So

Nothing about this is beyond the realm of understanding. It’s never been about irrationality. Good to have it for as long as is possible, then, no more. Death.

I can’t control anything but who I am and where I direct my attention. Time to mourn, and move forward. Survival is stronger than greif.

Perilous. The road is filled with tears. But redemption also.

It’s Here

I think it’s already making its way through us, this virus. We can’t test fast enough. We’re not keeping up with it. Everyone I know is getting sick. Extended social circles are feeling the effects. We have underestimated the foe, and the only math that matters is the percentage that do not survive infection. What circumstances cause vulnerability? How does one effectively survive, or become redundantly immune? I think all animals on earth face calamities such as this. Rampant infection, plague, or environmental selection.

But really though it’s not like the world is ending. It’s totally not. We’re all going to get sick for a while and some will die, just like the flu. It’s just another catastrophe our species will endure. The many that survive will be relatively immune to the virus, and the virus will lose in the end. I may yet get it, or I may have already just had it… who knows? I’m thinking that we won’t eat bat shit anymore or however this virus came to be. We should avoid that, to prevent future problems.

COVID-19

I, along with countless others, share a general sense of unease at the arrival of this novel coronavirus on the world stage. At the time that I write this post, over 88,000 have contracted it with 3,000 dead. 102 confirmed cases in the United States with 6 dead.

That doesn’t seem at all like pandemic territory, considering the flu has killed 16,000 this season alone. But…

COVID-19 did all that in a little over three months, not an entire season like the flu had. COVID-19 kills 2% of those infected, which is a higher rate than the flu. The global PR machine has been working overtime to spin calm and complacency, but is there any reason to be?

What I see is a rapidly expanding bubble, touching more people than the governments of the world can account for. The bubble infects some that can be explained or traced, and then others who we have no idea how they contracted the virus. These “community” infections are most troubling because they represent an unhinged aspect to the spread which could accelerate into the aforementioned pandemic territory.

I don’t fear for myself, but I do fear for others. I’m unlikely to die from COVID-19, but my parents are in jeopardy due to their age. The novel coronavirus is being downplayed in a way that is largely CYA and less about informing the public of the very real possibility of a much bigger, life-altering event that would reshape how our daily activities are conducted.

What gets me is that we have now made this arbitrary potential pandemic a political issue, like it’s somehow reflective of our absurd politics and not the result of a new infectious pathogen randomly appearing on the global stage. This is not Donald Trump’s fault, nor is it the fault of the Democratic Party. We all need to pull our heads out of our asses and look straight ahead.

Lean times might be coming soon, and we are fools for believing that the divisive rhetoric of the past conflicts will serve any propose in the epidemic to come. Right now would be the best time to pool resources, keep people informed and work logically to halt the spread of this virus as best we can. People will die because our discourse can’t be honest or rational enough to tell us the truth about the crisis looming on the horizon. We will not be pacified and deluded, only to be taken by surprise when the shit hits the fan. Wake the fuck up and start telling it like it is. We deserve your honesty; our lives are at stake.

So people: no need to horde face masks and hand sanitizer. No need to blame your political rivals. We only survive if we are smart and aware together. We will prevail if we work collectively to stay informed and safe. Sadly, this will not be the case, and our petty politics will intrude upon the truth with thousands of lives as the final consequence.

The Feels

What is the right way to be? Is it who I’m needed to be, or is it just “me?” In the past, I have become who I believed I was supposed to be, for the person that I partnered with I have learned that making oneself fit into a cookie cutter often leaves bits chopped off, or gaps.

Being disconnected from the way K did a few days ago was painful, because it felt like it was also a condemnation of the quality of which I love. As if to say: she felt she’d be better off without my presence in her life, despite her intention to protect me from a perceived future calamity. Said calamity is a growing possibility, but admittedly, not yet set in stone. What I do know, and she came to discover, is we only have the time we have. How we spend that time is ultimately ours to decide. I do not still feel hurt by this, mind you, because she did miss my presence in her life and did not like the feeling of my absence. This turn of circumstance has allowed me to be much more rapidly introspective about the whole thing.

Now, however, I find myself being “clingy.” I got let go of once, I’d like to ensure that it doesn’t happen again due to some sort of neglect on my part. Am I not hearing her? Am I not there for her like I ought to be? Am I telling her how I feel about her enough? So, naturally, this is a sort of panic reaction. I’m noticing it, I’m doing something to regulate the urgency of this unproductive prerogative. I do need to establish that the lines of communication should be wide open, because we only succeed together in total honesty.

