Shattered Mirrors

My light is out with hands take the shard

Spinning in a desolate hole of alone

Bent upon the regret of actions

Despair of wanting like a bitter stain

Profusely ignored in a place where things are forgotten

No light finds me here

All who come eventually go away

Do I still convince myself it’s not true

To believe the facts is to accept isolation from acceptance

Tonight I miss everything I had

Alone and without

In the center of no one’s concern anymore

Slipping Away / Walking Uphill

I had companionship for a time, but now I am back on my own again. I have been through this before, the tumult of understanding and the gauntlet of truth are punishing arenas in my reality. It is the simple fact of the person I am that has created this division and now removal. I had long ago accepted I would be alone for the rest of my life, and I did appease my sense of unrelenting loneliness by attempting companionship, at least temporarily. Now that my life has gone back to the place it had been at a few months ago, I don’t know how to feel precisely. Am I upset? Not really, but sad, yes. Do I regret? Naturally there are things I can find to blame myself for. Everyone, especially a blundering emotion-tornado such as myself makes mistakes. There are things I know I am and things I try to be, and right now there is a confluence of reasons for why things are now over between she and I. The fact of the matter is simple, and remains.

No one asks for more work in their life or readily accepts trouble into their world. I know I am a great deal of “work,” and trouble in one bundle… there’s just no avoiding that. I do the best I can but here is another example of how that failed. It hurts, very much to lose her, especially after I had developed a fondness, and after we had such wonderful dreams together. Stigma is a wall that can’t often be overtopped, or burrowed under… or even explained away with words. It is damaging, and breaks reason apart with animosity.

Well here we are blog, back to square 1. I am all done trying to find partnership for now. There is no world I see where I find someone who will take on the impossible task of accepting me as I am, and not wishing I could be somebody I never will be. My lesson in all this has been to observe my actions, and decide where to take a next step forward. If anything, I have learned that I am all alone out here (still), and that’s the truth I must stop trying to alleviate. I am my own confidant and guardian, and no one should wrest that from me in the years to come.

Goodbye K. Beautiful, complex, generous woman, you touched my life and lit it up, for a time. You gave me hope, and then dashed it. I know why you did, and I will mourn for us both.

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.

Beholding

It’s not the wanting–

Like fragments tumble in sparks,

Furiously scatter-lit,

Fill the blackened chamber.

Restrain old whispers–

Haunted hallway-dusted,

Once-clawed firmament.

Between the shutter-slats,

Begging at freedom,

Boldness awaits.

+

I don’t need to process negative symptoms and thoughts when I don’t have any. I just need to keep living my life the way I have been, and allow it to bloom. I’m going to be gone for a while, I’m walking down a new path. Horizon’s shifting glow calls to a future that brings the dawn to the end of night.

Cared For

I wanted to highlight something that happened a couple of days ago. I believe in significant acts, and this was one of them.

I injured my back lifting my dad the other day and it is an area that has consistently given me trouble in the past. These sorts of injuries can vary significantly in severity, and this appeared to be a bad one. It was just about his time that K entered my sphere, and her response to my shabby state was to procure a massage session so I could seek proactive treatment. She, thinking of me, did something direct, relevant and useful to assist me in a way I was not able to do for myself. It was a gift, and a memorable one. I can’t recall the last time someone did this for me in such a poignant way, as a partner. Done in honesty and through concern, there is no more wonderful thing to do for someone than to comfort. She took care of me, and the feeling of it is euphoric.
In the past, I have been in both roles, but still, I can’t recall a feeling like this. I don’t recall ever feeling really cared about in this sort of tangible, fundamentally generous way. Something enduring fuels that bond that is forming, which represents a transaction of trust and understanding. She spoke to me the best way she knew how, and it was impactful. It showed real care, from a very early point in our journey, which in and of itself is a fantastic indicator of trajectory.

It also makes me think about my own past and potential generosity. I will soon have a significant income compared to sitting on a leaky balloon as I have been for many months. I’d like to be able to give back to her as well, in kind, but I will need to find unique and relevant avenues to explore to sate my standards of fairness in the immediate future. I am a contributor first and foremost, and a gracious penitent when provided charity. I have my own conscience to deal with, which recognizes the fragility of this; acts accordingly. I give, and I can’t wait to be back in a position to do so again.

My mood scores have been in the 4 area, which is the high end of normal. I am paying extra scrutiny given the change in environmental variables.

However, it is a fact that I’m elated, what can I say? I’m developing real feelings again for the first time in many years. Unlike the previously employed fake-it-to-make-it salve for loneliness, this is the real fucking deal. It has a hold of me somewhere deep, primal, and magnetic. I’m activated in a way I wasn’t expecting at all.

