So that last post was fun to write but I'm not sure what reading it will be like. I think the disjointed nature of the text and jumpy line of thought shows how my brain has been dealing with all the issues lately. It's running high speed in some ways and slow in others, trying to deal with a deeply varied plethora of things and just come to a solid, sturdy point where I can start building a good life from again. Tonight was a big step forward for that, I felt like myself more going into joining the firehall. I was nervous, I had fun, I learned a bunch, and generally had a great time. It will be a good group of friends moving forward, a good stable routine to keep my feet on the ground, and in the future some very serious experiences I hope to learn a lot from. We are a notably remote fire hall, dealing with a large area and farther from a hospital than almost any other in our area. This means we will have more responsibility and direct action than a lot of fire halls. That's a solid responsibility but also an exciting one, because it means there is even more to learn.
It's interesting thinking about sharing myself and my situation and all that with the people of the fire hall. The chief knows, and so do some of the other members, but not everyone. I didn't do the social hour tonight, I was worried about getting home to keep an eye on Cora, or that was what I thought at the time, but I think I might also have been just a bit socially nervous. I'm still adjusting to never smoking and readjusting somehow to not drinking. Part of me feels like if I give up weed I should take back alcohol, or that I can trust myself in moderation. I don't really think that's right though. I've written down a set of strict rules I may try to follow some day, because I do indeed enjoy the taste of good beer with a good meal on occasion, but I don't think social drinks are really the right answer for me anymore. They just carry too much weight and temptation for me with my history and situation. It's weird to be clean living when I was such a binge partier then such a stoner in my past, it's a big adjustment, and one I'm somewhat still struggling with, but I think in the end I'm going to gain a lot from it. I need to find new passions and purpose to engage with and that will be satisfying. I hope to find ones that don't even just help me too, at least not all.
I'm so lucky being given the ability to deal with this situation slowly and carefully as I have, and in the state of luxury and care that has been provided for me by my family, and even on top of that my friends and the community around me. It's incredible thinking of the amount of help I've had in the past few years, the past 9 months or so in particular. I try to think of myself as not spoiled, and that the challenges and hardships I've faced in this time balance out with what I've been given, but I do hear an echo from my time in the hospital, seeing people dealing with at least a part of what I am without anywhere near the kind of support I've been getting. Many got great love and care from their family, one of my fellow patients had his mother in with him every day, but to have the financial support, and welcoming home community on top of the love I've received as I have is something special. I am sitting now in a beautifully comfortable home, writing on a nice computer, a fridge full of high quality food, and two happy dogs relaxing on the floor. I'm comfortably dressed, I have plenty of entertainment if I need it, and if I had a problem with anything I could call for help and not worry about whether or not I would get it. It's easy to understand why I can stay so positive minded when I just look around me.
That still doesn't clear the fear though. My big stress for the moment is overcoming my "disability". I feel a deep driving need to return to my freedom and I have a deep fear regarding that. In my self-confrontation that led to my time in the hospital I actually experimented with reducing my dose of Keppra. As a result I had a series of seizures observed under medical care. They were still the minor kind where I retain some physical control but most primarily lose control of speech. One of the most interesting parts was I found that some of my responses to my prior seizures had been neuroses rather than direct effects. I obsessively did the motions and actions which I'd needed to do to prove my consciousness during the surgery as soon as I felt the triggering symptoms of a seizure, which made me seem to be at a deeper level of lost consciousness than I was. I was able to establish and prove that at least to a degree in the hospital, and I hope that action will help me moving forward. Since that time I've been stable completely, and the episode of them ended very quickly. The terror I hold though is that mistake could be a postponing of my return to full freedom of movement. I've got an appointment in mid march and I will get more information then. I do feel confident, or want to feel confident, but I'm also very unsure. I know I'm on more medication now and probably more stable, but it's earning the trust of the medical system that is essential for me, and I can't help but wonder if I lost some of it by making those independent choices. It's a tough balance of trust too. I want them to trust me, they want me to trust them, and both of us have hurt each other some in the past. My time in the inpatient care at Abbey Lane, the feeling of overmedication was terrifying to the point I felt a loss of trust in the medical support I was getting. I couldn't, can't, completely understand why my one doctor kept upping the dose after I showed the stability I did, or why she upped it right before sending me home for a weekend blindly. I'd opened myself to full blind trust of the medical authority prior to that to prove a point to the system and re-earn its trust, and then in my first experience following that I felt hurt by it. Even following, my inpatient care was hard to fully trust. The doctors were helpful but a challenge to deal with, and while my first appointment was great and thorough, towards the end I got a greater feeling of following paperwork than interpersonal care. There are huge challenges on the system though and I don't mean to talk smack about it or say it's absolutely bad. It just has points where I don't agree with method and such completely. I think that's largely because it is underfunded and undersupported, while the administrative services that sit in offices and plan it are excessive. I'd like to see more better paid nurses, more doctors, and less people who have meetings to talk about how things should go. The professional caregivers and physicians can discern for themselves how to do their jobs and they showed me that alot, especially the nurses. The best ones were the ones who did what was right by their knowledge and wisdom, not by the pure fine lines of the papers they were given to follow. I received above and beyond care and even advocacy from a few in particular, and if they ever choose to read this I'm confident they'll know who they are. One in particular, Debbie, is a bit of an angel in my heart now, and if she ever chooses to read this, (I hope she does) I need to remind her it's 4675 hwy 329 and you and your scooter are welcome any time for a visit, but there's no pressure to do so.
