned helps to dictate what information can be learned to push the load further uphill. Now, this moment of having been defeated in the attempt of self destruction or mutilation should serve as a marked transition point in which a new direction needs to be calculated. Or, should be. But why?

This is the most difficult part of the argument, because it relies on a person’s ability to compare alternating states of awareness in a crisis. I have never been very good at this, but the last time I hit rock bottom, it clicked. I could either stay this way, miserable, coasting just above the desire to exit existence entirely, or, to remember that feeling proud, or even positive, would be like fresh water to parched desert lips. The metaphor helps the imagination, which was a doorway, for me, towards realization and then action.

I, ultimately, wanted to feel good. I’d rather have many more days of trying for and achieving happiness than to check out of the world. The thread that kept me stitched together was hope. In and of itself, hope is too ambiguous to be useful. However, when tied to the looming mystery of the future, the window of possibility opens.

We don’t know, with any true certainty, what tomorrow will bring (unless you happen to be Madam Cleo). The fascination and promise is just as balanced between negative and positive as one would expect for normalcy in most cases. I personally hang on to that thread because I know that if I tug on it, I can take advance in a new direction. It is a hope that I am not eternally defined by the shortcomings and atrocities of my past, but rather, incentivized by fortune to make something better of the legacy thus far wrought. The ammunition to fend off advancing doubt is pride, and the individual actions that increase the evidence for having that radiant, internal confidence.

That may not appeal to someone grounded in surrender, but even the most well-established doubter can see the potential benefit of comparative reality assessments. See a future not yet realized, and head down the road towards it, I would say. It seems like a pretty fundamental adjustment to make if success is sought. I don’t pretend to be any more of an expert than my lived experience allows as I write this. I have seen, and will see, the very struggle I detail here if not within myself regularly, but in the world around me. I hope you can also see that this evidentiary argument has a real grounding in logic and constructive incrementalism. One step forward, two back, two forward, one back… and so on.

Join us. We are going into the future with the pendulum back where it belongs.

Astronomy Topic: Planet 9?

Planet 9: A Theory

Howdy again Blog.

Today we are going to be discussing a theory that explains the unusual orbits of a dozen or so Kuiper Belt Objects (also called Trans-Neptunian Objects).

When I was growing up, there WERE 9 planets, the 9th being Pluto (at that point, it was a smudge). In my lifetime, however, the advancement of telescopes has allowed for many other objects in Pluto’s neighborhood to be discovered (including one larger then Pluto). Astronomers would then come to classify Pluto as a Dwarf Planet, and a part of the Kuiper Belt (a large area filled with icy bodies in distant orbits towards the outskirts of the solar system).

This all seemed well and good for a decade or more, until a whole bunch of KBOs had been identified, and their individual orbits started to be mapped and computed. Advanced software would then make lengthy computations to model the orbits of the objects in the solar system in an effort to study their development and interactivity. That practice of modeling, in and of itself, has been going on for a long time, but the greater the number of actual objects observed, the more “accurate” the simulation becomes.

Albeit, given we don’t understand every little thing about gravity, and interactivity… but we DO get quite a bit of it. We now make space probe flight patterns that exploit the gravity of nearby planets to increase acceleration at a fuel-expense minimum (gravity-assist). It can be said we understand the mechanics of that sort of gravity interactivity fairly well, which leads us to the next point of this progression.

With that in mind, the Astronomers who observed the Kuiper Belt Objects found a few of them that had atypical orbits in contrast to the vast majority of the others. Their orbits all had some common elements though, they were elongated in a similar direction, and had corresponding axial tilts which had clearly been subject to significant gravitational forces at some point. Computers are pretty fucking handy it turns out, and after punching all these orbits into the simulation they asked the computer what could have caused these objects to have the orbits they do.

Initially, I was personally of a mind that it could have been possible that a rogue star had passed through the area nearby our solar system, and the gravity disturbance caused the orbits to be the way they are… but that was also disproven quickly because of the fact that there is no star nearby enough to be a culprit for such a crime. Also, the timeline was wrong, as the orbits of the KBOs had not been perturbed all at once. The passing star theory dies there, as it could not explain several additional observed orbital features, and the axial tilt of these TNOs.

