I have opened a cabochon shop on Etsy where my mom’s and my cabs are up for display and sale. The profit is not the motivation. I want a forum to provide my mom with a place to display and have others admire her work. Thanks for clicking, if you do!
I have opened a cabochon shop on Etsy where my mom’s and my cabs are up for display and sale. The profit is not the motivation. I want a forum to provide my mom with a place to display and have others admire her work. Thanks for clicking, if you do!
I haven’t written in a while, clearly. Things in my world have become increasingly busy and I find less and less that this blog is the coping tool I use. I’ve been abusing substances instead, and trying to detach from reality. I know this is a negative thing, and I’ve already started correcting some of those undesirable tendencies. It’s a gradual process reflecting my patience to allow it to become the firmament upon which all is built.
I’ve been doing better though. I have been spending time with new friends and old friends. S and I are still talking, albeit infrequently. S has a lot going on like I do, but is sometimes requiring some unpacking or dissembling. I decided to reach out to my ex, A, and try to rebuild a bridge I had destroyed in the past in my enthusiasm for more friends. Talking with A has also been going pretty good. The things that are possible once my skewed approach to friend-girls was corrected are quite surprising. my sexual motor is grinding to a greaseless stall. I feel markedly less alone talking to W, S and A. No need to worry about the future: only that right here, right now, I have good people to talk to again. I missed having friends. This new aspect of my world has been nourishing me greatly. I won’t deny my feelings, but all have been situated in the fondness of friendship; a healthy emotional state I’d like to cultivate, not suppress.
Life at home is still turbulent. I don’t know how much positive impact I have anymore, if there is any at all. I feel useless and disregarded as an experienced peer with above average communication skills. I just can’t figure out a good way to coexist in this dynamic. It’s frustrating but still reality all the same.
I’m on a positive track right now. I sure hope I can keep it up! Talk to you later Blogomites!
In light of recent turbulence in my world, I’ve tried keeping a better feel on the introspective pulse of regular function. I’m also aware that I’m subjecting myself to an unusually high level of stress and stimuli in an effort to combat creeping depression. I see all the elements like a confluence of rivers forming a mighty torrent… somehow sweeping my brain away downstream or buried in silt. Nevertheless, I still pry open the inner vault of the self and try to understand things happening to and from it. I feel I’m better at some things I used to be terrible at, but still lacking in quite a few areas. What are my true motivations for my actions? Why do I open myself to every nice person that walks by? Why am I such an insatiable prick? What does being understood feel like?
I sit here in my snowman jammies and wonder if expression really helps, or if it just provides a forum for things to garner attention for a time? I think the more ways I can ventilate this shit-smelling barn the better. Activities like the Mood Albums I do are helpful because they give me the chance to craft a narrative in a medium not often used. I don’t think myself anything other than expressive, curious and expositional about my own feelings and path forward. So as of the last album when I was feeling a fair bit gooier than I am now, I needed to revisit my good friend pain, loneliness and rekindle an ongoing desire to see things change.
Tracks from the previous Mood Album: Spatulas & Bandaids are highlighted in yellow. I have pulled from other wishy-washy type albums as well that have been generated in the past. I didn’t go “all in” on the squish, mind you, but it’s there. As you can see, there has been some pretty severe turnover in the track-list. I have listed the previous two iterations below so the whole three-album progression can be seen clear.
I had a look back at my very expressive and sad album composition I published the other day, and I started having second thoughts as to the accuracy of the portrayal presented. At first I saw it as a tantrum, but then the real hurt and uncertainty of life were ensnared in there as well. The whole first attempt was raw and unfiltered, where now I began to see the value in refining what was already there. I wanted to paint a better picture than the one I had so hastily Pollocked on to the wall. I still felt like the previous album still had value, so bits and pieces remain the same while the framing I had previously put in place are reoriented. So, here is my newly introspective revisit of the Deflaticated Marshmallow (remnants in bold) album:
Well here I am finding all sorts of exciting ways to process what is going on with me emotionally. I find that the act of putting that to music to be highly therapeutic and cathartic. I don’t really know what story I’m trying to tell here, but it is spun towards a reality that now seems bleak, distant and, ultimately, unreachable. A cookie jar on a shelf that is many years of growth away from being able to reach. Maybe there will never be a time when I do get there, or maybe it will happen in no time at all. There is no predicting the future, there is only dealing with the reality that is presently occupying the “now.” At this present moment, I don’t have much hope at all, which I think is reflected in the composition.
These albums are pretty much appreciated by no one who they should affect, and only end up substituting several paragraphs of introspective analysis. It’s a primitive, visceral discourse in melody, lyric and rhythm that I seem to be the only one who finds that medium relevant, expressive and empowering. As per my usual criteria, these are meant to be 1 hour 20 minute max playlists (fits on a single CD). I do have some sort of structure going on here, but it is quite chaotic, and darting from one abstract representation of pain to an ache of sorrow and glazed over with a sickly sweet sugar coating that doesn’t do enough to hide the foulness underneath.
Hands that touch,
But don’t yet clasp,
I hope for much,
But will it last?
A worthy foe,
With little moves,
I strive to know.
In such a rush,
To find the end,
With growing trust,
New words must mend.
Struggle to say,
Fear to break,
The game we play,
Has much at stake.
I’ll find my way,
“With you I’ll stay.”
I’ve come to a determination that I’m still going to be alone. I do not fit with others. I have not found someone able to tolerate me as is. I think this is, again, a stopping point.
I’m going no further thinking my abrasive and inconsistent personality will fit with others. I do not see a future where I am understood. I see no one who can relate to me on the level I am at. Maybe I’m too deranged to be fully comprehended. Perhaps that discontinuity is for a good reason; to prevent future traumas.
You all have seen me flailing about. You watch and probably don’t care one fucking bit. I don’t blame you. I’m no one of relevance to you. The last time someone came out of your ranks my life exploded, then imploded. Never again. I say that, yet I yearn for her still.
Is there any hope of tranquility? I suppose a state of total abstinence and solidarity seems the only path left to me. I scorn those who try to care. I rebuke those who don’t fit. I struggle alone in endless solitude. Not a single fucking one of you cares. This is an empty vessel constantly filled with dispersing noises, fading echoes and then nothing.