My physical scores have been wonky since my back, and subsequent rub rub rub ouchy time. I’m doing better though. Heat pad required for a bit and not too much wiggle wraggle.

Things are happening!!!

Compelled

M: 4.5

P: 3

I worked today, and it felt like a real Friday for the first time in two years. I was walking into the weekend with a belt load of credibility, paid hours worked, and a satisfaction of earned stupor. I did deserve this good feeling, this qualified euphoria accompanying a respite from the toils of existence. I feel like my life has finally started to accelerate at an exponential rate towards a glimmering point of light.

I am more involved now in my work and local community than ever before. I’m having to reboot my organizational skills, because I’m juggling more responsibility than ever before. At the same time as that burden is flailing about on a centrifugal axis, I’m feeling strong enough to restrain its pull towards chaos. I believe that this represents a culmination of all the work I’ve put in to refining myself at social awareness, personal responsibility and introspection. From the fragmented person who emerged with a bag of clothes and plastic flip flops from the psychiatric hospital, to right now. Lowest point to highest point (so far), in 4 years, and every positive step built upon the next.

Blog, I’ve met someone special at an absolutely perfect time in my life. Just as I am beginning to transition back to full independence, a miraculous woman has come into my life, and I am thankful to have such a compliment to my own spectacularly fulfilling existence. Her symmetry and mine are stunning, and in a category of imagined personality compositions designated as inconceivable instead of one that might exist.

My loneliness had, until very recently, exposed my past regret and shades of old love eviscerated, caused a great deal of turmoil. In all my attempts to find a partner was a dream for someone who would “fit.” I’ve never really comprehended what a “fit” would be. I had only known one person who had ever really come close, until now. Like a stream of concentrated photons, her arrival blasted through the gloom and dust to reveal a landscape of possibility. I’m infatuated. I’m intoxicated, and having a great time getting to know someone I fully intend to keep in my orbit.

I’ve tried this before. Yes. However, I did so while knowing it was a less than ideal fit. An admitted error of terrible consequence. I was making the best of what was available, or so I justified my transgression. Plus, at those intervals, I sought out of a desire to be complete or propped up to new heights by external adoration. I knew it at the beginning, whether I admit it or not, that I was making a mistake. I didn’t know it would consistently be my undoing, but I was not the introspective being I am now.

at this moment though, I’m complete. Three weeks ago, I was complete. In August I was complete. I wasn’t ever looking to find a missing piece out in the universe. I found a piece that fits that I never even knew could be there in the first place. She augments, adds, compliments and enhances. In this fundamental way, there lies a difference that divides the two motivations for companionship indistinguishably. One destined to fail on the basis of stashed resentment, and the other continuously improving and advancing a mutual circumstance for the benefit of both partners. It’s obvious to you too, isn’t it?

Scores III

I think I stated earlier, and as a permalink on the site, that I use a numeric scoring system to track my mental and physical health. This tool makes me more aware of the pattern and wavelength of my changing mental health. I have a scale that fits the nature of my diagnosis.

+10: Mania

+9: Hypomania

+8

+7

+6

+5: Edge of normal euphoria

+4

+3

+2

+1

0: Stable but stoic

-1

-2

-3: Noticeably sad

-4

-5: Edge of acceptable grief

-6

-7

-8: Depressed

-9

-10: Suicidally depressed

I use another scale to help me quantify my physical symptoms, pain or other abnormality going on because of my illness (or exaggerated by it). The scale helps quantify body pain, accelerated heartbeat, fidgetiness, sweaty palms and other expressions. I give this a +10 and -10 scale as well, with equal emphasis on normal/expected ranges and the poles being not a good thing.

I started tracking a few weeks ago and the results have been educational, but not revelatory. I hope that with an increased level of general business, I can start to improve my physical health and muscular stamina. I need to be in better shape in case my dad needs my strength. I want to be able to catch him and hold my ground. I know I can do better.

Well, more work tomorrow. I’m greatly looking forward to the new challenges of my advancing life. I’m going to start keeping my scores on the blog posts I do at the end of the day:

1/2/19

M: 4

P: 2.5

A: 3.25

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.

To Have Hope

Believing is not about probability of success, but a choice to craft a purposeful prelude to a desired reality we hope comes to pass. In some extension or another, expectation has a secret that is the most desired result, but it is well hidden underneath the likelihood of disappointment.

I hope to be reached, but I realize also I never will be again. In this situation, I believe in both possibilities while not dedicating myself to permanence of one or the other. Sure I could be happy and fulfilled by love, and that would be fantastic. However, I’m also prepared to die without anyone knowing me any more than they do today.

Why we have to only believe one thing is beyond me. Are we incapable of comparative or contrasting thought? Must we always choose, when no choice is actually needed? I used to be an absolutist, but no more. I can be pessimistic of my chances, yet still vibrantly hopeful and not abandoning the possibility of hope for something more.