The computer chewed on the data, but gave the Scientists an answer they were not at all expecting. The computation showed a high probability of something large lurking in the deep dark of the outer solar system. This unknown object’s gravity was tugging Kuiper Belt Objects out of their natural orbits. In addition to the projection of a whole new planet, the model also explained a few more unusual KBOs that the Scientists had no previous explanation for.

When the complete data set for all known objects in the Kuiper Belt was combined with the existing model, there were 3 objects that fell into the perpendicular orbits predicted by the simulation. The computer had known these objects were there and why before the scientists did. The data pointed, convincingly, to a big planet somewhere out there. But where?

The software projected that Planet 9 would have an orbit with a perihelion of 200 Astronomical Units and an aphelion of 1,200 AU. Those distances are truly insane, considering our farthest planet, Neptune, is 30 AU away at its longest point (aphelion). Oh, 1 AU is a little over 9 million miles.

Right now, a sky survey done from a space telescope a few years ago did not reveal planet 9 anywhere nearby, which might mean that it’s nearing the distant end of its orbital path (considering it takes a projected 20,000 years to complete 1 orbit of the sun). If it is out there, it is going to be difficult to spot. Another question asked by the scientists was: how big was this thing? Alarmingly, they found the object was AT LEAST 10 times the mass of our planet Earth. So, big. There is a type of planet that scientists have observed in extraterrestrial solar systems, called Super Earths, which are extraordinarily large rocky planets of equivalent mass to the suspected Planet 9.

Theorizing about what sort of planet it might be has, in and of itself, a distinct fork in the logic for existence and formation.

Formation Theory 0: Natural Orbit

The first though was: oh well it must have just formed out there, and we’ll update our models to compensate for that. However, this neglected the severe tilt to the solar plain, as well as the fact that there is not enough material in the outer reaches of the solar system to form a 10 Earth mass planet. This logic train stopped right here, and was abandoned.

Formation Theory 1: Rogue Planet

Since the object has such a severely elliptical orbit, and a 30 degree tilt to the plane of the solar system, there is a possibility the world we now call Planet 9 was a rogue planet. It may have been thrown free of its original parent star eons ago, and was just fortunate enough to pass close enough to the sun to be captured in its current bizarre orbit. There are models that grapple with this possibility, but nothing conclusive.

Formation Theory 2: Flung Giant

If our current model for the size of the accretion disk and the overall substance of the gas cloud that our star formed in is wrong, then maybe there are some processes at work that we do not understand. In extrasolar planetary systems, sometimes large Gas Giants are very close to their stars, in a likely consumption of the inner planets as gravity drew it closer and close as the millennia went by. Possibly?

Now we think about our own solar neighborhood… was its past more violent than we have previously theorized? Astronomers continue to work models that show Planet 9 may have developed as a Gas Giant, and been flung out of the solar system but still captured by the fringes of the sun’s influence. While the variables remain largely unknown, the Gas Giant theory lines up with where something of that mass would have needed to have formed.

Is Planet 9 a mysterious Super Earth caught by the sun’s influence from the emptiness of interstellar space, or a once proud Gas Giant, cast out by gravitational disturbances in the solar system’s formation, exiled to the icy reaches?

Conclusion: The Search

With all the observed evidence and modeling, there is a sense of certainty that Planet 9 is out there, waiting to be found. Now, a “gold rush” of sorts is taking place to scan the furthest reaches of the mysterious planet’s possible orbital path, to try to render the object in photograph and finally verify its existence. Dozens of astronomers are engaged in the search, but the area they need to cover is immense, and the magnitude of Planet 9 is quite dim given how far away it is thought to be.

Now, our society is on the cusp of re-defining how we understand our solar system, and paint a picture of where we might be headed. Albeit, geologic and astronomic time are quite different from human perception, the machinery of the universe runs on math, and it is always calculating the next interaction. There is so much we have yet to fully comprehend, even in the most basic of levels. Our understanding is based on the delicate architecture of guessing, and Planet 9 brings a lot of our theories into collision with reality. Will the planet projected by a computer really be there? Time is the fact that will determine what is out there, if not a planet, than something else very large…

Image credits: Wikipedia

The Truth

Well Blog, the truth is I’m probably not perfect. Far from it in fact. I don’t attest to be flawless, more like acutely flawed but pushing forward regardless with good intent.