I know what symptoms feel like when they are neurochemical in origin. When my brain is not properly functioning, the world is made of cardboard and the mask I wear stinks from overuse and weighs heavily on my face. There is cause, logically, based on my life circumstances, to have these feelings… but no trigger started the deterioration that has led to now. In this moment, I am acutely depressed.
Fortunately for me, I’ve been here before. I’ve had days like this, sometimes several in a row. My caution in this instance is warranted, but my impulsive overreactions are unwelcome. I’ve been down in the past, but then I rise up in time. The air on the climbing slope is cleaner; free if the choking miasma if sorrow. I wish I were there now, above the cloud tops…
I struggle on in this tasteless, lifeless portrayal of reality that I find myself temporarily confined to. Sometimes there is no mental jailbreak to escape it. I’m in solitary, and unclear about how long that will last, or how long it has been since I’ve seen anything other than four white walls. I face the continued tick tick of measured time with the stamina of a veteran, and the frailty of a neglected child.
Avengers: Infinity War
Guardians of the Galaxy
Captain America: Civil War
Guardians of the Galaxy vol 2
Marvel’s The Avengers
Avengers: Age of Ultron
Ant Man and the Wasp
Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Thor: The Dark World
Captain America: The First Avenger
The Incredible Hulk
Spider Man: Homecoming
Despite all the bad shit flying around, I’m doing surprisingly well. I’m taking charge of some aspects of my life in ways that are constructively healthy. After K and I went our separate ways, I was a little disheartened that I would have a similar connection with anyone else. I was very excited about her, and our falling out was, sadly, disheartening.
However, I did not give up. As I do with new challenges in all aspects of life, I endeavored to face them with hope and confidence. With my work, I took on more challenges until my volunteer status changed to employee. Then from 6 paid hours a month to 80. Up and up we go. I also had a passion for reconciling the unacknowledged self; the me that I show my partners. There was a total lack of this in my life and this issue is ongoing.
Now I am back on the dating scene and attracting a lot of attention with my self-honest profile, my achievements and myriad interests. Turns out there are lots of women who’d like to get to know me better, even here in my area. I’m encouraged. If she’s not here now, there is a high probability I’ll meet a woman I really click with sometime soon. I’m looking for the someone who will stay with me for the long haul, and I’m confident she is not far away.
What a feeling it is to be so radiant and attractive that interest is easily kindled and nurtured! I’m a very unique and remarkable person, and I’m proud of who I am. That shows in reciprocated responses.
Succeeding professionally and romantically! Yes! However, I’m still very nervous about the physical aspect of my dating… I don’t know if I’m ready for the real thing. I have been avoiding it with distance, but that is impractical. I must face this with my confidence and set the anxiety aside. It’s been more than 2 years, but I’m pretty sure I still know how. It’s like riding a bike… only WAY more fun.
I feel like I’m on the verge of launching, but I don’t know when or to where.
#12: We will never give up hope.
The fog is starting to clear a bit… and that is refreshing.
I’m finding my footing despite a deep and painful life-transition — this is something I’m proud of considering my past struggles.
I’m pretty awesome, and people are letting me know.
See you later.
Why is it that these groups help? There’s no treatment being rendered, no prescriptions or policies to follow. How can sharing be so effective? I think it has a lot to do with repressed versus expressed feelings and the cathartic act involved in unleashing things that few others get to see.
I don’t feel particularly rejuvenated, but I do feel like I was heard, which is a profound thing. I expressed my hurt over my dad, my poor coping skills stemming from that. I got a lot of genuine reaction from people who understand the why and the what of dealing with mental health symptoms. It is a blessing to have this support and be able to be exposed by it. I just wish I could have a similar feeling from a caring partner.
I saw people fighting the symptoms and thoughts of mental illness in their lives and surviving. People facing their demons and vocalizing. I’m still kinda running from mine, but I won’t forever, yet there was so much in the group dynamic I benefitted from. I will be resolute in healthily coping, but reaching that state is the struggle I face. For now though, my ecliptic is only a place I hang laundry from and the so-called cushions of my chair are pancaked into squishless plates of unfortunate size that tweak my posture and provide no relief. There are surely better habits out there waiting to be implemented.
All the lonely was scraped off like so much obscuring ice on the car windshield of my destiny. I still have only a small sniff of things that may come, but for the time being, there is an ache which continues unabated, unrequited and unmistakable. Is there someone out there? There are people that I help and those that help me. I tend to think a balance of both is the surest path towards positivity.
I’ll have more to say later, after group tonight. I know I need to come out here and express things more; I’ve been sinking and suppressing. I can’t see a path to peace by not sharing what I’m feeling. I need to live my experiences not try to force them into temporary hiding. Even the promise of future acknowledgement doesn’t sate the desire for attention. I need to let some things out in the world, and I feel like after group would be a good time to get into that.
I’m doing a bit better… having an immersive distraction greatly assists in my not thinking about things. I am sad though, and feeling alone in the way that someone feels when they have no one walking the path with them. The pattern has been “oh lets try to fix that” or “no, you are loved, you have no reason to feel that way” or “I don’t know what to do about that.”
Isn’t that the exact opposite of what I need to hear, and how I’d like to be treated? I’m not a lamp with a burned out bulb; I do not need to be fixed. I am not asking for a cure to loneliness, only to be heard while feeling it. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO, other than respect my feelings and provide a sense of understanding and empathy. I just hate how nearly every single person in my orbit things my feelings need to be fixed, and I, in turn, never really get heard.
I’ve stopped sharing with them, as a result. I get nothing of use from divulging my emotional state. Instead, I’m buttoned up like a tuxedo jacket and putting on a presentable face for you all to see. Isn’t it shiny, composed and reassuring? If I really told you what was going on you’d fall into a state of useless co-despair… which again, provides me with nothing of substance.
This world is all full up on people who don’t care, or don’t want to care since it is a great deal of work. I feel more alone now than ever before… as I learn new skills, more and more people fall away from me, not able to understand how I am evolving my mentality to survive.
Now, in this impenetrable state of solitude, I have all but abandoned the hope of being understood, and am going to fake my way through my interactions in order to be left unmolested by those who have not and will not understand me.
Not a lot is different than just a bit ago. I ran a Support Group tonight. It was hard to stay on top of my shit. I did though, and it was really good for me to not have been off pooping my brain-pants somewhere alone. I’m still very wounded, having to let go of K again and returning the things I bought for her birthday. It just reminds me how unrelentingly horrible and abrasive I am to everyone not obligated to put up with me. Regardless of incentives, my repulsion is overwhelming.