Well, there seems to be no movement (for now) in the distant aspiration of online companionship, and my current investment will terminate early February; representing the end of this period of heightened searching. It is good to acknowledge my emotions with effort, while not being driven mad by lack of tangible result. What meaningful increment can there be in such an environment if spinning variables?

I write now as I am alone. Maybe one day I will look back on this in reflective sadness, or in admiration. My life is brilliantly bright right now, and has ample chances to improve. I believe in me, and whatever comes will be accepted regardless.

The Variable

Do you ever have a new variable enter your stable life-equation and tip the whole thing? Sometimes adding that variable can be the most dangerous part, as one is never sure if the value is going to help or fuck things up. It’s better to get an understanding of acceptable parameter before adding as an integral component, if time and patience afford it.

I’ve done this variable adding, unsuccessfully, a number of times in the past. I’ve seen that variable undo the whole equation, and send it plummeting into exponential agony. I desperately do not wish to repeat the same pattern here again; not now or at any time henceforth.

A tiny speck of light has become momentarily visible; new and shrouded in ambiguity. What lies there is only remotely, distantly postulated; as a theory hangs on the edge of proof.

Unfolding now or later, the possibility of alignment, relation and understanding are a primal lure. Desperate like water to parched lips, it’s easy to gulp mouthfuls greedily while paying no mind to the rest.

I don’t believe in foolish things anymore, but I do like to think the spark isn’t just something J ignited within me and will never happen again. It’s something that others can inspire, and can provide fertile ground for admiration. It’s been a long time since I met someone new I could look up to. Maybe this will change that, but very likely not.

I don’t hope for silly things, but I am game for real things. May this be real, in a time where it is easy to be something false.

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.

25th

Arbitrary as it may be, today is a period of celebration for many. I spent mine with family, sharing in the festivities prescribed. Though, the paradigm shows its flaws at regular intervals, the 25th being no exception.

There are plenty of things to be frustrated by just floating around out there in and around our lives. I’ve tried to focus my frustrations on things I design to change rather than be needlessly stressed trying to address things I can’t. Still though, I find time to pound my skull against the concrete despite all my good intent. Reality is undeniable if viewed honestly.

All the good from today was a frothy mug. I feel all full of bubbles and food, which, now that I write it, doesn’t seem like a wonderful thing even though it is.

One thought keeps passing through me: how to cap this fountain of emotion surging from underneath? Can I ever just eradicate her from my concerns? Is there a file I can delete and cripple the program from running? Stupid sounding thoughts are conceived in a turbulent environment, and give away their absurdity when scrutinized.

No answers. No more new words or peace. No absolution, only the shattered mirror of imperfect memory. I haven’t turned my sadness into hate, because I know there is no satisfaction there… only a burning within that consumes all that stoked it to frenzy and carried it forward.

Just like a phoenix, there can still be rebirth even after the fire has burned through seemingly everything. I believe in that fully, even though I did not experience that situation personally. I have that shard of glowing hope inside where I see her wings burst forth from the soot of her spent rage. Life finds a way to be lived despite our best intentions sometimes.

As the new year approaches, I am now wondering how I will rise out of my own metaphorical sludge to a more liberated and compassionately introspective state. There is no end to the future possible advancements in self care, as far as I can see.

Merry Christmas to you all.

Eve

Despite all my subsurface emotional turbulence illustrated in recent posts, I’m doing quite well mentally this Christmas Eve night. Family, love, smiles and laughter all through the dinner hour. Food, football and memories formed as a result.

I look back in my thoughts, but have eyes for the future. There is more brightness in the upcoming horizon than there ever will be looking back for candle light in the darkness. It’s not the stylish version of emotional distress as illustrated in pop culture, but it is true nonetheless.

My life isn’t full of drama; I know very well where I am going. It’s not up for debate really, but it is a discussion worth having anyway. Expression is coping, and doing honor to those feelings that are strong enough to be present. As improbable as it may sound, this balanced dichotomy IS me rather than is rending me asunder.

I am proud, and reflective as well. This is what being complex and human is all about, I imply through demonstration. Learning, growing, changing. I don’t dwell in the sadness, I embrace it and move forward. No upwelling emotion goes unacknowledged; no memory avoids the light of revelation. I miss her, and I’m also fine without her.

I know, I’m bipolar and yet you don’t see me retreating to one end of the spectrum in indignation or denial. I just think I’ve found a better way.

On this night, I remember, and then, I go to sleep. Goodnight to whispers, memories and promises.

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.

Solstice

The days are growing again, slowly, coming to bear full as we travel around and around that big yellow thingie. We have been pointed at darkness for long enough, I say.