I am willing to have a dialogue with anyone about anything. I’m not set in some version of reality that has to be mine. On the contrary, I have much still to learn, and remain humble in my core (despite occasional excitability).

I feel fully responsible. I have been. I have regret that pushes me forward so I can do good in the world. I want to make myself into something better than who I have been.

The only thing left is to march onward, despite pain and trauma. I hold nothing worth carrying a great distance. It is what it is, and frankly, I’m only doing a pretty good job taking steps forward.

Humble to fate, I await whatever fortune deals me. Projecting no outcome, I endeavor to do positive things for those less fortunate.

Shame can be a source for change, and I am an example of that.

 

___

 

Don’t get me wrong about the gravity of my past. It is huge, strong and a constant reminder of why I live the life I have now. I’m no model of perfection, as I view such a thing unattainable. The only structure to progress is to learn, adapt, and try again. I have taken my life a direction I am proud of, and that is something undeniably real.

I know the past is full of pain, and I’m very real about that. It is not a shame I deny, but once I have gained a great deal from. If not for my past, I could not have become who I am, which makes me thankful for that pain and the lessons it taught me. The choice to move beyond is just that, a choice, and it is one I make over and over again as the days advance. There is no arguing that the decision to fight is difficult every morning when I get up, but I do, and I still try, because I want to be proud of myself. I am not now a quitter, and I do not want to be remembered as one. If I am to be remembered beyond the time that I die, I would like people to remember how I helped my community, and shown a light onto minorities suffering with mental illness.

I need to earn the right to be here in the world, every day, and to never forget who I was.

Shaboopie!

Score: +3

Hi again Bloggyfriend.

I have been erratic mood-wise lately, but not inactive. I did very good to keep taking my medications and exercising, which helps maintain an energy baseline. This is preventative, in case short-term lulls become something more pronounced.

Today helped buoy me farther ahead in my goals for mental health community awareness, as well as providing meaningful assistance to NAMI. I met with a member of the board of directors and we started covering ways I could provide research for a grant we want to apply for as well as the document sections for the application. The one we are looking at is for 100,000 dollars and divided into 10 sub-groups county wide. In my capacity, I’ll be researching program statistics and compiling text for the grant submittal. I have rarely been more impactful in all my life, but I am still the supplicant learning and absorbing knowledge from all the amazing individuals I have met so far.

This also gets me thinking about my self-worth as I head down the road. I feel significant, but not appealing in any fundamental way. There are still holes in my armor that I work to mend, and the fiery crucible of time should assist in that process. In spite of that, I have that fundamental absence that I still struggle to comprehend. Maybe this outer-person will achieve a great deal in the world, but he would be unknown, unresolved and unwanted in a very personal way. There seems to be no escaping that, and I don’t much like the prospect of deviation.

Now, that last sentence may have been contradictory to a huge heaving pile of desire, but the truth of the comparison is relevant. The self I wear to survive in the world is different than the self I am when I am in my jams. I work my ass off, and play my ass off too. I have met some people who like to work hard, and others that all they want to do is play hard, but never both. The ideal would be to find a similarly motivated go-getter with a pension for cutting loose.

Such a person (along with all the other unreasonable measures of acceptance) does not exist. I accept that my moon girl will never be there the way I thought she might be. I don’t know why I had such silly dreams, but the shattered remains have all been swept away, and we don’t buy vases and pottery anymore.

No one likes to hear about how frustratingly lonely it is. It’s consistently not interesting to you. However, this is my Blog and my putrid vocabulary waste dump site for all time and I’ll barf on top of big piles of stale vomit for as long as it suits me. I moan and writhe in the mud of my own suffering as is mandated by the gods.

Sometimes shining the light on a thing is just what it needed to be recognized. I shine that light a lot, so I don’t build up big basements full of pickled shit log thoughts. Nothing about that’s storage of things is good, especially when the basement is full.