Returning to work is a source of anxiety too I suppose. I may have financial support, but it doesn't stop me from wanting to earn and produce for myself and return to a greater position of freedom and stability. I have a few ideas of what I'll do, hoping to produce as much as I can off my own land, likely spending some time on the ocean, bidding on and carrying out small forestry contracts, and then some private residential services with chainsaw and equipment. I need to further develop my skills and abilities a great deal to be ready for proper independence though, so it's pretty much time for me to return to work on my own lot. It's a challenge for me to find the energy and drive to do that now though. I don't know if it's the drugs, recovering from the stress, tiredness, or what it is, but I'm just drained and seemingly unable to get up and going. I hope I feel better tomorrow, I need to get out and run the saw and tractor for a while, I really do. I also desperately need a gym run I'd say. Lifting some heavy stuff is good for the body, mind, and soul if you're built like me. Meditation is another quest I need to return my focus to. I let myself feel so overloaded as to justify not really engaging in it for a while, and I need to rediscover it. Writing on here is helpful for everything too. It pours my mind out and lets it slow down within itself, focus on more important things. It also keeps me honest to myself. I'm more deeply unwilling to lie to the outside world than I am when I think to myself, so writing on here helps me clarify my thoughts and make sure I'm not letting any little bits sneak in on me and pull me in the wrong direction. It's funny that's the case I suppose, I feel as though the stereotype is the opposite, that people hide with their honest introspective views at home and create false exaggerated projections to share with the world, but this is just my way of doing things. I hate the idea of lying about myself to people I care about and trust, and I like to think of those who choose to read this as those kind of people. I can't say with certainty I never do by mistake, I don't really audit myself or even look back and edit, as I know I've said before this is just what flows out no real serious changes or retrospection, but I do my best to keep it on the straight and narrow.
That said, it's getting hilariously close to my bedtime. Especially considering I had a 5 hour nap today.
I suppose I must be still recovering somewhat.
Goodnight
Tuesday, 25 February 2014
Monday, 24 February 2014
Into Port, Moving Quickly
So the last month and then some has been a different kind of adventure. The battle went from the simple physical nature of the brain and crossed into the mind. I lost control of myself I suppose is one way to phrase it, the other would be the medical name "a manic episode". I spent most of that time in the hospital, Abbey Lane was the name of where I was, an involuntary patient of a psychiatric ward.
It was an adventure getting in. Out of worry and fear for my well being and from a period of incredible stress and lack of sleep due to my manic ramblings, actions, and obsessions, my mother and stepfather organized an event to justify calling the police against me to have me taken in there. Riding to the hospital in the back of a police car is another adventure. The cops were really cool though. That part is the clearest bit of memory I have of my time when I was really "manic" and out of control. I didn't get cuffed or beaten like many of my fellow patients. I had no record and didn't resist at all and it was really a strangely pleasant experience. Still pretty stressful though.
The time in the hospital was different than I'd imagined too. I don't know what I imagined though I guess. I never even considered ending up locked up in a mental ward of a hospital. I knew about it, I'd been in them before, visiting my mother when I was very young, and my grandmother a few years after. I understood, or thought I understood, what it meant to be "psychotic" or "borderline" or "manic" or whatever it was that got me in there. It turned out I was flying blind. I barely remember the early days. It seems like when I was in that state of mind it was almost like being drunk. One fact I do remember is that while I was up in the "manic" state I could actually tap into and piece together some of my old drunken blackout episode memories. I think somehow they were related. Looking into that part of my past was looking into the darkness, not so much in my actions but actions I allowed myself to ignore or fail to understand through those blurry eyes. I won't lose myself in the past though. Nor claim that I see blackout Dave as wholly innocent. Just mixed up, and more childlike than I'd really thought before. Back to the present though.
The most important part is that I'm done now. That's what gives me the courage to try and write about it. I think the disjointed nature of my writing shows how mixed up in the head I am about it all still however. I'm trying to hold myself together and just share the truth or what happened or me, but it's like trying to read primary wind direction off land hit by a tornado. It's a mess. I learned a ton, I grew a ton (womp womp, physically too, in the bad way), but in some ways I still feel like I lost a ton. More of my freedom, my independence is gone. I'm on more drugs now, more people watching me closely, less of the recreational stuff I enjoyed (cold cut off weed by necessity), it kind of hurts but it's necessary.
The hospital is a hard place. It's tough to deal with your issues there. The nurses were amazing though. The lack of freedom, the nature of the hallways, the long-termers, ranting, rambling, lost, helpless, struggling... it was a challenge. I chose to tap my strength there and keep my chin high as best I could. Most of the day I had a smile on my face, open, friendly, strong. I cried too though. Some times alone, some times calling home, some times in a room with a nurse, asking for help, feeling lost, feeling confused. It was good for me to cry, probably better for me than the times I tried to hold strong. I did receive some respect and appreciation for my approach, I made friends, I opened my world. Strange. Beautiful. Confusing.