I’m hoping not to dream anymore. Rips are forming in my canvas, and the formerly delightful introspective brush set seems to paint only in black. It is this dark hour, when cuddling up by a warm seem the most honest if truths, that I mourn. I yearn, pointlessly.

The sun is coming. From out the shadows, it is blooming, growing. Radiating. I wish for that return to the hissing summer ghosts on the dry wind. The far away pollen smells of distant places, deep wet mountains and trees gulping in and breathing out.

Maybe this is it. Maybe not. It’s better to be prepared to deal with a difficult outcome than to be surprised by it. I can be surprised by all sorts of other things, but not calamity.

Down to the last few days before Christmas. Family, friends, fire… and freaking huge buds. Beer, bread and BADDA BOOM! We do know how to have a good time.

I do t think anyone is getting in the circle now. Not anyone new. It’s just too late.

L

Down is there under the mask.

In the flesh itself.

Broiling with fever just underneath.

It is a pressure.

A slowly increasing a downward force.

Feeling bones crunching and snapping.

It is a beat of the heart.

Agonizingly drawn out and scrutinized.

Grasping for purchase where there is none.

Pulsing, gulping and sputtering on.

It is the mirror of memory.

All the second guessing and reassessing.

Spinning alternate fates.

Musing on impossible realities.

Wishing to live in a dream instead of life.

Saddened by the depths of dejection.

Wilderness-bound, cold and wandering.

Screaming only where no one can hear.

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.

The Ribbon

This dangly, barely alive leg is about to cross over, yet, the gasping push is microcosmic in relation to the race. We are all running, flailing, falling, but still trying to break that proverbial ribbon.

The silence of hate. Somewhere far away, a sleeping mountain grumbles beneath. It’s all rose petals and la la la, right? That’s how this goes? Why don’t we all gather round the marmalade and sing a merry song of doom?

There are no stories that go how we think. There is this life, here, now… we do what we can with what we have left. The container is corrupted now. The whole spiraling nightmare is true, and from that irreconcilable oblivion the state of things is found. No fur-brained delusions will come true no matter how many are fed to the blood altar.

Wallow or wallop. It’s really up to you.

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.

Daily Plop

How fragile the whole thing is. Just a scratch and the blood pours forth. Right there, still, after all this time.

And yet her vibration is hatred. Animosity, rage, disgust. How does one reconcile such a schism? There is no way forward from back there. Such deep prolonged sadness. A terrible regret for such a thing to go unreconciled.

Alas there is no answer. Just hopes cast like screams into the wind. Carried off again to some unknown fate, there is nothing left to hope for. No trace left to be found.

Deep in the dark, alone, I wonder where she is. Does she still feel me, the way I feel her? I tease myself with impossibilities yet always hold out true hope for a future that has almost no chance of being possible.

Music scrapes away the armor. Recollections of deep potency. These and many other tribulations of the heart of someone lost. Spinning down into a space filled with cold. I have not been the same since then, and I’m still figuring out how to be at peace with having lost her.

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.

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.

Eggerfried

Do things break that little bubble around you like they do for me sometimes? Not sure on the specifics of what pierces and what does not, but I definitely know when it is happening. I feel abruptly emotional, suddenly swimming in head scrunchies and often times a bit spinny with the unfriendly.

I tend to go away and hide both literally and figuratively. “I need time to think,” I tell myself in my brain. Dust particles take a few minutes of not thrashing around to settle down and reveal the original source of the kerfuffle. After that, I start having decent thoughts, but carefully.

I’m human. I get angry sometimes, yeah. I try to avoid venting on to anyone in real life as that smells of unhealthy. Anger, rage and hate are Ailey forces used to destroy things, or others. There is great power, but only to support waste. Instead of consuming the galaxy in my agony, I find myself writing things that never get published or stewing on a chain linked series of compounding thoughts which have some negative reason for being.

I don’t expect that I will ever get pro at any of this. The mean voice has all sorts of clever ways of being relevant. Coping skills can be taught, yes. However, implementing is an entirely different animal. Failure, dismay and regret are frequent customers at the diner of my consternation.

One thing I feel I’ve improved on is not stuffing my frustration without recognition and also to avoid acting on volatile emotions. Fucking that up is likely to happen, bus do too will getting back up. Emotions deserve respect for being, but not indulgence to further stuff the gluttonous beast. Just stop, breathe, count to a number higher than 6, and use your butterfly voice.

Puffification

I was thinking disparagingly about my exes tonight, which is usually a bad thing. I thought: now, with all the fuck-tastic awesomeness of my evolved self, there is no place where you would ever fit. You see, I pine for them still. I yearn for them as though it were years ago. This is unhealthy.

Irrelevant. This word fits perfectly in the now, because metaphorical organisms shed versions of themselves not suited to survive in the ever changing circumstance of reality, in order to prevail in survival. I mean, I compare myself not spitefully, but logically or factually.