I’m a grant researcher and writer. That’s pretty cool. I’m a paid employee of NAMI Sacramento, which is also very neat. I have dome real plus shit in the yes column. No disregarding that.

Will there be?

No. It’s too late.

Zzzzzzzzzttt

Zuuurm

Zzzttt

-{===|]

Lost Day

Score: +2

Hi there.

Never really got going today. I did my steps but I’m not feeling the enthusiasm. 20k two days in a row does take a toll.

This is temporary. I guess I’m feeling a little sad and lonely, which is not at all abnormal. I did just formally end all contact or intention in that department. No appreciation was coming from that place anyway.

Today never felt right. Even as I ready myself for bed, I still don’t feel good. I’m sneezing a fucking ton which I don’t like.

Tomorrow brings new opportunities. Maybe even a chance to take a profound step towards change.

Reset. Reboot.

Well, I’m still feeling bad. Where can I put all these thoughts? Why am I the only one who forgives? It just blows my mind that resentment could be so appealing a salve. I clearly know nothing about women. Ever.

Here I am complaining. Uselessly. Resolving nothing. Vomiting my empty soul into the ether of disinterest. No one who should care, does. All that was is gone, never to be had again.

Amendment

In reference to last post:

After some consideration, it seemed uncalled for that I disconnect from the afore mentioned ex without at least clarifying specifically that I would be doing so. I sent a message indicating no hard feelings, but an end to an impossibly frustrating dynamic. I am moving away from the past and towards the future. Period. There is such promise, hope and potential in the days ahead. I am resolved not to spend any more time regressing, rehashing and ultimately, retraumatizing.

I don’t care how the message is received. I have extended the necessary information to not be overtly rude, while still desiring an end to any more communications. I deleted the app and will not check it again. I am resolved, but not intentionally callous or derogatory.

The faded relics of the past do not have the potency or relevance to shape the future of progress or eventual companionship. All lessons absorbed, the future is no longer imperiled by the luggage of the dead.

Smells

Score: +3

Today was not as labor-intensive as yesterday, but very invigorating. Also, tiring. Hence, the smells.

I am making progress becoming involved and relevant with NAMI. I keep promoting myself usefully and being consistently present / helpful. That seems like it has upward potential.

I also successfully resisted temptation to communicate with an ex. I just have come to realize the past has nothing left in it for me. No future path comes from there, and nothing of benefit remains. I am done, disconnected, and moving forward despite the ongoing temptation to look back. 100% purged.

That was a hard choice considering the ache of solitude, but regurgitating toxic relationships is simply never good, and no longer worth retching over.

Progress is pointed towards the future, and active involvement in life requires awareness of the goals to be achieved. No future goal is met by dwelling in lost memories unchanging.

I am pleased with my trajectory thus far. I see a lot of good to come, but I won’t get there if I don’t work my ass off.

Apology

I was really feisty and up last night, and I shouldn’t have posted that rant. I regret the outburst, because it is a sign of my emotional volatility and remaining unrest with my past. I am looking at this now from the perspective of how to understand myself better. I still have raw emotion, its clear… and it would also seem it is harder to contain now that the Latuda is gone.

Either way, it was one of those things I should have deleted, and I’m sorry.

Now, as for the rest of the items on the agenda: tonight is the NAMI community meeting, which I will be attending. Another opportunity to be out with relevant individuals and make an impact the way I have already.

I had my moment, and I know better now how volatile things are, or, could be in a short time. I need to be better about my mindfulness, my hesitation, and thought processes. From every mistake there is a chance to learn from it, and proceed forward immune to it. Or, maybe not immune, but significantly less likely to repeat a similar mistake.

I’m working on another article in my exploration of non-fiction. For my own purposes, it truly is an expression of a part of me that no one sees. No one has been deep enough to know this me, but he is fantastic and deserves to be shared anyway. Come out into the open, very remote aspect of my personality, and bloom in the sun!

I hope you all have a good night.

Pride Fair

Score: +4

Well Blog, today went about as good as it could have gone. The two people I volunteered with were about the two most useful people I could have run into in my progress for career advancement. I have taken a monumental step forward that may make my SCALE project eligible for a $1,000,000 grant.