Some of my fellow patients were in and out. Others I don't know how they'll ever be free. Pictures in my head of lost souls wandering the hallways, PTSD of different forms, confusion, manipulation, paranoia, all in their own ways pulling people down. Chemicals ran the waterlines. Everyone had their own cocktail of cures. All cures have their own cost. Mine were hard to deal with. I was at times possibly, probably, almost certainly overmedicated. One I dealt with, Olanzepine, was really fucking hard to deal with. I guess I needed it to bring my energy down, bring me back to control, but my dose was brought up high, and it wreaked havoc on me in some ways. Gained almost 30 lbs. High blood pressure, high heart beat, strange, self-destructive thoughts, frustration... I'm on my way off now though. That's why I can finally write. I went to a psychiatrist today and he is bringing me down, titrating me, trickling me off the poison that cured me, as far as the world is concerned. The real picture? Who knows.
This has been negative so far. I should bring up the positive. I have my puppy back. Cora is here and she's amazing. She is so smart, so energetic, such a positive light in my life. I need to find my strength back to look after her, and I will. It won't be easy. I don't feel like myself yet. I'm still dealing with these more sedative drugs, and recovering from this period of stress, anxiety, chemotherapy, cancer, death... but I'll figure my way. The big part that I'm surprised I haven't mentioned yet is I'm done with this cycle of chemo. I did 8 months instead of 12, and I could easily end up on it again in the future, but this round of the fight is over. It's time to rebuild. Time to grow.
One of my first goals in growth is to lose back at least most of the 30 lbs I gained in my hospital time from the drugs. I found and lost my self confidence in this time. I feel fat and lazy now and I know I can conquer that but it's not easy. I'd love to be out there chasing girls and dating but I'm insecure and that's kind of pathetic. I'd like to tell myself girls aren't superficial but we're all human and a belly is a belly, most people aren't Buddha. That's one of my big goals to sort out first, is to just get myself looking like a form of me I can feel confident in. I will be there by summer, come hell or high water, I'll do what it takes to get there. It'd be nice to be confident to get there sooner but it's not a small amount of weight and I don't get to stop taking fat pills right away. About a month before I'm done altogether. I'm going to try to diet and work out and fight the battle now but I have a feeling the weight will really start to move once I'm done with the drug. I will still have a bit of a handicap on me in the fight though as well. I'm sticking with another one, a "mood stabilizer" that will also reinforce my fight against epilepsy, called Divalproex. It also stimulates weight gain, but somehow I feel more confident in conquering it. Who knows. Hard work, good food, good gym, and long walks with the dog should add up in my favour eventually.
Writing is a challenge now
I grow, I break, I build.
What's next? Who knows.
Into the wind I row. Bow
forward. Eyes open. Nets filled.
Fish or stone, flesh or bone.
Push, pull, over, under.
Through. Always through.
Around the stone.
Over the waves.
Thunder. Lightning.
A new day. A new way.
Wish me luck. Or whatever works for you. I'll be back.
It was an adventure getting in. Out of worry and fear for my well being and from a period of incredible stress and lack of sleep due to my manic ramblings, actions, and obsessions, my mother and stepfather organized an event to justify calling the police against me to have me taken in there. Riding to the hospital in the back of a police car is another adventure. The cops were really cool though. That part is the clearest bit of memory I have of my time when I was really "manic" and out of control. I didn't get cuffed or beaten like many of my fellow patients. I had no record and didn't resist at all and it was really a strangely pleasant experience. Still pretty stressful though.
The time in the hospital was different than I'd imagined too. I don't know what I imagined though I guess. I never even considered ending up locked up in a mental ward of a hospital. I knew about it, I'd been in them before, visiting my mother when I was very young, and my grandmother a few years after. I understood, or thought I understood, what it meant to be "psychotic" or "borderline" or "manic" or whatever it was that got me in there. It turned out I was flying blind. I barely remember the early days. It seems like when I was in that state of mind it was almost like being drunk. One fact I do remember is that while I was up in the "manic" state I could actually tap into and piece together some of my old drunken blackout episode memories. I think somehow they were related. Looking into that part of my past was looking into the darkness, not so much in my actions but actions I allowed myself to ignore or fail to understand through those blurry eyes. I won't lose myself in the past though. Nor claim that I see blackout Dave as wholly innocent. Just mixed up, and more childlike than I'd really thought before. Back to the present though.
The most important part is that I'm done now. That's what gives me the courage to try and write about it. I think the disjointed nature of my writing shows how mixed up in the head I am about it all still however. I'm trying to hold myself together and just share the truth or what happened or me, but it's like trying to read primary wind direction off land hit by a tornado. It's a mess. I learned a ton, I grew a ton (womp womp, physically too, in the bad way), but in some ways I still feel like I lost a ton. More of my freedom, my independence is gone. I'm on more drugs now, more people watching me closely, less of the recreational stuff I enjoyed (cold cut off weed by necessity), it kind of hurts but it's necessary.