I keep looking, but I’m despondent. There is no one. There was only “close,” and now, nothing at all. Scaring away potential partners is something I’m just so fucking good at. I’m, like, nationally ranked at that shit.
Well, fuck. I’m tired, sad, dejected and in a big hole right before bed. I imagine I will again dream of things that torture me as they have of late. I have no one to hold me after a nightmare. I have exactly what I deserve. Rejection. Disgust. Solitude.
Feeling broken into many pieces right now. I don’t feel like I have any wind in my sails… no drive to move me forward. I am alone, trapped in a barren waste devoid of shelter from the cold. Each new step forward rings with an ache; a slow decay of the bone, the flesh itself begins to wither rot and disappear. The full space of my heart is opened like a tomb, fresh with the foul stink of confined death. It feels like the sun isn’t shining, or, that I have forgotten how it feels to be warm. I gape at the disparity of days, and wonder if more pain lies in wait for me in the days ahead. I know that it does, and I already am prepared to continue to suffer. My own sorcery confines me, where once it was used to set me free.
I haven’t felt like writing. Real life has been volatile to the point of occupying my attention fully. K was back for a bit but now gone again. She’s not the right fit for my life, which is now abundantly clear. Dad is still slowly dying; withering away as I watch helplessly. Mom lost her mind with stress and grief a few days back, which poisoned the world for a time. Am I dealing with this? Have I become depersonalized from my perception of reality? What hope is there of consistency when all the variables are fluctuating?
I have only what skills and strategies I’ve learned in order to survive this life in varying states of decomposition and growth. There’s no making sense of it; I’ve given up on that. Now, I hang on for scrapes and fingernails.
Sad and missing K. To have all that energy just ripped away, leaving a vacancy. I wish I could still have her, but I am a confounding and undesirable person as evidenced by the actions of others. I’m hurt, and I yearn. Goodbye is what we said, but not what I wanted.
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
There is a place that is again, found missing. It grew and then it died. How badly it aches within me, pulsing with regret and sadness. How it is to be left behind, not advanced into a brighter future. By my own admission, I am deserving of this state. I feel the sorrow, blog. I hurt now, and I will for some time. How I yearn, and how I will scream into the silence. I wish she was still mine, even though she is not. Goodbye to those days when I felt the breath of affection burning my lantern brighter still. Into the darkness I fall, at least for now, to lament what is gone and be present with my sorrow. I never wish to dream again.
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.
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.
It’s not the wanting–
Like fragments tumble in sparks,
Fill the blackened chamber.
Restrain old whispers–
Between the shutter-slats,
Begging at freedom,
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.
Things are headed in a markedly positive direction. I have done the requisite checking and the integers are definitely within margins. I am proceeding with exploratory research. Initiation commencing…
A hammering smack the window glass,
The bitter, howling, grey morass,
Transparently the pounding rain–
Flailing madly in disdain.
The view from through the sealed gate,
A contrast by which to acclimate,
Ensnared in comfort’s clinging grip–
With a steaming cup of tea to sip.
Staring out at fury and storm,
Curiously watching while safe and warm,
The moment when I want her here,
A pathway forward not yet clear,
To hold in dreams until a promised time,
When her touch and grace will yet be mine.
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!!!
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?
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.
+5: Edge of normal euphoria
0: Stable but stoic
-3: Noticeably sad
-5: Edge of acceptable grief
-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:
Things around my planet have taken a shift over the last few weeks. My dad fell, and he’s lost almost all his lower body strength. I’m carrying him now, from place to place. It breaks my heart, and puts me in a difficult spot, knowing my mom is largely helpless to fulfill the physical obligations.
In contrast, I’ve met someone new named K. Things are off to a very encouraging start, and I definitely approve of the direction we are going. There seems to be a very unique parallelism that is entrancing, fascinating and wonderful. Unique in a way that is beyond expectation. My introspection upon this experience has helped me to live thoughtfully, keeping vigilance on my core mental health with much needed objectivity. Relationships have been destabilizing factors in the past. However, several key factors are designating my introduction to K as wholly different from previous attempts.
I am aware though. Keenly. My life depends on me being able to maintain cognitive consistency. The only way I go forward is if I can do so and still be healthy and live my life fully. At this mature stage of my life, I’m able to manage the many aspects of life, keeping an alignment rather than leaning on any one and causing a disruption.
Fuck man, I just got the low down on my work today (first paid day): Coordinating 2 programs, web admin for 2 domains, facilitator for 2 support groups, education program leader, WALK sponsorship chairman for and now outreach director. All that in 20 hours a week paid, but looking more like 35 with all the volunteering required to meet those obligations. I’m fucking GLAD to be this busy, frankly. Being unoccupied is a state I do not enjoy, and doing so while being a resource consumer rather than contributor makes it more difficult to remain positive. Now, I’m giving more than I ever have, and here I am feeling the best I have in 5 years. I must be very diligent about making sure my stability, energy and motivation are maintained over the course of years, with gradual improvements likely. Caution with consideration.
Like I said, things are looking up for me. Working hard and living with pride is a pretty rewarding path, I’ve found.
On dandelion winds,
Brushed over with delicate leaves.
Boisterous as laughter,
Pounded hollow log thumps–
Push the churned blood,
Enshrined by citrus light.
Upon the cusp of promise,
Shattering rays to reveal–
What lies within.
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.
Twins of twilight–
Pixie-blink a flicker,
The grounded stars dance,
Their fires alive.
Back across the stretching sky,
Racing alone to a distant–
Dust falls to ash,
Dimming until dark again.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The time for celebrating is nigh Blog. After all this time volunteering, I’m gainfully employed nearly at full time starting in January. I’m an employee of NAMI Sacramento and Mintz Computer Guyz for nearly 30 hrs/week. This is enough to replenish my lost savings and then some. What a relief that is!!!
I hear my negative voice trying to put a damper on my progress. It says: “you’re a liar and a crook. Your soul is black and you destroy everything you touch. You will bring only destruction to these people and your so called work.”
While I appreciate how much that voice hates me, evidence speaks to the contrary. I am valued in my occupation for my honesty and legitimate results. My heart is full of effusive joy, and I make those around me desire my company. I build things with effort and work, and promote a positive future for myself and others. I bring the advancement of goals and fulfillment of possibilities to all things I apply my passion to.