I hurt her too a few months ago, when I she felt stifled her sharing about what she was going through with her cancer treatments. This has had a lasting effect, and now there is a barrier of hesitancy between us that distresses me. I understand why she feels this way too… I’m still grappling with how to be in my role in our relationship, given the torment of her every waking moment. I long to “do” something but sometimes the only thing the “do” is be there, talk, laugh and try and move the time along. Share something, have a distraction to engage in. Most importantly though, is proximity, and physical comfort. This is the thing I can’t do, which makes for the source of my emotions. It’s a tough role to mark our first 6 months together, but I’m working my way through this just as she is.

This rant has a point. That is: we are humans trying to survive a particularly stressful circumstance. I struggle, she struggles, I help her up sometimes and other times she’ll help me. Partnerships are built on being equals when you can be, and allies when you need to be. The brand of love I bring is the unconditional variety, which makes me both vulnerable and naive. I long to be loved back the same way, because having someone that close who will protect you when times get tough is the core of surviving this world. Allies are essential to success and establishment of identity. Whether its friends or partners, we need people to reflect back to us who we are, and what space we occupy in the world.

K is my partner, and even if she wanted to brave this thing alone, she still has me, and I’m going to the edge with her if need be. I’m loyal to her cause and I’m desperate to have her in my life for as long as I can. Losing her artificially was toxic, and losing her for real is still a possibility. I would like to do what I can to help her through this particularly dark time. I’m counting on having her, but I know I could lose her. I will take every precious chance to be in her orbit, however distantly. For who she is, for what she believes in and how fiercely she fights… I believe she will emerge from this hardened.

Who am I? I’m still me. I only have a switch that goes from LOVE to OFF and right now that bad boy is stuck open. I only know one way to be a partner, and that’s in admiration of the one who chose me, and a respect to myself to keep that person she loves still vital, healthy and not crushing myself into a cookie cutter mold.  Staying honest to myself helps me stay strong and aware of issues when they emerge (being mentally ill: issues always emerge). I can only control who I am, and who I am is a work in progress.

Clasped

I love like a prayer, whispered as though being heard exclusively, desperately by the ears of someone who understands.

Feeling within an ache and a tumult; like storm waves lashing coastal rocks. I roil, but soon, the tide will flow out and the wasted shore will be laid bare.

More than anything, to be back in the sunlight of her favor. To hear the tone of her voice and her laughter like dandelion kisses on my cheeks. I remember her sweetly like pollen in the breeze. I long to be back, for however long I can be, until her light goes out. If indeed it ever does.

To face the darkness of the world without her is lingering in an eclipse without end. She lives yet she is gone, hidden from casting her radiance wide upon my world. A flourish of that magic that inspired my soul to give itself to her.

The bleak shadow of the darkened moon bleeds into the astral blackness of the chasm that divides us. Cast me down, into that void… reaching for the dwindling horizon. I’m drowning. I’m vanishing.

Chemo K

My girlfriend has a cancerous tumor on her spine, and she is well into a month plus of heavy chemo. The toxic sludge she has to ingest wrecks every part of her body, and is pushing her right to the brink of death. For me, I know there is no way to shield her from the pain, or the symptoms… but I can be compassionate, loving and humorous at relevant intervals. This is what I can do from far away. Empathy, compassion and understanding are my tools. She is now also receiving radiation treatments to help destroy the tumors, with an accompanying set of additional side effects. My heart breaks for her, but there is little I can do to make her day-to-day life less agonizing.

I am eager to get back to Mobile and see her in person, so I can be a physically useful person in her immediate proximity. How can I relieve the biggest burden, the pain, if I am not there to actually carry the load? I’m going to put my tax return to good use and let Uncle Sam pay my way to the deep South next month and get a few days of relief in line for her. Plus, all her friends and family have come out of the woodwork now that she has a diagnosis and many are offering help of some sort. I’m glad she has that support network to rely on.

My therapy session was focused on my role in this new predicament. I feel both glad for the love I feel, and afraid of all the potential negative outcomes. I have anxiety, yes, but it does not own my processes. Worry is healthy, and a response that I feel is somewhat appropriate to reflect the gravity of the subject matter. I love someone who is going to come very close to death, and that’s a scary thing.

I know I need to be there, and I will be for a time. K is unbelievably strong. Her strength helps me keep my mind on the positive, and the inevitable victory she will achieve over this unwanted intruder. I hope I can help her somehow… I don’t really think I do much but distract her. That is relief, at least.

Have a good week everyone.

 

Hi

I’m checking in for the first time in a while. I have been sliding down into a depressed state for many weeks now, and I am starting to use my coping tools to help me find a way back up. I have already begun this turn to some degree but coming back here and writing my thoughts out is a big part of how I process.