The hospital is a hard place. It's tough to deal with your issues there. The nurses were amazing though. The lack of freedom, the nature of the hallways, the long-termers, ranting, rambling, lost, helpless, struggling... it was a challenge. I chose to tap my strength there and keep my chin high as best I could. Most of the day I had a smile on my face, open, friendly, strong. I cried too though. Some times alone, some times calling home, some times in a room with a nurse, asking for help, feeling lost, feeling confused. It was good for me to cry, probably better for me than the times I tried to hold strong. I did receive some respect and appreciation for my approach, I made friends, I opened my world. Strange. Beautiful. Confusing.
Some of my fellow patients were in and out. Others I don't know how they'll ever be free. Pictures in my head of lost souls wandering the hallways, PTSD of different forms, confusion, manipulation, paranoia, all in their own ways pulling people down. Chemicals ran the waterlines. Everyone had their own cocktail of cures. All cures have their own cost. Mine were hard to deal with. I was at times possibly, probably, almost certainly overmedicated. One I dealt with, Olanzepine, was really fucking hard to deal with. I guess I needed it to bring my energy down, bring me back to control, but my dose was brought up high, and it wreaked havoc on me in some ways. Gained almost 30 lbs. High blood pressure, high heart beat, strange, self-destructive thoughts, frustration... I'm on my way off now though. That's why I can finally write. I went to a psychiatrist today and he is bringing me down, titrating me, trickling me off the poison that cured me, as far as the world is concerned. The real picture? Who knows.
This has been negative so far. I should bring up the positive. I have my puppy back. Cora is here and she's amazing. She is so smart, so energetic, such a positive light in my life. I need to find my strength back to look after her, and I will. It won't be easy. I don't feel like myself yet. I'm still dealing with these more sedative drugs, and recovering from this period of stress, anxiety, chemotherapy, cancer, death... but I'll figure my way. The big part that I'm surprised I haven't mentioned yet is I'm done with this cycle of chemo. I did 8 months instead of 12, and I could easily end up on it again in the future, but this round of the fight is over. It's time to rebuild. Time to grow.
One of my first goals in growth is to lose back at least most of the 30 lbs I gained in my hospital time from the drugs. I found and lost my self confidence in this time. I feel fat and lazy now and I know I can conquer that but it's not easy. I'd love to be out there chasing girls and dating but I'm insecure and that's kind of pathetic. I'd like to tell myself girls aren't superficial but we're all human and a belly is a belly, most people aren't Buddha. That's one of my big goals to sort out first, is to just get myself looking like a form of me I can feel confident in. I will be there by summer, come hell or high water, I'll do what it takes to get there. It'd be nice to be confident to get there sooner but it's not a small amount of weight and I don't get to stop taking fat pills right away. About a month before I'm done altogether. I'm going to try to diet and work out and fight the battle now but I have a feeling the weight will really start to move once I'm done with the drug. I will still have a bit of a handicap on me in the fight though as well. I'm sticking with another one, a "mood stabilizer" that will also reinforce my fight against epilepsy, called Divalproex. It also stimulates weight gain, but somehow I feel more confident in conquering it. Who knows. Hard work, good food, good gym, and long walks with the dog should add up in my favour eventually.
Writing is a challenge now
I grow, I break, I build.
What's next? Who knows.
Into the wind I row. Bow
forward. Eyes open. Nets filled.
Fish or stone, flesh or bone.
Push, pull, over, under.
Through. Always through.
Around the stone.
Over the waves.
Thunder. Lightning.
A new day. A new way.
Wish me luck. Or whatever works for you. I'll be back.
Monday, 13 January 2014
Moment of Clarity
So I think I figured out where this all came from, I'm pretty sure I've added together everything my brain has been throwing at me...
I've had this central focus of myself coming to peace via synchronizing and reintegrating communication between my conscious, subconscious, and body, software, firmware hardware... What I was trying to find in myself was an emotional memory hidden in my subconcious and affecting my firmware configuration to the point of disconnecting me from society and reality...
I think I found it.
My mom's nearly a year in the hospital, we only visited her once. In that time, I have a set of 5 memories. A picture of the front of the hospital . A picture of a moment visiting her. A picture of a teachers face. A feeling of confusion and anger in the schoolyard. And a young boy teaching me to not trust blindly by pulling a nasty little prank on me.
It all adds up. When my mom went to the hospital, I felt abandoned, alone, lost. I didn't realize or understand at first what was going on or why I lost so much support. My Dad was doing his best, but he's not two people, not a mom. I probably began to try to look to my teachers like my mother, which they rejected. The big moment though was visiting her. That was where I needed to reconcile my concious and my subconcious. What I remember processing in my head there is just the picture of my mother, unable to respond, eyes seeming blank, feeling just not there. In my subconcious though it accumulated that evidence and decided she was dead, and began to fight between sealing me up and reaching out for a new source of motherly love. I think when I got thrown into that locker is when I realized none of my teachers, none of the other women in the world, could do for me what my mother did. That's when I gave up my last hope at trust, and decided no matter what had happened, if she was dead or alive, I needed my mom back. That's when I did a deal with the devil. That's why I remember after that day making the physical effort to place a curse on that school raising my (what I thought was) the middle finger (I put up the 4th one, it was hard, that's why I thought it was a curse.)