I have a NAMI Sacramento board member ready to write the grant proposal with me, and an individual with direct knowledge of the legislature and police in the city. Both were captivated by my project proposal. I have a future appointment with one of them to start writing the grant.

Honestly, I was not expecting such a HUGE result from today, but it is clear I am accelerating rapidly towards a future of activism, outreach and improvement. I am taking steps forward to make my community a better place to live. I will continue to head in that direction, forever. I mean it Blog. I have nothing if I cannot make a difference in this world. I will not sit by and let people suffer endlessly into perpetuity. I will not continue to fuel a system that subjects the disadvantaged to lower standards. I will not let mentally ill people get shot by police in situations where they need or be. This cycle has to end. How many more must suffer and die? Blog, if you are still out there, can you see me? I feel so proud of myself for trying with all I have to make my world a better place. I’m not just making this shit up. I am living the life of a truly severely mentally ill person who just wants to be proud of the life he has lived. I can make a difference. I can change lives, and help us be a better community. We are all people together, and we don’t have anything over each other when it comes to being people. The bridge of conversation is acceptance. I am. I will be.Thank you to those that remain to see my rise. If you have the courage to be a part of the change I am bringing, join me.

Pride

Good morning Blog!

Today could be a very impactful day as I spend the bulk of it at Sacramento’s Pride Parade and Festival. In these types of settings, where the basis for success is interaction, I excel. I’m outgoing, friendly and sincere. It is easy for most people to see, because it’s true.

This could be a significant day, depending on who I meet. I have a chance to do some advocacy and hopefully, recruit some mentally heathy individuals to join the cause.

I’m a little reflective lately, as you know. I still keep wishing my exes cared about me, when they certainly do not. As time goes by, I am becoming a lot less attached to that need, and I realize it originates from the fundamental fact of loneliness. A challenge I am overcoming, however, with each new day plodding towards a future they will not be a part of.

Though, it helps that Pride is today. What a great word. It speaks of the raising up of awareness, presence and projects confidence. These are attributes I can get behind, for sure.

Have a great Sunday Blog. I’ll catch you st bed time.

The Knowing

There is this essential, invaluable defense against unjustified ridicule or other insane rantings from beyond the deflector shield, being unbiased knowledge of the truth of oneself. Truth is not subjective, but “interpreting” it is subject to almost nonsensical variance in meaning based on either preference, prejudice or agenda. If honesty is the policy of communication, looking out across the spectrum of delusional, insane responses to truth is both sobering and hilarious. The thesis being: prideful confidence allows for unquestioned defense from invasion of negativity from an external source.

I don’t let people’s lies and slander affect me in any significant way anymore (fuck did this take a long time to figure out). I have nothing to hide; I’ve endured the gauntlet of pain and the crucible of reconstruction. If there has been any poignant realization during all of this it is that I know, more clearly now than ever before, who I am. Coping with reality through delusion seems to be a rather popular means to and end in our “modern” society.

Without being too specific, recent events have inspired me to reiterate my stance on the truth and/or facts in general. I’m not afraid to be wrong, or of any of the actions of my past, because I am reconciled to the actual fate I have wrought, rather than the reality that makes me look good without having to do any of the legwork to make that possible. I tried to live like that, just believing what I wanted to be true, thinking people were someone they weren’t or could not ever hope to become. I eventually crashed, hard… and more than once too. No advancement of the self can be achieved if the construct of interpretation is inaccurate to what is actually going on (well, at least not for me). The only way to make a conception into reality is to do the work involved, but this is sadly impossible to do when the work is in another person’s head. All that remains is to look within.

My Blog archives are overloaded with evidence of my journey, even down to the most incremental daily steps. I have mood charts, spreadsheets and literally years of work put in to finding out who I am, who I want to be, and how I can honestly, proudly, get myself there. Months and years of introspection, analysis, argumentation, emotion, resolution and progress is what it took to advance my life away from believing in delusions and accepting the brutality and callousness of actual life on Earth. I don’t achieve any satisfaction justifying my inability to advance through the world by blaming others for my problems. Is that reassignment of responsibility easy? Fuck yes it is, like a fucking Snickers. However, it doesn’t move anything forward. It is often times the case that the people making the least progress are often the ones blaming as many others as they can for all that’s gone wrong. Our President being a fantastic example of this with a little whipped-cream white supremacy on top.