The proof is right here in front of me; laid out in deeds and actions done. That negative voice from within or without doesn’t have much fact to base a claim of ineptitude. I look at the proof of assumption and see the truth.
The voice demands a polar reality, where any transgression is tantamount to the worst conceivable result. Inflation, roiling resentment and unending hate are the motivators for this contributor. So, as I have with other persistent negative voices, I’ve learned to tune them out.
It is a tough habit to break, the indulging of the voice. We listen to it sometimes. Believe in the self-destructive lies. A pattern repeated until learned away from. I have not finished indulging that voice… which takes in the potent form of someone once loved (but now jailed in resentment).
The voice is only as sustainable as the environment allows. Once the climate is positive, it doesn’t make sense to listen to it anymore. I hope for more days like that ahead, as the barrage continues regardless.
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.
Twisting, stretch-snapping the expanse,
Shredded down to an impossible wire.
But feeling it there–
Some thread still binding,
In unrequited twitterpation,
Escaping the fury of torment,
Yet yanking at the throat–
Scraping the hole left by death.
It’s only in dreaming–
That some bridge still exists,
A span still endures,
Where she can still be found.
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.
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.
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…
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.
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.
Glinting off wet lashes,
Tired, peering into the bright–
Furrowed for shade,
Revealing scars, lines–
Staring, smashing into shards,
Too real to behold.
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.
Cold air’s ambiance-
Pieced by a rustle of readiness,
Bent with leaves and frosted petals,
Crunched to a waxing glimmer,
Succulent melted ice,
Crispy splash awakening.
The aching, radiant reach–
Exciting the monotony,
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.
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.
Sometimes I fly away from the ground. I go up high above my body, above the clouds, and I see the Earth. I see the weather in the lower atmosphere… the distant glinting of sunlight on the surface of the ocean…
At other times… all I can see is a narrow circle resolving a tiny window of reality at the end of a long tube. Whipping and whirring around to expose the miniscule window to as much as possible.
This flagrant, caustic world we reside in coaxes out our demons and turns them loose with fast fingers and poorly conceived, later regretted, actions. Do you pride yourself in being full of demons waiting to escape and consume your opposition? Do you disappear into an irresolvable point of light amidst billions of others?
The way is unknown.
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.
–etched cheeks, pitted in remembrance,
Parched terrains weathered,
Outward, dusted spectacles glint–
With prismed light of the dawn.
I’ve decided to change therapists and go back to the one I had a rapport with in the past. I need to be challenged not placated, based on my current standing. ML has been much more useful to me in the past as an introspective coach which MB was not. I need advanced thought-level conversations about my mental state. I look forward to catching up and starting a new chapter with ML and jettisoning MB.
On the other hand, I still struggle to reconcile my feelings. I ache a bit with loneliness, but I also have a flare and passion for where I am now. I’m trying the dating site again, as indicated by my probe post. I have no investment in it honestly, other than it be a guide for others to be filtered through if applicable. So far, no one has survived the crucible of my derangement, as was expected. The standard has to be high because anything less is unsustainable.
Do you ever find yourself saying: “what the fuck am I doing right now?” I ask this of myself daily, as if it were something to be regularly challenged. Truth is I don’t check often enough. I still fall victim to the aches and agonies of the past. The palatable longing. It lingers, renews and ultimately, remains.
I also have little made up interactions in my head that never happened in real life because the voices inside my head are responsible. These exchanged are nonsensical at times and nearly always fictionalized in some pleasing way. There is no resolution to some past events, and that is a fate I have come to accept. The pain involved is unbearable at times, which might be why my wounds remain freshly agitated. I don’t think I’m alone in this predicament.
Well, things bloom promisingly on the horizon for me, while Critical Susan is murmuring foul things into my ear. It’s a world full of different voices saying what they need to say. Their overall impact is still, hopefully, mine to decide.
Foggy eyes slatted against the East,
A burning shard of brilliant red,
Crisp as the scent of ground coffee–
Sparky like electric clothes,
Hissing seconds through the torporic cold.
I’m seeing that there are a stack of factors contributing to my degraded mental health in the last few weeks. In my effort to be constructive, there are some steps I’d like to take in addition to diligence respected since last required. On that specifically: the one activity I have neglected has been my exercise, which I am suspending only because of the air quality. My recognition of the state of emotional decline does not have a logically rationalized outcome, despite my brain trying to address it as such. Some factors simply have to be understood or accepted as they are. I don’t have any sort of spirituality, but I do have a sort of faith that my own struggles were necessary to harden me into who I am now. How I proceed with my “struggle” will define who I am, what I stand for and provide a path forward from despair.
The accountability of self-honest justification binds me. Period. I wear such shame from the past as it is now… crushing shame. Memories I can’t ever erase or actions I cannot undo. Why would I further burden myself with new regret when life under the weight I have can be relentless? When I stare into the mirror, I see someone who I was ashamed of, for a time. How should I spend these precious additional days I have been granted? What is going to help alleviate the burden on my consciousness? What must I do to not continue to be someone I regret being?
I don’t feel anything but agony in surrender. I do not have zero worth. No one has zero worth. There is always something within that is 100% unique. I have that too, and it enables me to give back honestly, proudly. In the end, I’m only looking at myself. Only I have seen the whole journey. Can I ever be truly understood, or better yet, who would want to know? I contend that may not be anyone who would care enough to untangle such an elaborate, confounding knot.
I try to measure reality in terms of variables that are unlikely to change, and ones that are. I have moved companionship to a nearly inactive state, which has its own consequences. I have been in a mode where the avenue to this potential emotionally effusive destination is little more than a cul de sac of my own consternation. Having changed as much as I have in recent years, I begin to feel a glimmer that I may have acquired the skills to, at least, increase the probability of being successful. Maybe I’m sabotaging myself by having a standard of expectation to high to be met or to high to be rationally deserved. All I have left to do is experiment with the variables I can change, and hope for a positive outcome of some kind.
This blog has always been my thought stream splash pad, and now more than ever I am glad I have a place I can go to work through the various responses to my symptoms and changing factors in my circumstance. To survive, and not be at the mercy of my surroundings, my behaviors, actions, thoughts and expectations have changed. Is this a 2.0 moment, or are we still in beta?