I get into this rut of thinking these past relationships contain some present-day worth other than what I have gleaned through introspective reflection, post destruction. I am somewhere far away from where I used to be, which makes parallels useless.

Tonight was week 5 of my support group, which inspired me to create the following list of adjectives: communal, open, emotional, cathartic, safe and joyous. I feel fantastic, which maybe is why I cast aspersions at my past. None of them can now or ever did truly see me for the fucking awesome person I am, even if only a glimmer of it was visible back then. I don’t need positive reinforcement; all the proof is right here! I am the book!

Even if I’m the only one who really knows, at least I found a place in this world where I both belong and can make a difference.

I’m okay. I’m going to be just fine. I need to be both grateful and resentful sometimes. This is real life where shit often hits the fan, which rarely results in anything not having shit stuck to it.

Yet To Come

One of the conflicts I run into when attempting to communicate abstractly with others is perspective: each person I interact with has a different view of the “arc” of our trajectory as a society, and thus, a way of seeing things vastly contrary to my own. That disparity is a foreboding obstacle to honest discourse, and a defining gap in connection that is nearly always to vast to bridge. I have often found this cravase most abyssal with people I had intimate exposure to, since my traits and theirs were more entwined than in any other interaction (making comparison easy).

 

As I have become older, things have slowed down… the gravitational force which once had me anchored to exacting control of my reality has dramatically lessened. The resulting vacuum of “directing” force has accelerated my drift from the substantive microcosmic world of an incrementalized life.

 

Now, I’m left with the real quandary of making observations or comparisons that do not jive with others, or even occur as relevant. My thought processes are conclusively simple and based in a world of concrete moral contrasts and factually well-represented theories. That point also does not seem to be well understood by others.

 

Part of my liberation has come from not only the environmental reduction of gravity, but my own unclenching my vain attempt to control the uncontrollable, external world of others. Instead of expectation, I have thoughtful recalculation. I have no understanding of what is going to occur right up until it happens. Turns out, there is no advantage in prematurely and anxiously forecasting potential results to STILL be caught flat-footed in the eventuality of an outcome. That anxiety-train is just an indulgence of paranoia, and after enough times seeing that path lead to personal pain or failure, I have changed tracks.

 

Now, with that sense of existential detachment, one might expect disconnection from the cares of the societal world, if one’s moral compass points inwardly towards the self-satisfaction of narcissism. I care more, now, because even a little pile of moss is a miracle of reality in its own, clearly less impactful way. People are the ultimate gift, because there are no duplicates of the yet uncharted world of personalities, intellects, perspectives and experiences. We only get one chance to be here, to see, to breathe and be alive. Even in the most catastrophic suffering, there is still the curiously uncertain world of the unfurling, wind-snapped standard of time.

 

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.

Blurp

I think today is going to be better. I feel a little lighter. Not sure how I can articulate this effectively.

Where has our air gone? How long will we be made to breathe poison? It dampens.

The combustible transformation of carbon goes on: a reaction gone haywire now uncontrollably unlocking stored energy and expanding.

I think about the future of technology sometimes, and wonder if our declining living conditions will inspire technological advances that restore planetary health.

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.

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!

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.

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.

 

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.”

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.

+

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.

My Head The Tree

I think I’m temperamentally inclined towards observation on a geologic scale, but still momentarily vulnerable or shortsighted in the face of other organisms. It’s an odd comparison to resolve, and the places where they meet are the confluence of contrasts. I tend to think of this place as a rural village with ox-plowed fields and people eating beans. The volatility of places being a magnet for interest, I allege.

I’m starting to develop an appreciation for how far off the deep end of existence I have fallen. Down in the abyssal trench, there are lots of tiny blind crabs eating thin flakes of compressed dolphin poop that fall from above like a shit soaked snow globe. It is a sustainable existence, if not an inglorious one.

FYI: I need to do more metaphors where I’m not eating poop at the end.

I have several meat flies following me. Maybe that’s because I’m carrying a big hunk of rotten flesh in my pocket. I can’t help but sniff and remember back to when in smelled like meat.

Oh meat, you and I could have had it all. This has been the main issue.

Now, much maligned by necessity, my stumbling forward is sure to agitate the Nargles. I’m sure they are up to something, but I’m not concerned enough to google them to find out what they are.

Incubate

I had a temporary reset to bolt healing mode, which provided plenty of time to introspectively blame with arbitrary reviled adjectives. Fortunately, many warm splashies and strechimisims helped. There was plenty of soft and fuzz, as there should be. For now, a momentary regeneration into egg-mode. Post mode activities consist of shouting and frantic pamphlet waiving.

I’m doing better along the path, but still looking for fruit or seed for sustenance. The food is not easy to find. You can’t bite a cactus without consequence.