I never remembered that though. Tried to hide it from myself. I projected my interpretation of what had happened onto the world and brought it to reality. I can only imagine what it felt like to have your son see you like you were returned from the dead, unable to fully trust you because he feels like you're alive thanks to a deal he made with the devil, fundamentally unable to trust, respect, listen because you are a terrifying representation of his loss of his soul in desperation.
That's fucked up.
I've had this central focus of myself coming to peace via synchronizing and reintegrating communication between my conscious, subconscious, and body, software, firmware hardware... What I was trying to find in myself was an emotional memory hidden in my subconcious and affecting my firmware configuration to the point of disconnecting me from society and reality...
I think I found it.
My mom's nearly a year in the hospital, we only visited her once. In that time, I have a set of 5 memories. A picture of the front of the hospital . A picture of a moment visiting her. A picture of a teachers face. A feeling of confusion and anger in the schoolyard. And a young boy teaching me to not trust blindly by pulling a nasty little prank on me.
It all adds up. When my mom went to the hospital, I felt abandoned, alone, lost. I didn't realize or understand at first what was going on or why I lost so much support. My Dad was doing his best, but he's not two people, not a mom. I probably began to try to look to my teachers like my mother, which they rejected. The big moment though was visiting her. That was where I needed to reconcile my concious and my subconcious. What I remember processing in my head there is just the picture of my mother, unable to respond, eyes seeming blank, feeling just not there. In my subconcious though it accumulated that evidence and decided she was dead, and began to fight between sealing me up and reaching out for a new source of motherly love. I think when I got thrown into that locker is when I realized none of my teachers, none of the other women in the world, could do for me what my mother did. That's when I gave up my last hope at trust, and decided no matter what had happened, if she was dead or alive, I needed my mom back. That's when I did a deal with the devil. That's why I remember after that day making the physical effort to place a curse on that school raising my (what I thought was) the middle finger (I put up the 4th one, it was hard, that's why I thought it was a curse.)
I never remembered that though. Tried to hide it from myself. I projected my interpretation of what had happened onto the world and brought it to reality. I can only imagine what it felt like to have your son see you like you were returned from the dead, unable to fully trust you because he feels like you're alive thanks to a deal he made with the devil, fundamentally unable to trust, respect, listen because you are a terrifying representation of his loss of his soul in desperation.
That's fucked up.
Sunday, 12 January 2014
Let it Go, Let it Flow
So I think I'm going to try to let myself get back in touch with a part of myself I found when I was younger. When I was in my teenage years for a while I discovered a love of, and ability in, writing poetry. I didn't really share what I wrote, and I didn't let the memories out since then. This is my first little release of that part of myself in a while. It's pretty shitty compared to what I feel like I remember evern from my childhood, AA-BB-CC etc just flowmode, but still. I think the problem back then was I thought it was too feminine to write poems and was too insecure to share them and let myself lose a piece of me. It's time to be ballsy enough to just let myself out
I am a mirror and a fire but I did not see the light
Held my eyes closed and found darkness, thus began the fight
Pushed forward blindly, rushing, eyes closed and chin held high
The fire though, it burned me,every time that I ran by.
Slowly over time, I came to open my eyes.
But instead of looking down, I turned up to the sky.
I felt the heat of fire, and I called myself a star.
I pushed my spirit outwards, felt lost it went so far.
My strength began to fade, and the fuel began to dwindle.
The fire was falling, my light was gone, its heart I had to kindle.
I could not see, I could not run, I could not open my eyes.
It seemed as though the fire went out, I could not see the sky.
I closed my eyes and reached out my hands, and again the world was there.
I started forward cautiously, and let her give her care.
I found my way without the fire, or so inside I thought.
But something deep inside of me, it still felt burning hot.
Embers may stop giving flame, but they haven't lost their heat.
There's something left inside of me, and it never felt defeat.
My eyes have opened wide again, and the world has been transformed.
The fire has burnt around its pit, but the ashes weren't just scorn.
Like in the bush the fire is mixed, it destroys and then regrows.
Inside myself that cycle spins, and yet today it slows.
I feel as though I learned something, that hid in me last night.
I think some part has changed inside, and maybe won the fight.
I'm open now, I'm growing, I'm letting it burn again.
This time though I feed it carefully, controlling it best I can.
The mirror sits behind the fire, sparling like a wall.
My eyes still need to see it, are beckoned by its call.
I look into the darkness, I call upon the fire.
I meet my eyes, and dark indeed, I've relearned to admire.
I see the light, I see its source, to burn means to burn life
I thank the world, I thank it all, and I hold onto my knife.
I walk into the darkness and find fuel for the fire.
I trust myself and nature now, understand my desire.