The point of this exercise is to establish a baseline interpretive guide to the ongoing success of new interactions. My attitude is twinged with what could easily be interpreted as arrogance, because there is some of that going on. When looking at two concepts of existence in such vastly irreconcilable contrast of value, I do take an opportunity to judge or label the one not worth its weight in flaming shit. It’s my choice who I choose to indulge, and deluded people are not going to take any more of my time. If anything, an individual’s desire to be “woke” from slumber is all that remains as mutual conversational territory.

From high above, it is easy enough to look down and gain perspective. It takes a lot of practice to do that. One should not see what one wants to see, but see what is actually there instead. It reveals the true darkness of the self, but also, a remarkable, beautiful confidence that radiates from within once all is accepted. This effusion continues to glow brighter as the fire is stoked with successes, adaptation, perseverance and trust.

This is the line that fosters my quasi-arrogance and sense of superiority, because (without any doubt), my way of doing things is better than what a significant sum of Americans have decided to embrace as a living mentality. Frankly, now that I understand myself, there are few things from the outside that attract much more attention that to be scoffed or outright laughed at. Think about how fucking miserable life would be if all the bad shit happening was being absorbed at intended potency? What a miserable fucking life. Instead, as the conductor of my own Locomotive, I have simply turned the screams of the roaring engine into a cacophony of giggles, and the outrage into hyperbolic bursts of cackling, wild laughter (I often extend all my fingers and hold my hands, palm up, in the air in front of my head as I laugh).

What an empowering thing to write. I am glad I am who I am now, and for all that my mistakes have taught me.

 

I heard the boom.

 

 

30,000

Score: +2.5

A draining day, energy wise. I had originally designed to megawalk tomorrow, but I just got fired up today. I felt the motivation to do, so I did.

I’ve done very well for myself lately. I’m active on the full-time job market and now a temporary employee of NAMI Sacramento. This is progress, true, even if not at the accelerated pace I had hoped. Still, this is a great sign ultimately.

What’s especially rewarding about integrating into this nonprofit has been a recognition of my passion to affect change and make a positive difference in my community. I have come to realize my insistence, persistence and perseverance will make me an instrument of positive action wherever I go. My future, in this current trajectory, looks very good.

I have done some introspective processing about my exes of late. As you know, I have had a difficult time detaching myself fully from concern. However, after residing with complete disconnection for several days, I have found the feeling quite reassuring. I know I can stand on my own, and finally have a confidence in my internal strength. I think I am fully releasing my preoccupation and moving forward. Even despite good intentioned probing, it has become abundantly clear not even a crumb of positive worth remains. There is nothing they have to offer that will improve my life. On my own, I’ve done fantastically for myself, and with them, I suffered until I collapsed. That should be a good piece of evidence in my advancement.

It really came together today. I pushed myself to this new, remarkable high point in my pursuit of better physical and mental health. I have grown, learned and become something much more than I was. I feel truly proud of that. 30,000 is symbolic, because I keep pushing the edge forward. Break that ceiling and advance beyond it. Something that astonishes me is seeing people holding the power to change their lives, but having no clue how to implement. It’s something I want to help people see, so they can capture control of their own destiny.

So I have said farewell to my past in a variety of ways, introspectively, analytically, in prose and verse. I’ve dealt with my past, tried to make something positive of it, and left the trash on the refuse heap where I picked it up from. I no longer waste my time on people who don’t deserve it.

I have something of indisputable value to offer, and I will offer it and I know it is already being recognized. Sometime soon, I will be affecting change in my community, and altering the landscape of mental illness awareness to those around me. It feels truly good to be part of something growing.

You know what I don’t have? Hate, resentment, stored anger and a vengeful Desire for retribution. Last time I checked, it really sucks to carry around that crap. Even a tiny bit on me has a rapid impact on my demeanor. It’s a poison that sullies observation and interpretation as long as it is present. I learned the hard way by being a perpetual asshole. After a time, that sort of life didn’t really reward me in a meaningful way. Therefore, I cast it away. What a feeling it was to let go of all that luggage.