My depression is lubricated by the circumstance of K having cancer and engaging in a knock-down, drag-out brawl to liberate herself from it. It’s a very real possibility that she will not be here at the end of this struggle, and that chills me in a cold-knife-to-the-intestines kinda way. I do try to keep my optimism and attitude positive but I won’t hide that I’m scared. I gave her every part of myself that I had to give, and she could be gone. More than just that though, I feel detached from myself like I’m watching my reality through a screen and I have the joystick in my hands. I don’t feel like there is much I can do to influence anything… I feel ineffectual somehow. Irrelevant maybe is the better word. I have lost a sense of what I am good for, what I am doing and why I am doing it. Is anything I do making a real difference? Are people benefitting from the energy I give? Am I even giving enough in the first place? There is a voice of nagging negativity and dubiety plaguing me from afar. Work has felt like a black hole since we lost our office. I’ve had a very hard time establishing a routine since there is no physical location to drive to. I end up somewhere between serious and relaxed, composed and decomposing. I need to get out of this house and I have been contemplating ways I could have a remote location where I do work. I’m actively problem solving my circumstances. Lastly, I just feel that neurochemical imbalance… slow, sad, unexcited, bored, anxious. It’s an all the time stagnant haze which my flashlight only further illuminates rather than provides me with any clarity on the path forward.

Though these thoughts and feelings do haunt me, they are a small fraction of the pervading good that I feel in my life. Many positive things are happening in my world that are cause to be hopeful: I have a wonderful woman in my life who knows me and loves me for who I am; she is with me every day whether physically present or not. I have a loving family that is willing to work on improving their  communication skills. I just traded in my 15 year old Dodge for a new Nissan truck! I have a job where being mentally ill isn’t something I need to hide, it’s something that qualifies me to do the work that I do. We just bought a new house for my mom and dad and I, in a very beautiful area just up the freeway from Sacramento. Life has never been as good as it is about to be.

I have these dialectical thought processes: I take the good and the bad and respect both while not siding conclusively with either aspect. I often proceed with things having considered both the positive and negative aspects of said things (or, I try to). I can love/hate with the best of them. I think this keeps me from being too stubborn, or too closed minded. I like having things to add to either column, and since the balance favors the less objectionable option, I have the ability to be moved on issues where most would be unwilling to acquiesce. It also helps me not get too lost in my depression, because I can still see the good too. I know there is sadness, and sometimes it is the only thing I feel… but I also know that the sadness will pass on to something else if I help it do so. A distraction, or a game, a good conversation, a hug if you can get one for sure but we don’t always have someone to hug. There are things I can do for myself to help me get out of this place and that’s what I’m going to be pushing for in the days ahead.

I need to get this body moving again and continue my better eating habits. I have a plan of action to help restore my vital energy and eccentric spunk I’m so often known for. I am coming back, one doofy comment at a time.

Burned

The truth is, you’ll do better without me. All my unrequited affection only drove you away. The insistence you have in limiting your potential is silly, but it’s your choice. You don’t yet know that you have power but you do.

There is no more us. You are a thing I couldn’t have and now I’m repulsed by. How things have gone from once so sweet to bitter and rotten. An unexplored potential now never to be. I don’t want you. Not anymore. Not ever.

I’m angry as you can see. I’m not a petty asshole who punishes with power. I’ll always forward your career potential even if I don’t want to invest in a friendship. I doubt I’ll ever see you again though. I’ve done a pretty good job of traumatizing you into isolation. Look at how opposite of the thing I wanted to do happened! Isn’t it amazing? I broke the one person I really felt in harmony with. I ruined her chances at friendship with me and her fear of me will keep her away from my organization from now on. She’s been destroyed by my uncontrolled desire to know. She’s drowned in my bile. Goodbye C. You didn’t deserve what I gave you, but you don’t deserve me either.

Now that you’re gone, I have a chance at clarity. Now that I don’t have to care about you any more, I can proceed with an unbiased perspective. You’ll never see me the sane way, and always revile my behavior. My unwanted attraction. My flamboyance. My effusive expressions. I have hurt you and I know it. I accept it. I own it. I did it so you would go away now that you don’t want me. I banished our friendship because I could not do what I wanted. Is that petty and cruel? FUCK YES IT IS! But it still happened. It’s still my response. It is still the reason why I’ll never see you again.