As long as my eyes are open, and I hold my chin up high
The world around will keep me down, not lost up in the sky.
I am a mirror and a fire but I did not see the light
Held my eyes closed and found darkness, thus began the fight
Pushed forward blindly, rushing, eyes closed and chin held high
The fire though, it burned me,every time that I ran by.
Slowly over time, I came to open my eyes.
But instead of looking down, I turned up to the sky.
I felt the heat of fire, and I called myself a star.
I pushed my spirit outwards, felt lost it went so far.
My strength began to fade, and the fuel began to dwindle.
The fire was falling, my light was gone, its heart I had to kindle.
I could not see, I could not run, I could not open my eyes.
It seemed as though the fire went out, I could not see the sky.
I closed my eyes and reached out my hands, and again the world was there.
I started forward cautiously, and let her give her care.
I found my way without the fire, or so inside I thought.
But something deep inside of me, it still felt burning hot.
Embers may stop giving flame, but they haven't lost their heat.
There's something left inside of me, and it never felt defeat.
My eyes have opened wide again, and the world has been transformed.
The fire has burnt around its pit, but the ashes weren't just scorn.
Like in the bush the fire is mixed, it destroys and then regrows.
Inside myself that cycle spins, and yet today it slows.
I feel as though I learned something, that hid in me last night.
I think some part has changed inside, and maybe won the fight.
I'm open now, I'm growing, I'm letting it burn again.
This time though I feed it carefully, controlling it best I can.
The mirror sits behind the fire, sparling like a wall.
My eyes still need to see it, are beckoned by its call.
I look into the darkness, I call upon the fire.
I meet my eyes, and dark indeed, I've relearned to admire.
I see the light, I see its source, to burn means to burn life
I thank the world, I thank it all, and I hold onto my knife.
I walk into the darkness and find fuel for the fire.
I trust myself and nature now, understand my desire.
As long as my eyes are open, and I hold my chin up high
The world around will keep me down, not lost up in the sky.
Saturday, 11 January 2014
Glow in the Dark
Embracing the darkest part of myself and doing the best I can to take responsibility for actions that manifest out of my subconcious was invigorating. I felt a distinct physical response. The trick with that is I did a series of physical preparatory factors which are easily part of the picture, and take away my ability to isolate the variable. As it should be I suppose. Anyway. My body seemed to feel a strong urge to cleanse itself, and something inside it triggered a bunch of endothermic reactions. My balls started to hurt, reminding me of some puberty cramps, then as I sat down to do business, I began to get the shakes and feel cold, which built up to pretty serious shakes, then I hopped into a hot shower. That felt amazing. I let myself enter the darkness in there. I gave myself a little therapeutic pain I could understand and know was helping with a gradual increase of hot water, and I let the beast out, just roaring at the top of my lungs, laughing like a maniac, letting this huge rush of energy and spirit and vigor rush out of me. I've got no idea what was going on inside my body but something definitely was. Part of me wants to believe it's my body finding a positive way to release the energy it was storing up and turning into seizures.
Letting myself embrace the beast also woke up another view of my past. A bit of a picture of me on my way down into the darkness, the how and the why. I was at a recently converted all girls religious school. I was also getting positive feedback at home which I chose to interpret as definite indications that I was exceptional/gifted. With that taken as a fact it was easy to feel elevated at school. Then I kind of made it happen, at least for grade primary hahaha. I won a book reading competition by an entertaining amount, and a few math test races, and was allowed to be myself and deal with myself as I needed to in the class. And I'm pretty sure they didn't get too deep into religion. The next year though is when things started to feel sour. I've got an interpretation of it which I think may carry some deeper value. I was in a class of almost all girls being taught by a teacher who had taught almost all girls. People learn by experience and form patterns, and this teacher had taught religion for an extended period. It's unavoidable that to one degree or another she specialized in her method of conveying the message to make it work for either her actual experience or her projected interpretation of her experience. Either way. She pushed her message out in a way that I felt was working better for the girls around me. But my brain was rejecting it. My brain was just trying to test it with the methods it saw on Bill Nye or whatever, using its imagination for experiments, and coming up with some of those annoyingly good answers pure atheists spam the internet with. Combining the feedback and evidence of my exceptional nature with this state of events in my classroom of feeling asynchronous with the wisdom being shared and unable to tap into what they were getting, I decided instead of embracing this mysterious connection/strength they had which I couldn't understand or gain from like I could feel them doing, I decided to reject it and elevate myself to the hero by telling the teacher I rejected her story because it didn't make sense. That's another moment when I took a step in the wrong direction. I chose a destructive answer instead of a creative answer. I saw this special connection/status in the girls around me, but couldn't let myself come up with my special strength like the one they had. We'd proved girls were equal in every way. I couldn't think of my special ability to spread seeds and positive energy, I didn't grant recognition as I should have to the male side of the act of creation. I think I was scared of how I was bigger and stronger than the people around me, started and reinforced by my premature sister, who I really do love an incredible amount, who I saw be nurtured and cared for to a level which drained my mother to the edge of her abilities, and I choose to believe no other woman could have done in her shoes (size is a point!). I think maybe that's another seed complex. I felt like I had to love her, but I saw how much my mom gave her. I chose though to interpret it as her taking it from my mom, and didn't let myself see my mom's desire to give and that she was choosing to do it.