Life only lasts a little while. I have no intent to spend my time hating others, regardless of how valid the reasons. It’s a waste of time, and doesn’t move anything forward.

Okay blog, rant over for now. I’m so yes.

Trail Shoe

Goodbye’s Hello

1.

Magnetic sunrise,

Purples shining in reds,

Twisted sinews in roasted heat,

Delicate wet petals,

Fragrant mystery,

Deluded in flavor,

Fueled in hate.

Blasted bits scatter.

2.

Green canopies over,

Soft inviting eyes,

House of dreams,

Sparkling nights.

Fire-bright.

Disturbed underneath,

Cancerous rot–

Melting surfaces,

Forged, bludgeoned, ruined.

3.

Boundless joy–

Rising to days,

Adventures teeming–

Jubilant.

Decaying.

Festering in disinterest,

Foiled by distance,

Dry pots,

Plagued roots,

No plant will grow.

4.

Benign but present,

A foundation–

Cracked and listing,

Imperiled by slope,

Decline’s passenger–

Walking free,

Escaping the abyss.

5.

Voices remind,

Burdens of reality–

Crushed to a deserved fate.

Still,

Within, an ember–

Glowing a feint promise,

A heat unextinguished,

Flared or dormant–

The fire remains.

Walk The Talk

Score: +4

Say hello to the newest “temporary” employee of NAMI Sacramento!

Turns out, perseverance pays off as I have now been given a temporary compensation contract for the organization’s move to new offices. I also will be representing the non-profit at the Pride Parade this Sunday at our booth on Capitol Mall. I will have a chance to interface with potential program participants or otherwise interested parties all morning as the parade gets underway. All told, today was another big logistical step forward.

I sent a message to the Mayor of Sacramento this morning with a vision for the future. A time in which communities can depend on themselves and resort to county resources when needed. I intend to forward my new and improved SCALE initiative until someone embraces the philosophy of improvement I am preaching. I don’t care if I’m just some crazy fuck shouting into the darkness. I will not be silenced. I will be heard. If not by anyone but myself. My intent is pure, and I will speak if only to make sure that the universe knows I am trying to do right by it.

The truth is, I know I was made to make a difference, somehow, some way. I can’t live the life I have lived and be satisfied. There is so much I need to atone for, and such an impact I can make given the experiences I have and the life I had. I am innovative, positive, and full of ideas for how to help communities rise above problems that do not need to continue to go unresolved. I know education and awareness can make a significant difference as once the truth of a thing is realized, it takes active deception to make it otherwise. Frankly, with the suffering that pervades, I don’t think the investment will be in continued suffering, but rather, some form of progress towards a more sustainable model of society.

I have a vision for what could be, and until proven soundly otherwise, I wills strive in whatever capacity I have at my disposal to make a difference in the world around me. For my brothers, sisters and unrecognized family in mental illness, I have your back. I am marching forward, with the tatters of the past shed free and falling behind. Now is the time for the new, the undiscovered, and the unconquered.

Better Than

I had another interview, but it was not my career… not even close. It paid too little and asked too much, so I walked out. I’ve never done that before.

Basically, I’m a very valuable asset and I will be recognized as such. I deserve to be treated and compensated for the tremendous energy and presence I bring to everything I do.

I wrote the mayor. I am, at this point, going to poke until someone pays attention to me. I have ideas, and I’m not going to fade away into irrelevance. I’m here, strong and able to make a difference.

I’m determined to have at least some aspect of my SCALE project realized. I have good, innovative ideas. I bring change, growth and improvement. I will not be stopped.

Determination. Perseverance.

I will be something. I am something damnit! Realize my potential universe!!

Pulse

Score: 0

Hi there. I know I haven’t been consistent as I hoped in the documentation department. To be frank, I’ve suffered of late with the symptoms of depression, subsequently, feeling less inclined to open up and make with the words. I have also been on a streak of having to jump up and down to get noticed or listened to about how I’m feeling, and even at that, there has been marked failure. No one really seems interested in me in what is left of my circle, or anything I’m doing for that matter. My enthusiasm for forward progress has been entirely self-generated.