I’m doing fairly well. The fuzz has helped.

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.

5-4 Triple Play

Two Texas Rangers infielders made 3 outs all by themselves, which is among the more insane things I’ve seen happen during live sports over the years. I’ve never seen two pickles in one play, or any of those shenanigans.

Pretty miraculous play (this being the third time since 1961 that it has ever happened)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OqcdoLUB4Jwhttp://www.espn.com/video/clip?id=24395792

**Sorry, that other link broke

Concealed

Ghost-fingers cold–

That spine-shuddering touch,

Eyes scream out in unknowing fear.

Emptied of dreams; memories–

They fall into a dark chasm,

Forsaken, purged by lightning,

Agony–

Again! Again!

Those hopes in trust–

Smeared into opaque nothingness,

Irrelevantly hoping–

Still met by a stranger,

Bereft of words,

Emotions swirling downstream.

Cast into the crucible of torment–

Straining against the surges that come.

Once proud foundations–

Crumbling decay into rot,

Detritus swept away by an outgoing tide.

Chuggy McChuggerson

Score: 3

Today was one of the better that I’ve had recently. I was active, productive and further entrenching my relevance in the workplace.

Tonight though, I’m still a little sad. I played a lot of music that brought me back. I do miss them, and their love, but the time for that has passed. I am what I have earned. I carry the weight of my decisions, every day. There are just some moral boundaries I will never cross, so no guilt or need of repentance is shielded from plain sight.

There is no point in struggling over the past, and the tendrils of regret slithering their way through it. Nothing can be resolved. Never. Wounds that don’t fester, but stay open and fresh, reminding. That is my quandary.

I have already said goodbye to them. There is no more to be done but turn away and walk into a new yet distant narrative.

Expectations should be realistic, and therefore, achievable. There is a big cookie of satisfaction for those who meet their target. I have on multiple occasions enjoyed that glorious victory cookie, but have also dropped it into the cat litterbox more than once. Goals should be achievable, not powder puff nor Mount Everest.

I feel relevant. Involved. I’m not fading away in shame, I’m thriving in the only reality I know.

12. We will never give up hope.

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…

Disenchanted

Abstractly contemplating. My state is one of conflicting strata exposed to uplift and rupture. Acknowledged in a history of strikes and slips, withering valleys and colossal peaks. Time washes the mountains to sand… but the story of what they were remains.

I crumbled within. Isolating for now, but thinking about my future. I know there are things I can do still. I missed my chance to go to group tonight. I just was not in an “okay” place. I felt antisocial and somewhat hostile about having to put on the mask, or exert any energy towards the thought. Preservation is paramount, especially when the self is vulnerable, fractured, and worsening.

I’m trying for better tomorrow. No one reads or cares most of the time here anymore. I don’t matter out here. Poor sad me with no friends on WordPress. Boo fucking hoo. The only place I have any worth is within my consciousness, as it should be. I am my only fan, and the only one who can improve my state unassisted. No outside intervention will be a solution without my help. So help I yes, with of many them goods.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Necessary Avoidance

I am endeavoring not to persist in polar judgement of things, and I do believe this is true in most recent cases. However…

I have learned that one of those areas that is still firmly polarized is my past loves. I can’t have them in my life at all, regardless of capacity. I have learned that there is no benefit in looking back, and the dead still do not rise up and walk amongst us last time I checked. The past is buried and gone, while the trigger on many memories can still be invoked and is active. This is the worrying aspect of my necessary avoidance.

The remembering is pain unrequited; a loss of unrealized potential. The devastation of a incinerated investment of love and trust, fouled by my own mistakes of circumstance. They are a disemboweled remnant of something beautiful that will never be anything more than the pile of organs and blood left splattered on the floor, regardless of my desire. I have tried too many times to resuscitate, staring the obvious impossibility down the barrel, and surprised when I’m shot in the face. I tire of this dynamic.

My own feelings are still not under control, at all. Even on a daily basis, it is a battle to go and do. The inciting agony of interference or invited contact from the past is too much to accept while straining to maintain balance. I can’t have anyone else now, and I won’t invite new people to participate in any relational capacity again. I am unfit physically and mentally for the task, and that is not debatable.

I don’t want to see, feel or think about it anymore. There is nothing there. There will not be anything in the future. I have no interest in this at all, and will avoid inviting any risk in the upcoming waning remainder.

It hurts, but “goodbye” is all that there is. I tried, but I was wrong to try. I was in poor judgement to think that the old soul would retain enough nutrients to allow something to grow. It is the past: unchanging and fading into oblivion. The future is all I have left, and I refuse to spend it pining for others.