I was all nicely dressed, in this massive office building. It was clear that I had just given a presentation or something, and I was packing up and mingling With indistinguishable dream people. I was so distracted that I forgot my computer bag on the filing cabinet as I left.
I was walking out to the parking lot and a friend from high school (BD) ran out after me just to tell me I had forgot my bag, but when I looked back across the parking lot I was stunned…
In the night sky behind the hill and row of offices and houses, a red and orange glow was growing brighter. Then, towering, carnivorous flames emerged on the hill and rapidly began to descend. An unrealistically massive wall of consuming fire bore down in hunger.
I remember the wind. It was violent, tornado-like even. Houses were being ripped apart, glass was flying everywhere, debris was strewn on the ground. The fire devoured the city before me, and I ran in thinking I would go back for my computer. I did not make it out.
Poised on an odd carpet saddle-like bucket seat on the edge of a thousand foot drop over cities, towns and homes, I was somehow needing to move a collection of small objects to relative safety away from the perilous edge.
My hands were sipping with sweat, and I felt things could slip through my grasp and fall into the world below. The howling wind tore at me, begging me to fall to my death, pushing me with each insistent gust. There were people down there, lives, unaware of my situation.
My fingers and toes burned with nervous panic each and every second that my legs dangled freely over the immense expanse, and having so many things I needed to move back from the edge was an overwhelming concern. My hands were slipping and jittery. The computer tower was so big and heavy… how was I going to move this away when it was so close to falling? The wind kept pushing me closer, closer.
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.
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.
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!
Seeing her shifting through the periphery of my attention, she radiated warm waves of indulgent excitement as we drove. I snared infrequent glimpses of the smooth cheeked beauty, flashing and vanishing erratically in the sulfuric light of the passing street lamps. Ringing and abounding with jubilant laughter, she sighed, and held out a slow burning ember from within; about to be set ablaze by a gust of cool, fresh air. The curl of her grin was laden with intent, desire and a sense of belonging despite the circumstance of being apart and constrained. Though, that was no barrier for her.
Her intent, a crackling wave of incendiary heat, sending tinder sparking and popping to tiny burning pieces… vanishing into the night sky. Smooth, wet, and eager, there were no bounds to her, no ties that could shackle her in place; no star that could outshine her glimmering brightness.
Where the world was, or what it was doing no longer mattered; what remained in the bristling atmosphere between us was a transcendent state of acceptance and acknowledgement. We saw each other briefly, and in that mutual space where our desires met, there was profound togetherness.
But even as this tempering realization was present, the electric spark of her youth, curiosity, fearlessness and desire became the direction of her hasty actions. In boundless, oblivious ecstasy, there was no time that was not ours, no boundary we could not cross together, no one else in the world who mattered… no fire like the one that was in her eyes she she beheld me. Though, beset by my own limiting discretionary conservation, it was not out of disapproval for her that we returned to the world… and this I hope she knew.
There were times that I saw her, and many more in which I could not, or failed to. Where was the objectivity I needed then… was it always there but undeveloped? I contemplate my journey, drawing no needless conclusions and refusing to sully beautiful recollections with my frustrations, failures and ineptly accepted concessions.
…Flickering light, casting those brief shadows across her curves, her frisky hair… and the recognition of such beautiful physical harmony that we shared.
Deep in past moments such as these, where I still see her smiling, I know that life has blessed me with memories I will never forget. They resound poignantly, which I cherish, for the many feelings of her love are not unknown or forgotten, but remembered forever. It was a time when I touched happiness, held it even… if not to eventually let it slip away. The nights we had, like the memory above, remind me of how wonderful the world can be. Even if I do not live this life now, I still hold my experiences as the most valuable, formative and essential knowledge of my journey thus far. Without them, I would not know the spectrum of all there is to experience while being alive.
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–
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:
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.
Things are cardboard for now. Mush.
There are blips, pings and peaks aplenty… but the gaps are sloping.
I’m starting to entertain, but where the balance lies is still a matter for discovery.
Not many words are here now, mostly just growling or grunting.
Some are friend… well, most are friend.
Where is the poof and rabbit? I have no rabbit and by God do I need the poof.
Pressing a cool curve,
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.
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!
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.
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. TV was received from the air with an antenna on a 30 foot long pole?
2. There was no internet?
3. A cell phone was the only thing you could put in your pocket, and the antenna still stuck out a bit?
4. When A CD player was as big as a microwave and jukebox shuffled them around between tracks?
5. Music was good?
6. Kids went outside and played in the dirt and had a great fucking time?
7. There was ice year-round on the North Pole?
8. There wasn’t an area the size of Texas in the Pacific Ocean known as the Great Garbage Patch?
9. Things weren’t so fucking nuts?
10. There were only 25 people waiting an hour early out front of the DMV, instead of 250?
Hello again Blogomites.
One of the most helpful aspects of my recovery has been participation in community outreach events on behalf of NAMI. The rejuvenating properties of inspired interaction have vast and resounding impacts on my world view And attitude. No better way to get a gauge of individuals than to talk to them earnestly, in my thinking. You’d be surprised how far that energy goes, especially to the vulnerable, the uninformed, and the otherwise course-less.
I find a source of nourishment through my community involvement, and I have a passion for it which is obvious on first glance. I see how it is labor for some, and not met with my level of energizement by most other table-hosts. From within my own perspective, this is what I know I need to be doing.
I profess nothing, but hope to remind that hope and joy are to be found in a variety of places, and I’d say finding them where they were not expected is a great thing as well.
This has been one area where there is improvement. It is not comprehensive as there is no such circumstance which universally applies anything. The best fit for happy is one that snaps in where it was needed.
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.
Separately decorated rooms,
Their unions indelicate as colliding trains–
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.
Stresses of anxiety-driven thoughts,
Smearing like palm-clammy hands,
Begging to be inside.
Unable to breathe–
The rooms combining–
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.
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.
Smeared streak across glass–
Prune-like pulp chunk,
Blasted splat to barrier.
The other side.
Embossed in “la la” afterglow,
A faded twirly skirt no one wears,
In a vacant room–
A light was left on.
Spatula’d off the surface–
Plorped into a dustbin,
Mingling with the glops–
Deposits within firmament.
End of old soggy sock smell and start of soft friend in a fuzzed-out place. The moving air and sheet jitters bring a fluttering-wing calmness. Everything weighed to down, and the time of joining is near. So many faces to see and places to sniff.