I feel stagnant the last few days. I also have taken note of that and executed some structural action to improve. I have dedicated a slot to creativity on Wednesdays, in which I will attempt to forward the progress of my novel. I have a temporary goal of achieving the lofty benchmark of 30,000 steps in a single day at the end of the week. I have been close before, but never above 27,000. This weekend I have volunteered to represent NAMI Sacramento at the Pride Parade and festival downtown on Sunday. Its a good opportunity to meet people and spread the gospel of mental health awareness.

I’m isolating. My interests are becoming vastly external, and devoted to the cause of doing “good” for society. My moral compass points towards justice, and my actions speak to that truth. What I thought would be a very inspiring and radiant time of my life has actually created a sort of unprecedented solitude and near-universal interpretive disinterest. Never has my “popularity” been less, and my overall relevance has been diminished to just what I believe it is. I still have a great deal of pride in myself… maybe this is folly since it seems the resounding opinion is to the contrary.

Honestly then head-voice, ask yourself: “how does one step forward of all is lost?” Basically, you don’t. I’ve been to that place. It is misery, upon torment and pain. The spiral keeps going down forever. The only way is out. The direction is up. is it hard? Yes, surely, and with the obstacles there will be many… but an end to the ongoing cycle of torment with no hope of deviation. I, head-voice of doubt, hold on to that. It is my everything. I don’t want to be a useless pile of symptomatic protoplasm. I have a mind, a perspective, and something to offer this world still. I have stared into the darkness and let myself fall. I have been to that place and come back. There is a reason for that.

I won’t give up because I’m more stubborn than all these people around me who could care less what I’m up to, or any new people I meet who try to resist my meteoric trajectory. I’m my own motivator, my own counselor. I don’t need anyone else in this life but myself, and neither should anyone out there who has half a brain. I have been burned enough times to not touch the “others oven.” I will not be deterred, and I will push forward. If there is ever to be stability and completeness in my life, it begins with a dedication to the self that is unwavering. I have begun to realize the value of constructing a massive fortress over time. Trials add bricks, which build walls higher, and thicker. Soon, there is no need for others, when all that is needed lies within a fortification that will not be penetrated or besieged.

Is it lonely? Yes head-voice, it is lonely… you and I both know that. We have been through this point many times, and I did listen to you when we tried to recreate some spark from the past. Now, however, head-voice, I am not listening to you anymore. I am hurt enough to stop trying, and that will be the end of your complaining. You and I can plainly see the facts. Moaning is not going to help convince me that siding with you is a good idea… we’re moving on and ending this post, and if you don’t stop all that fuss I’m sending you right back to your room and closing the door.

..

zzzzzzzzzzzzztttt

 

..

 

..

 

..

 

zzt

.

.

.

AAAAHHHH!!!!

.

.

-{===|]

 

 

 

 

 

The Other Side

Hey there Blog.

I went on a bit of a scouting mission today, to explore the far side of W El Camino Ave. this would be avoided on weekdays due to a substantive increase in traffic. The journey was very enlightening, and the longes single walk to date.

Just across the street, the path follows the Muck Trench and the water becomes vile and stagnant.

The end of the Muck Trench is some form of treatment plant, or regulatory station for adding/subtracting water. There were still plenty of fish/animals blooping around in the murk.

The trail heads East, paralleling construction sites and businesses for a distance. In one area, there was a very peculiar smell. Musty, but in a twingy way.

Much to my surprise, the paved path came to an end, and interpretation suddenly entered the mix. Now there were choices, divergences and uncertainty. The trail I took looped back to the beginning, and I made no forward progress past Natomas Oaks Park.

Once I was deep in the woods, I found this little bench. It seemed like a nice thing to put here. In such a pleasant place, why not stop to relish?

All in all, an eventful and colorful trip. I felt great by the end, very refreshed and vital. I’ll need to push past the park to complete my eastern voyages, which I will continue to investigate as hazard permits. More visuals to come.