And you know, maybe this is a lesson for me. Maybe traumatizing people and breaking friendships I can’t explore more deeply is a thing I’ll get better at as time goes on. Think of all the innocent people I’ll destroy and leave stunned in the dark. Oh the future is full of pain Blog. Full of pain that I inflict. Why? Because I can’t have anyone. Because no one wants me. Because no one really means what they say. Because even the way people act is a lie that hides a limitation. She lied. She and do many others. She lied to make it easier on herself to say goodbye. Now I am too.

You did lead me on. You don’t admit your part in this but you had one. You wanted me to play into this situation but didn’t want it to perturb your fragile balance. Your reinterpretation of our sharing stinks of revisionist history. You couldn’t decide what you were comfortable with and now we’re both burned up.

C, you’re a great person who doesn’t have much figured out yet. You had no chemistry for me. You disregarded my affection. You settled for the mediocre to preserve your morality. I hope you enjoy the lot you’ve prescribed yourself. I’ve failed enough times to know you take what you want and get stronger. Truth is, you never really wanted me even though I tried to make you. You should have just said “never.” Then at least I could have stopped caring a long time ago.

I hope you cry. I hope it hurts. I’m roiling. I’m furious at you. I’ll never go back to being your friend. This is the finality I always sought, just the opposite result. I’m bitter. I’m fuming, but not going to take one single action. You won’t come back anyway, I’m sure you’ll never work for me again. Why would you? I’m a fucking prick.

The Jar

It all goes back in and the stopper on top. The finality of it is reassuring but the future seems emptier than before. A cringe and a retreat is my response. No regret but no more future either.

It helps to not have to hope; reality seems more achievable now. My effusions dispersed and evaporated away. The baggage of wanting removed and only the lasting bond of friendship remains. C and I seem like we won’t be, ever, and even though that is sad, it also helps. No I don’t have to dream anymore. I don’t have to yearn in an unrequited spiral. Now I can continue living my life the way I have been, erring a future built on good mental health.

Done. Back to the routine without the beacon to fill the world with light. Much as I always knew it would be. Much as I deserve. So on we go…

Unchanging

I don’t know why, but I always seem to hope for unrealistic things. For example: I hope that people in my world would stop and change their destructive behaviors and instead nothing changes. I hope that self-honest introspection would be seen as an aspiration, but still nothing changes. I’m mired in frustration; perplexed by a world of decay and stagnation while I try to emerge. I think I’ve finally snapped.

I’m not in psychosis, but I’m just done with the people that erode my healthy behaviors and perpetuate dysfunction. I’m tired of shallow and meaningless exchanges that build a nothing road to nowhere. Why am I wasting my time, skills and love on people who don’t recognize what I have to offer? I’m such a special person, and yet, I subject myself to a reality that will never comprehend all that I am.

This is my frustration. It is massive, unrecognized and undesired. I have very few people in my world that really matter or make a difference. My home is a wasteland. My social circle has chunks missing from it. My redemption is the hard work I put in to help people advance their lives towards prosperity, dignity and stability. That’s no joke. I really do help people, every day. Meanwhile I’m surrounded by resentment, disdain, denial and escapism. My role models are the worst people I know.

So Blog, I’m detaching. Fuck all that noise. I’m launching into independence of self if not of physical location. Soon enough I will be subject to a calamitous and changing circumstance, but the torture involved is unrelenting while totally unappreciated. I’m frustrated beyond calculation.

I tried to expand the bubble and I shouldn’t have. The world is just jam packed with idiots, mindless wanderers and deplorables waiting to poison my reality. Are you ever just sickened by the life you lead? Do you ever wish you could permanently exit? I think about it now. I didn’t used to, but now I do. This life is frustrating because all the parts that need to change are completely unchanging. Stuck in dysfunction. Sinking into the stagnation in a painfully slow fashion.

I do wish I wasn’t here anymore. Nobody sees me. Nobody is even slightly capable beyond a slim margin of well-traveled veterans of my bubble. Do you know how desolate it feels to know we’re all just faking real life? Every day is a pretend version of actuality. Every interaction is make believe. I humor my way through, but why? They don’t see me now, what difference would it make if I were dead? I’d still be just as ineffectual and easy to disregard.

I feel acutely hopeless. Lost. I don’t know how long I can tolerate this rancid rot that fills my nostrils. Denial. Revulsion. Despair. Goodnight.

Groups

Why is it that these groups help? There’s no treatment being rendered, no prescriptions or policies to follow. How can sharing be so effective? I think it has a lot to do with repressed versus expressed feelings and the cathartic act involved in unleashing things that few others get to see.