I don’t complain in my blessings. There is no deterioration if it isn’t wanted. Destruction is not aided in these lands. It is a downward fate to lead with criticism. I also find it meaningless to poof over things not with their weight in frets.
Have rest, when ready. The battery is low, but not for long. The peace of restarting. Shut down. Restart. Present.
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.
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.
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)
**Sorry, that other link broke
That spine-shuddering touch,
Eyes scream out in unknowing fear.
Emptied of dreams; memories–
They fall into a dark chasm,
Forsaken, purged by lightning,
Those hopes in trust–
Smeared into opaque nothingness,
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.
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.
My trajectory has been unclear recently, or, wobblier than usual. Symptoms have cost me much of the momentum I had going, but not forever.
These down times are a regular event in my town. We get out the fancy streamers and everyone dresses up like sad clowns. Tickets available on StubHub.
Point being, I’ve survived worse and more help is on the horizon.
I have recently established a career path that is ever curving toward a fully self-sustaining state. 40 hours a week. I can, quite literally, raise money to pay my salary through my own actions. A successful grant or two would accomplish that. This is the full time plateau I have sought.
I have been here with me the whole time, and I can say with confidence that he is doing about as well as he ever has. I’m pleased that he hasn’t imploded into a singularity or shattered the world with recklessly destructive explodination-related incendiary activities.
Fight! Do not let Toejamela McHosebeasterson put the sweaty foot to your throat. There is a shitload left to do our here in the world. Are you going to let Moopybritches Sucktoadersplats kick your ass today? I didn’t think so Charlie Championship. So grab your vitamin water and spiked cudgel and get out there! Let’s do this!!
My pep talks only work on the hopelessly insane.
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…
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.
I was reading over my last post and I didn’t like the way the roster was breaking down into relevant and irrelevant levels of worth/value. Nearly every roster spot should have ways of achieving success based on a focused study of statistical output.
With that in mind, I went after trying to understand how the points were being accumulated, and how my weights were amplifying/deflating some values over others. I decided on a core format style which I feel would make for the best type of gameplay: steady accumulation with rare bursts of point gain interspersed. This likely leads to close games decided decisively (on one scoring event) or juggernauts demolishing their foes as they “go off” for big points. Steady accumulation on events like walks, singles, strikeouts (pitchers), assists, RBI or runs scored keep things close, hopefully, allowing for talented drafters to show how they set their lineups well in anticipation of big games for a given player. Only 7 bench slots means you can’t keep one of every position player on your bench for replacement, you will be FORCED to play the wire, like all good owners should if they expect to do well.
So, after some tweaking, I came up with a scoring set I like. I added Innings Pitched (.1 rounded down, .2 rounded up) as a trickle stat for pitchers that makes them better producers on a consistent basis. I changed the value of some of the offensive stats to neuter the distance between them and pitchers. The result is a dog that won’t impregnate any other dogs ever again.
So, the output of this needed to be judged somehow with actual data, which I provided the scorecard long before I began tweaking values. I have included my sample line up card here so we can look together and see how the values are expressed as fantasy points. Please note, this data is the ASB benchmark I have mentioned in other posts. The idea here is to highlight a “best case scenario” data-set to judge how high, potentially, the ceiling of exclusivity can go. On a game-to-game basis, this is going to be a more interesting thing to see. Looking towards a high point of 7,000+ fantasy points of season accumulation, and an unknown number of games in which to disperse them. I am THAT unfamiliar with the format that right now, I don’t know how long a MLB fantasy season is, or how frequently “games” occur as daily would be impossible. I can imagine daily maintenance being necessary, but having as many match-ups as there are games is a nauseating thought.
In my first post I talked about my points of emphasis in the game itself, and among the values that have endured to arrive at the final cut is Pickoffs. A rare but consequential event, the point value of which is devastating. 12 points for this event is the most heavily weighted event I score in this league template. Why? Because it’s a tease. Like picking a really good punt/kickoff returner in the NFL, you’re hoping your lousy pitcher redeems himself because his Pickoff move is phenomenal. Will he reward you with an unprecedented point total, or will he leave you starved for an event that, at best occurs less than 20 times a year for the league leaders? If he goes off, your cushy seat to victory is more likely than it was a minute ago, but your bet is on the rare event, or the steady churning motion of a consistent, winning pitcher with no rad move to first.
I have achieved a balance that now seems both competitive and enjoyable. It is the best I have achieved in my limited experimentation with the format, and really brings an element of uncertainty to drafting. I also foresee players making (nearly) irrelevant contributions due to lousy performances being more harsh than in the NFL. A zero is never ever wanted, but expected from time to time, but maybe in this league three days of .25 fantasy points might be just as terrible, if not worse.
Maybe one day I will know. It’s a fun to think about.
For the sake of comparisons, I ran a simulation based on an actual head-to-head matchup, which in the regular season collect data over 7 days or so. I wanted to see what a high-output production would look like, which would be an approximation of having a “good week.” See below, though this is an unlikely final lineup, it is a possible one, and definitely a Cubs fan.
Looking over the 7 day output, I can see now that with 18 roster slots, some of those position players are bound to crater, while one or two others rocket up. These scores remind me of the FNFL scale which goes something like this:
0 – 5 = Wretched
6 – 10 = Minimal
11 – 15 = Average
16 – 20 = Above Average
21 + = Exceptional
We had a “200” barrier in my Detail Oriented league a few years ago… whoever gets there first is almost certain to win. That seems accurate as reflected here, but the flexibility of upward expansion for some of the roster slots seems outstanding. I like the way this looks, but also recognize how vital fielding the right players is, and making sure your roster is up to date. The restricted bench makes for a more competitive free-agent market, inciting wire competition.
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.
It has been my experience in designing fantasy scoring systems for the NFL that the weight of every statistical category must be appraised in respect to the total items being scored, roster positions available and some form of biased incentive.
It can be said, as a baseline, common events should not be comparable in worth to rare events. It is this weighting that defines the terms of competition, and an aspect I particularly relish. I have beliefs about what aspects of a given sport are more difficult to achieve versus things that should occur and do occur regularly/often. What I cultivate in participants is a similar respect for the remarkable and an interpretive invitation to strategize.