The interesting thing about this big complicated thing is that I seem to be able to keep taking passes at it and coming up with answers, and I'm not even sure how well they all work together, but I seem to learn a great deal from all of them. Embracing the responsibility of my actions to their deepest nature was essential. But letting myself see what I understood of myself and what my intent was, and also taking a glance back at instinctual moments where I learned I had some courage and honour beyond and below my rational line. My memory has held onto less of those than negative ones, and it's probably reasonably correct, but I have a feeling part of it is me reinforcing my desire to avoid letting my confidence overgrow its boundaries once more. There is a balance and a contrast to almost everything, maybe everything.
My hope though is I have indeed broken this at its base. What I'm really hoping is true and what I read out of myself is I made a transfer in code structure sitting at the base of my operating system. I was going in binary before, all 1s and 0s, stacked and layered and made into a super complex system to the point where it looked like it was beyond just Y/N simplicity because of its sophistication and complication, but it took as an essential principle a law that simply ceased to work. What it feels like now looking at myself is that by opening myself fully to the subjectivity of my existence, and some deeper more complicated pieces of insight towards the essential structure of reality and my role in it, opening myself to a created idea of my nature and purpose that feels universal and fair and true. My theory is that our creation of the concept of mind-body-spirit will somehow be represented in the relation of energy-matter-dark matter. We've chosen through history to project ourselves onto reality and interpret it as representations of ourselves. This is not our essential nature however, but a tool of development naturally occurring as a step forward. The essential purpose of the nature of being time is a progress of sophistication. It takes massive steps forward and massive steps backward and renders it nearly impossible to climb high enough up the rabbit hair to look down and see the whole beast, but on the will and corpses of our predecessors, of the beings, energy, and matter we've used to fuel and build them, we may climb high enough to see ourselves and what we are a part of as one, and embrace our role. In the act of embracing our role we can recognize ourselves as not independent beings in a self-determined reality but contributing pieces of an incredibly complex system. We don't have to have a purpose that elevates us above the purpose of being and time, it is more than enough for us to be drops into an ocean. We need to learn to understand and trust each other to get there, but once we can really see each other we will see everything more clearly. I'm going to hold onto that belief for hope.
I think I finally let enough out that my body's going to let me go to bed.
Letting myself embrace the beast also woke up another view of my past. A bit of a picture of me on my way down into the darkness, the how and the why. I was at a recently converted all girls religious school. I was also getting positive feedback at home which I chose to interpret as definite indications that I was exceptional/gifted. With that taken as a fact it was easy to feel elevated at school. Then I kind of made it happen, at least for grade primary hahaha. I won a book reading competition by an entertaining amount, and a few math test races, and was allowed to be myself and deal with myself as I needed to in the class. And I'm pretty sure they didn't get too deep into religion. The next year though is when things started to feel sour. I've got an interpretation of it which I think may carry some deeper value. I was in a class of almost all girls being taught by a teacher who had taught almost all girls. People learn by experience and form patterns, and this teacher had taught religion for an extended period. It's unavoidable that to one degree or another she specialized in her method of conveying the message to make it work for either her actual experience or her projected interpretation of her experience. Either way. She pushed her message out in a way that I felt was working better for the girls around me. But my brain was rejecting it. My brain was just trying to test it with the methods it saw on Bill Nye or whatever, using its imagination for experiments, and coming up with some of those annoyingly good answers pure atheists spam the internet with. Combining the feedback and evidence of my exceptional nature with this state of events in my classroom of feeling asynchronous with the wisdom being shared and unable to tap into what they were getting, I decided instead of embracing this mysterious connection/strength they had which I couldn't understand or gain from like I could feel them doing, I decided to reject it and elevate myself to the hero by telling the teacher I rejected her story because it didn't make sense. That's another moment when I took a step in the wrong direction. I chose a destructive answer instead of a creative answer. I saw this special connection/status in the girls around me, but couldn't let myself come up with my special strength like the one they had. We'd proved girls were equal in every way. I couldn't think of my special ability to spread seeds and positive energy, I didn't grant recognition as I should have to the male side of the act of creation. I think I was scared of how I was bigger and stronger than the people around me, started and reinforced by my premature sister, who I really do love an incredible amount, who I saw be nurtured and cared for to a level which drained my mother to the edge of her abilities, and I choose to believe no other woman could have done in her shoes (size is a point!). I think maybe that's another seed complex. I felt like I had to love her, but I saw how much my mom gave her. I chose though to interpret it as her taking it from my mom, and didn't let myself see my mom's desire to give and that she was choosing to do it.