I’ve wasted too much time as it is. The arrow points away from these contemplations, and so, I follow. Evidence says, move on… so, I try.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Highly Useful

Score: +3.5

That score might have been higher but my physical exhaustion is peaking. I had a solid 4 hours of packing and labeling today, and more tomorrow. I’m quite familiar with moving and I know the steps that need to be taken. The labor is the only obstacle.

Lots of connections are being made with relevant individuals, forwarding my career. I am more established and essential than ever before, and solidifying my status as a relevant individual in my local mental health community

Blog, right now, as I feel quite stated and exhausted, I have a sense of meaning that is hard to explain. I have an integral part to play in my community, city, county that I have yet to fully comprehend. I take steps forward, every day, to try and make a difference. This world is not right, and from whatever aspect of it that I can, I will try to change it.

I have been on and on about this. If anything, it’s evidence that I’m serious. I really do want to affect change, and I’m learning the things I’ll need to do to accomplish that. A lot of what I have left to give will be outwardly projected towards provoking action.

Tomorrow is another day of earning my worth. I demonstrate my dedication by continuing to be there, be present and helpful for an organization I believe in. One that has previously helped me immensely. I know we can bring something better to this county, and I’m determined to try.

I do, however, feel more alone than ever before. No one understands me. No one cares to know why. No one desires to know. The lack of personal interest may only be a temporary thing, subject to change. That concept is key, since I am a motivating force to help deviate from am unsuccessful norm to a productive alternative.

I wish.

There is nothing left for that. Those dreams are gone.

Time might be running out. Just do as much as can be done, and know in your heart, you did what was right. Die with honor.

Step, Step, Step

Good evening Blog.

The success train continues to head in a forward direction and my usefulness increases day by day. Tomorrow I’m helping NAMI move, AND becoming an official employee. Yep, I get my paperwork tomorrow that will make it a done deal. The status of “employee” is now earned, even if I don’t think I have a job title at the moment. Plus, there will be pay!

I did look back on yesterday and I was pretty “up” that evening. I do tend to get very activated from social events and this was no exception. Pride Fair was very busy and fun, and I brought all that energy and very good news together in a very excitable presentation back at home. Then later I was feeling lonely. Even though my shit is awesome, I still have no one. Then I got spiteful and wrote the Boom post. I think only one person saw it other than the Hunter-Seeker.

So as you can see, I did give it some thought and I have observed what happened. I’m not manic by any stretch (there would need to be a lot more of it for longer), but those acute emotions are much harder to regulate than before.

I have a grant-writing appointment this Saturday to take SCALE to the next level, and bring some much needed knowledge and precision to the arrangement. Are we going to try for that money? Fuck a dilly doo we are!

I can tell most new people are like: “who is this guy? Where did he come from?” I got asked to do Peer Support for someone’s son today, gave out my number, and schmoozed. It’s kinda hard to not get worked up when SO MUCH awesome shit is happening.

Tomorrow and through the week, we will be packing, planning and doing. The steps are consecutive, and headed up. I regret using my pride to bludgeon those who did not appreciate me. All that is done is as we remember it, forever, and nothing more than a fading dream.

Have a good night Blog! Living the kind life.

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.

Alas

Score: +2

Got extra steps and sun time in today since I had been feeling down. I called a psychiatrist and got another job interview, so I’d say that was productive. I did some good things for myself.

In other news, a spider is in my room somewhere, hidden, waiting. I had my chance to kill it, as it was a particularly unfriendly looking arachnid. However, it deployed some form of countermeasure and escaped destruction. I’m thinking Bears are behind this.

I feel pretty detached from my sexuality. After separating my focus from topics without solutions, I’ve done a lot better managing my emotions. My sex drive basically shut off, with no object of desire at all within the scope of reality, no future, no investment to make. The flame has been snuffed.

I continue to find my place in this new city of mine. Trees are friend, it has been known for some time. I’ve lost my fishing impulse. It just, doesn’t feel fun. Clearly, this is depression affecting me slightly. I can push through with simple survival in mind, and very likely be okay. I do hope to hear back from the psychiatrist next week and get something scheduled.

Though I am clearly struggling, I am coping. I express, process and move forward. My hope is to achieve stability and prosperity again, while still being able to protect those I love.

The cat, on the other hand, vexes. Since Moo bought healthier rabbit meat kibbles, they have been soundly rejected in comparison to the previous variety of fleshy rabbit freeze-dried meat hunks. As you are about to see, the fantastic enthusiasm leading up to the moment food arrives could not have been more disappointing.

Promotatives

(Much harder given the climate, but I need to do this to help myself right now)

————–

Friendly

Outgoing

Ambitious

Humorous

Creative

Original

Insightful

Wise

Intelligent

Sincere

Logical

Attentive

Generous

Communicative

Sexual

Emotional

Courageous

Observant

Honest

Gentile

Affectionate

Dedicated

Loyal

Determined

Optimistic

Jubilant

Effusive

Kind

Moral

Sad Bed

Hours in isolation reveal a place of deep ache, encompassing a gorge of emptiness within. I feel the threads of connection, thin, decayed, neglected, forgotten, but still tugging from time to time.