As I develop my thoughts on how to apply my prior FNFL experience to the FMLB format, I intend to be true to my signature preferences and unique interpretation of the sport (s). MLB tends to be more statistically dependent (developed) and maybe even drowning in an excess of interpretations and comparisons. I hope to cut through the bullshit and boil my league rules down to the essential, and the remarkable. The mundane have been exiled!
I use a combination of elements to determine what value to assign things: (commonality/frequency + subjective difficulty + game-flow based significance = relative weighted value). Through this, you should begin to see my perturbed view of the sport, and what makes it interesting.
Some of my preferences become apparent with how harshly things are penalized, or how they are rewarded. Based on an ideal set of player’s 2018 All-Star Break statistics (relative mid-marker), the draft will see offensive players going first, but relief pitchers among the second wave. See below for the impact on how the team should be built in terms of available point scoring potential.
Difficult plays and stats that are hard to earn are weighted, but more heavily towards the remarkable. Outfield Assists for example, as I have stated in previous posts, are pretty fucking awesome. Clearly there are more points to be scored as an offensive player, but that seems to follow logic in terms of actual gameplay. Still, I see that, if there was to be a draft, I could see multiple strategies towards some desired stat-cultivation effort to specifically target a course towards relevance, and the postseason. Plays that cause outs, or kill rallies, or erase runs are dealt with harshly.
Depending on what is being scored/weighted, the roster needs to reflect a discipline to balance, and an incentive for a diverse live draft by fairly distributing point-earning opportunities across positions. As you can probably tell from the scoring table listed above, there are some positions on the lineup card that are going to be, generally, better contributors than others. The roster below is ordered in terms of fantasy point scoring weight/ideal projected point output potential (Great, High, Average, Low-ish)
There would be 7 bench slots, rounding out the active roster at 25. There’s a certain nostalgic symbolism I wish to also encapsulate, (see the 5 man rotation, the 7th, setup and closer slots). I feel like there are 4 starting outfielders on every Major League team as a baseline based on logic, and the nature of the positions. I did not feel it necessary to be specific about the outfield positions as this level of specificity doesn’t add to the fun and makes drafting arduous because of the constraining requirements of the roster slot. In my build, OF gets to be more useful, potentially, based on a freedom to load RF or CF or whatever your preference.
C has become like FNFL TE to me now. Hit or miss, boom or bust, this roster slot looks like the one that will inevitably fuck me somehow. C rates low, even with All-Stars driving the stats, but they seem like to do so in bursts rather than consistently. Plus, this is another roster position that is most-likely to have a savvy backup on real MLB rosters.
I foresee infielders (with the exception of C1/2) being hard to find after some trends have been established. I have often wondered about free-agency and waiver pickups in FMLB. Maybe this will be something I learn about later, or maybe not at all.
Well, I think this league would be fun, but this will never happen, more than likely. Good things to think about though, and that’s really all I’m trying to do. I just want something to feel good about, and excited I guess. Things have been really hard lately, and my energy is running dangerously low. I’m going to need help soon, and this little exercise has been one of my coping activities to help myself think about something positive and fun while also innocuous. Thank you.
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
Dramatic increase in effort required to motivate
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.
I always admired Calvin for his cleverness (although usually devious) and his imagination. Right now, I wish I had the same fire he has for venturing into new worlds. Frankly, imagination is a drug of escape in its own right, and has to be desired to be fulfilling. This might explain why I have been non-existent in my creative writing ventures, or gaming, or any of the peripheral fuzzy things I used to do. Real life has been fully front and center in the months since the move, and I guess it seems there is no battery for that.
Love. A strong bond as well as an aspiration for living. Over time, I have seen why it is better to invest in positive feelings, thoughts and ideas rather than negative ones. I have done better as a human being by accepting my failures and flaws, but still insisting on going forward/up. What choice is there? There is no joy to be had in suffering, darkness, and relived pain. Agony builds no bridges or houses. I was this once. I lived it. I saw where it eventually leads. I did not want that.
Life is like .0000000001 seconds long in terms of everything going on around us. Living with that knowledge doesn’t inspire any reckless or self-indulgent behavior, but instead does two things: first, it adds a level of delicate preciousness to life in its fragile, brief and fleeting existence, and second, it inspires (in me) a desire to make the most of the short time that I am given. My personal solution has been to live for others, and follow a career that satisfies the heart, and ensures stability for the future. There is a higher state of being, and it is called acceptance.
So, Blog, with that in mind, you can see why my path forward is looking so well lit as well as prosperous for the soul. I scrutinize myself from time to time with a god-like perspective, trying to liberate my thoughts from my head, it would seem. However confusing, this is working, and could be implemented as I have stated many times over.
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.”
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?
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.
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.
Why are we having this debate in our country right now? Has Capitalism really become so inflated and corpse-like that it can no longer sustain? I think we have a flawed design for our society, and now that it is being exploited, we see how broken it really is. This is just the leading edge of a knife that is beginning to sink into the flesh, though, not unnoticed.
We had a good idea in making the United States a true Democratic society, with a founding document that would adapt to change, and adjust as the definition of society changed. Now, though, because of how thoroughly and completely we realized the intent of that document (rules), we have found ways to contort it into something more like a monarchy, or oligarchy of sorts.
Something that should alarm you is that the minority’s ideological power controls all branches of our government, and are successfully establishing a way to prolong that control and promote the tenants of its beliefs. It is not just that, but also the fact that a solidification of power will result in a new societal standard which is far less developed and limited in potential when compared to the current trajectory.
It comes down to something pretty simple: control. However, control has no endgame. Right now, the individuals who have their hands on the reigns of power, governmental and private, are doing what they can to make sure they stay in power. Seems logical, but not democratic. Our course is not set to the benefit of only some, because we are founded on the principles that our government, citizens and all those who come here should be proud of being or becoming American. To me, the founders designed our democracy with the intent of purging the potential for abuse in a monarchical context (with the exception of the pardon power). Pride, for me at least, does not lead me in a new desire to exploit the thing I am most proud of in order to better myself and reward those that promoted me to this platform of authority.
To contort the mechanism of election to retain control seems not very American. To strategically draw electoral district boundaries to decrease the value of some people’s vote and inflating others also seems pretty unacceptable. Slashing taxes, de-funding the federal government, gutting departments of staff/effectiveness, AND handing most of the money back to the richest, most powerful individuals and entities in our capitalist society? Why is that the thing that we are doing?