I don’t feel particularly rejuvenated, but I do feel like I was heard, which is a profound thing. I expressed my hurt over my dad, my poor coping skills stemming from that. I got a lot of genuine reaction from people who understand the why and the what of dealing with mental health symptoms. It is a blessing to have this support and be able to be exposed by it. I just wish I could have a similar feeling from a caring partner.

I saw people fighting the symptoms and thoughts of mental illness in their lives and surviving. People facing their demons and vocalizing. I’m still kinda running from mine, but I won’t forever, yet there was so much in the group dynamic I benefitted from. I will be resolute in healthily coping, but reaching that state is the struggle I face. For now though, my ecliptic is only a place I hang laundry from and the so-called cushions of my chair are pancaked into squishless plates of unfortunate size that tweak my posture and provide no relief. There are surely better habits out there waiting to be implemented.

All the lonely was scraped off like so much obscuring ice on the car windshield of my destiny. I still have only a small sniff of things that may come, but for the time being, there is an ache which continues unabated, unrequited and unmistakable. Is there someone out there? There are people that I help and those that help me. I tend to think a balance of both is the surest path towards positivity.

Crashy ‘Splode… Poof!

I haven’t felt like writing. Real life has been volatile to the point of occupying my attention fully. K was back for a bit but now gone again. She’s not the right fit for my life, which is now abundantly clear. Dad is still slowly dying; withering away as I watch helplessly. Mom lost her mind with stress and grief a few days back, which poisoned the world for a time. Am I dealing with this? Have I become depersonalized from my perception of reality? What hope is there of consistency when all the variables are fluctuating?

I have only what skills and strategies I’ve learned in order to survive this life in varying states of decomposition and growth. There’s no making sense of it; I’ve given up on that. Now, I hang on for scrapes and fingernails.

Daddo

My dad has a limited time left with us, and I’m coming to terms with his upcoming death. I see only one path forward; to be there as needed until the end. I’m his son.

I feel everything one would expect me to feel, but I’m not expressing any of it right now. I’ve made the space in our reality for my mom and sister to experience things while I direct reason and action; providing stability. This role I fill helps us endure the hard times to come, but also works healthily for me since nothing gets repressed. The postponement of response is a promise, not a lock on a safe.

I know my time to process is coming, but right now I accept and embrace the role I have filled in this family unit. I am proud to be a member of it, and fighting to keep us from listing.

Will it work? There’s no telling. I have a good support structure in W and K. I need to be able to use my own tools in a crisis rather than always go looking for the answer outside of myself. I must survive with what I have if I am to survive at all.

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.

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.

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.

 

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.

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.

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zzzzzzzzzzzzztttt

 

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zzt

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AAAAHHHH!!!!

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Emotional Prose

Then, inching towards a sullen state, a dark and vast abyss opens, consuming the road ahead, plunging all into an empty, fathomless chasm. Saddened yet aware, the scream of descent echoes off the distant walls, reminding. Into the frigid air of breathless dark, penetrating chill advances on once supple flesh. A twirling, tumbling decay like so many insects ensnared in webs to be feasted upon later, the tumult goes on. Unrecognized, unappreciated and inherently deluded, the spiral plummets to new, frigid depths of denial. With only the bottom of suffering to relate, the empty hiss disposes, loathes, resents only. A predator of wrongdoing in the deepest recesses of regret disembowels, eviscerates and consumes. Leaving only a smattering of resin, the digested supplicant is no more. Faded hopes nothing more than a bloody smear on the forgotten cave wall where no one can see.

Purposeful

Good morning. Today is a pretty relevant day. “Soldier” has got to be the most dangerous, archaic occupation on Earth, but without them, we would definitely not be here. Many millions of men and women died doing what they were ordered to do, and they held their ground despite knowing it would be the last thing they did. They never failed in serving whatever agenda they were required to. Whether the mission was moral or corrupt, they died doing what they were asked, and that is the truth of it. Whether you agree with war or not (I expect not), everyone can relate to soldiers. We are all just people, and soldiers deserve better than what they get. They give the most, and when they come home, they are treated like unwanted luggage. Recognize. Today is just one day, but do give a second to think about your reality being built on the decomposing corpses of millions of men and women you will never know.

I’m on the helpline today. I have also applied to be a counselor at a school in Roseville. As more jobs become available, I’ll be dropping my name in whatever hat I can. Maybe not the elephant shit scooper. Under qualified. Need a BA to even get in the cage.

I’m headed in a good direction right now. I’m going to go get my steps later, and continue this healthy activity program at full speed! Woo!

Really, I’m moderating. I’m just excited to be feeling good at the start of the week… a promising indicator, methinks.

Scccrrreeeeeee

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NOOOOOOO!!!!!