I wish someone was here with me. I miss having her here to be affectionate with, gliding fingers and soft kisses. That word, someone, represents such a powerful longing that I often have to stuff it away. I can’t deal with the hurt in its completeness.

I’m hopeless. I just need to come out here and express my unrequited longing. I don’t think anyone will love me again. Too much baggage. Not worth the trouble. Unable to see who I am.

I have times like this where I feel sad about being alone; especially in instances when old love emotions are brought up and the memory/reality of how it is dead comes back. The pain returns. I forgive. I transition. I stand alone. My hand is cold.

Tonight I just wish someone was making sniffy noises next to me. I miss her. Goodnight.

Activation

Score: +3

Hello Blog.

Today I started to embrace my future as an activist for my community outreach program. I, as you know, have submitted a proposal to NAMI Sacramento called Stronger Communities through Awareness, Leadership and Education (SCALE). I am beginning to dip my toes into collecting data to bolster the facts to emphasize the need behind my proposal. This is forward progress.

I’m looking forward to getting into my own living arrangement. My roommates have no respect for me whatsoever, and ignore my preferences, requests and pleas. They don’t care how imposing and irritating it is to have your boundaries crossed. My identity has no room to grow here. I eagerly await the day where I can define my own personal space.

I am ceasing my concern with changing the culture, instead, I will protect myself and forward my goal of moving out. I am launched, and destined to have an impact somewhere. Time will reveal the focus of my energy, and advance a blossoming future.

These are statements. I express. I process. The words go here, and here they stay.

The Hunter-Seeker is still after me. It almost got me, but I have, this far, been able to escape death. Soon.

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.

Chuggy

Score: +2

Energy low right from the start, struggled to get up, but then got going later. I did my 10,000+ today though I am not feeling the enthusiasm. I know the Latuda was providing some lift despite being fucking toxic. I regret that in the current state of medical limbo I have no probability of getting with a psychiatrist and discussing my meds until I achieve gainful employ. The need to get a job, and field-oriented job, is vital. The more I stay here the more I realize how I need my own space to control. I can’t individuate in this environment, so I am considering it a launch pad to my future.

I’m plugging away, applying all day and just hoping for recognition. I will continue to push until some form of empowerment allows me to craft my own fortune. I will not be here for long. I will not call this environment home. This is a place I am living until I can move on to a better arrangement. This is not mine, it is theirs, and they remind me, every day, that I am no more than an unwanted pennant than a member of a communal living arrangement.

I’m a little frustrated now, but that will pass. I do feel like I need control over my own life, and having that taken away because of my illness. That fact causes me to push forward and forge that life for myself. I don’t like where I am, and I vow to improve, and make something for myself.

 

The real world is so depressing. Liars get more power and more support, truth tellers are shunned and cast to the fringes of recognition. This whole dynamic serves the corrupt, the unjust, the infidel of societal norms. Why can’t we all coexist? Why does every interaction have to be such a cut-throat war of who can fuck who the best up the ass with a hot iron poker? I contend that society is geared towards fucking some people and rewarding predators. It is fortunate, however,m that I am such a metaphorically disgusting, rotted and indigestible piece of flesh that no one fucks with me while I execute my meaningless agenda.

A Lone

Hi there. Positive day, lots of happy, but still sad right now. Inside, there is an ache for her. I mean the incorporeal, ideal “her” that isn’t and won’t be as well as those I have loved. My mindset of hope is actually a poison that sustains longing and causes a rot of desperation within. I have always been a lone man, different from his peers, relegated to the fringes of acceptance. I must embrace, and accept.

Solitude must somehow become a source of strength, and a determination that defines rather than diminishes. I don’t know what that transformation would be like it’s so theoretically inconceivable for me at this juncture. It’s frustrating, because it describes something I have been unable to do to this point. I can’t even make a new friend, let alone find adequate companionship.

The faltering struggle of inner-strength versus an unending, advancing tide seems inevitable. Whether drowned or washed away, the emptiness consumes all. Then it vacates, leaving a landscape stripped bare of its vitality and features in the soggy aftermath.

Behind this doubt, somewhere, is a beacon. Of late, though I know it stands like a bastion of my ongoing hope, it is obscured in a sickening miasma of discontent. There are more days surrendered to pain than ever before. More than 18 months of physical solitude seems to be a threshold that once passed, inflicts a sorrow I can’t escape.

The only remaining choice is to become it, and secure myself tightly to the boulder as it plummets to the deepest part of the ocean. Accept or perish. Perish or perish. Either way, I’m still alone.