The minutia of cost-based services has become staggering, and the primary benefactors are companies, businesses, corporations that control this thing that we need or want. Even if you cut away all the fluff and said you’d only ever buy what you need, it still costs something. No one rides for free in this America. Broken toe? Hungry? Tired of being rained on while you sleep? America doesn’t want to care unless you are grinding your face off for it, and doesn’t care if you live or die while in service. Right now, those who work the hardest, break their backs and spill their blood for America are some of the poorest paid, most abandoned, forgotten people in the entire country. The human beings responsible for making sure this country keeps going forward are losing faith that anyone actually gives a flying fuck about them. Look at the way we treat our veterans: they make up a large contingent of homeless nationwide, die in veteran’s hospitals and have an alarmingly high suicide rate. These people were given a job to do, and they did it, and now their life is over.
Why do so few make so much? They were far better at understanding, adapting and exploiting the game our society plays, in which the rules allow for the most predatory, arrogant and ruthless individuals to rise to the top. These individuals have a thirst for the rewards of this permutation of society: power, land, notoriety/fame, control. Just like any fucking thing that has rules, like the Constitution, or Capitalism, once you know what the parameters are, you can find a way to exploit in to some ulterior purpose. Hackers are just this generation’s example of such a mentality driven into a niche where it is quite successful, but you can then consider the current Alt Conservative movement to be hackers of the Constitution.
Most of us just want to have a good life, full of people we love and smiling faces. We don’t need to have fortunes, power, and control. and frankly, there is strong evidence that when one of us is given such things, we are more often ruined by them. What are these things ultimately if not the transitory, sinfully gained self-declared rewards, which are ultimately spoils from the labor of many millions, all over the world? Can their hear our backs breaking as they stand atop the pile? To me, the monarchical way of thinking leads to nothing good. Tyrants are inevitably overturned, and their names disgraced through time. The oppressed never stay that way forever. The arc of humanity bends towards acceptance, because the true source of power is a people united behind belief.
I do believe that there are millions and maybe billions of disadvantaged human beings who are tired of seeing the dreams they have go beyond the limitations of what their life can allow. We cannot succeed apart, and can only realize who we are when we all come together, with conviction, and stand up for our country. We used to believe that America was a place where anyone could be anything, and in a way, that can’t ever be fully true. However, the intent behind those words was hope. For the people that grow up here, or come here from far away, they all should have that spark of hope that they can be something that they dream about being all their lives, no matter where they are from. People driven by a passion, or a calling are among the most inspiring of us all, and they know what it is to love a thing; a principle that should do more of the deciding of our direction than it currently does. We really do want everyone to come here believing that, even the asylum seeker at the Mexican border or the New York City orphan. As it stands now, that dream is nearly gone for most people here already, and currently under siege by anyone who is trying to come here.
People fret over what’s happening in the news right now. This is all so transitory. This campaign of riding a wave of racism and outrage to prolonged power is stupid and short-sighted, to put it mildly. Ideas in America are changing rapidly, with each new generation that grows up, and every immigrant who comes here to live. Hate doesn’t build anything, it can only divide us up into seething quadrants where we are easily controlled and not at all useful. In order to step forward, and redefine what America is, we all must stand together, and become a majority.
Even if decades or arcane and inhumane beliefs pervade, there is no escaping the truth that we will prevail in our ability to unite. We are all people in this country together, and this is our home. One day, I believe we will find out this truth and come to understand what one humanity looks like. Our diversity is the thing that defines us, because just as we are complex of thought, we are differential in our heritage, history, traditions, beliefs and dreams. The advantages of knowing will advance us farther than we ever knew we could go, and in that future, the fire of hatred will be long snuffed out. With all the unique perspective we bring, the community of humanity will be the real thin America will be remembered for.
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.
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.
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.
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,
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.
Placed in scrutiny,
It sounds as it is.
Every step will be hard, but beautifully rewarding.
All the sweat, aches, words and deeds composed present the case to meaning.
Worth and community reinforce action, with the genuineness of jubilance.
Press forward to be known!
The uncrafted pieces are arranged for something new and wonderful.
Promise kept to self, again.
Elevated, dignified and solemnly prepared to play.
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!
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!
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!
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.
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.
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.
The last few days, I have been helping the NAMIWalks team put together “thank you” packets for organizations that donated during the walk. I had a chance to put on my graphic design hat and came up with collages composed of pictures from the event and recognition achieved through their contribution. This very morning, I was working with the two most impactful NAMIWalks individuals in Northern California, and I got treated like a respected, admired equal. Today, my significance solidified.
My work continues tonight as NAMI is hosting a community meeting for LGBTQ individuals. I’m here early to set up the table and talk to people that come in. I know last time I was at something like this, I got to meet some interesting new people and reconnect with recently acquired friends. My social circle is growing, and in it are people who make a substantive difference in their communities. These activists, leaders and peers all work together to advance awareness and stop stigma. These are the faces of change, and I am proud to model myself around them as I develop into a mental health professional.
Things are accelerating, money is starting to trickle in (I got a gift card for helping out!). I’m more concerned with staying relevant and involved. I’m here volunteering every day of the week because I want to. This is my path, and here is where I will find true fulfillment.
I’ll have a post for you tomorrow Blog. Oh, and I got a job interview with a company that holds peer-led groups at psychiatric clinics. They are jazzed about my peer support background AND familiarity with several natural sciences. Should it be great to hold a group on clouds, or the solar system? Sweet flaming monkey-pants that sounds great!
As with all things, more to come soon.
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.
Consider this a post a notification of Blog redaction Concerning my previous post titled I Stand, Accused and resulting comments.
In response to the comments: I am still willing to discuss my behavior in relation to my exes and how my mental illness or other states cause them harm or trauma. I think engaging in a discussion about this sort of thing could be constructive. However, I think participation is still strictly contingent upon some form of mutual respect and not complete vehemence.
I do vastly prefer constructive conversation opposed to destructive and hateful word-chucking (which is all that was fundamentally happening).
So with that, I have had a very thought-provoking and emotion-assailing 36 hours, but now the hope for useful discourse on the topic of my transgressions is gone.
I will, no doubt, have some form of ambiguous summary failing to disclose vital facts of the matter but tempting with scintillating adjectives which imply, but do not overtly suggest anything.
I’m the same me I was 30 minutes ago, and getting ready for another fun-smelling day tomorrow.
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?
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?
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!