The interesting thing about this big complicated thing is that I seem to be able to keep taking passes at it and coming up with answers, and I'm not even sure how well they all work together, but I seem to learn a great deal from all of them. Embracing the responsibility of my actions to their deepest nature was essential. But letting myself see what I understood of myself and what my intent was, and also taking a glance back at instinctual moments where I learned I had some courage and honour beyond and below my rational line. My memory has held onto less of those than negative ones, and it's probably reasonably correct, but I have a feeling part of it is me reinforcing my desire to avoid letting my confidence overgrow its boundaries once more. There is a balance and a contrast to almost everything, maybe everything.
My hope though is I have indeed broken this at its base. What I'm really hoping is true and what I read out of myself is I made a transfer in code structure sitting at the base of my operating system. I was going in binary before, all 1s and 0s, stacked and layered and made into a super complex system to the point where it looked like it was beyond just Y/N simplicity because of its sophistication and complication, but it took as an essential principle a law that simply ceased to work. What it feels like now looking at myself is that by opening myself fully to the subjectivity of my existence, and some deeper more complicated pieces of insight towards the essential structure of reality and my role in it, opening myself to a created idea of my nature and purpose that feels universal and fair and true. My theory is that our creation of the concept of mind-body-spirit will somehow be represented in the relation of energy-matter-dark matter. We've chosen through history to project ourselves onto reality and interpret it as representations of ourselves. This is not our essential nature however, but a tool of development naturally occurring as a step forward. The essential purpose of the nature of being time is a progress of sophistication. It takes massive steps forward and massive steps backward and renders it nearly impossible to climb high enough up the rabbit hair to look down and see the whole beast, but on the will and corpses of our predecessors, of the beings, energy, and matter we've used to fuel and build them, we may climb high enough to see ourselves and what we are a part of as one, and embrace our role. In the act of embracing our role we can recognize ourselves as not independent beings in a self-determined reality but contributing pieces of an incredibly complex system. We don't have to have a purpose that elevates us above the purpose of being and time, it is more than enough for us to be drops into an ocean. We need to learn to understand and trust each other to get there, but once we can really see each other we will see everything more clearly. I'm going to hold onto that belief for hope.
I think I finally let enough out that my body's going to let me go to bed.
Dark and Stormy Night
Hey Now,
Damn it feels good to be honest. I think I finally broke down to the bottom of everything tonight. I embraced the truth of what I said and the truth of what I saw, what I heard, and what I felt. I spoke to the last part I couldn't bring into final coordination with the destruction I needed to enable the creation I needed, and broke through the walls they held up to support me. It felt amazing.
The break moment was a walk into my past. I stepped into a moment. It was my last moment with my grandmother. Tears come to my eyes thinking of it. I thought of it deeply. I finally let myself recognize how much she gave me in that moment. The strength she showed me. I had gone to that home to visit my dying grandmother. She'd lived a hard life like most can't dream of, and died a hard way. She took the burden of so many around her out of a pure unconditional love like most dream of being able to give. At that point she was in a place of torture, physical and mental, and in my head I was god, going to go give her my love and energy to help. Even from that place of deep darkness though when I reached out and held her hands and looked into her eyes, I felt her giving herself to me. I'm going to choose that moment to believe in as the thing which either saved my life or my soul, whichever I reclaimed tonight. There are a lot of other pieces which contributed to it. There are bricks built into an incredibly strong wall. A wood tower atop it, letting me see more clearly. A moat around it, protecting me from the world outside. But the part I can't forget is the rock I sit on, the place it comes from. This strength I see in myself helping me battle, it's all a gift. I didn't say thanks nearly enough, but I fought, not always well, not always smart, not always looking good...but as hard as I could.
That gave me the strength to embrace the level of responsibility I needed to ready myself for. To truly look at this idea which I opened myself to I have to follow it through to its ultimate conclusion: my whole memory is a construct, it's not just subjective interpretation, it's repetitive regeneration. It is destroyed and recreated over and over. I felt myself reboot tonight, and I felt the change in it. Computers helped me see. Mind, soul, body. Software, firmware, hardware. Software and background processes. Viruses. Fragmented hard drives. These all serve as analogies which let us approximate ourselves and see more clearly. If we keep looking from different views, we eventually see the truth. When I opened myself to that responsibility, I entered a new world, and it feel like it's going to be a lot more fun.
It's scary to admit the level of responsibility I took though. What I had to accept was that the type of programming glitch I'd analysed in myself and recoded was likely a defining element of the perception of people around me more than they had admitted to themselves. When I opened myself to my past, and the way I saw the world, I saw a new side of a story that was pretty hard to come to terms with. The hard part was taking the responsibility it put on me. The liberating part was the clearer view it gave me of all the people around me, and the way the world just felt like it made more sense. Rather than explain in the details, I'll just say that I still continued to catch myself pushing blame away even after I felt like I hit complete victory. The truth is, I'm choosing to believe this interpretation of my recollection, because it gives me the greatest ability to open myself to a positive experience of my life from this point forward.
The most liberating part of tonight was I finally found a rational structure to liberate myself from this feeling of need to hold guilt against my mother. I had a series of memories of her having serious breakdown/trigger moments, as her own form of manifestation of my temper essentially. In these memories she went dark places that seemed hard to forgive her for and said things which seemed across some ethical line of comfort I saw. The problem was coming to terms with the real reason of those memories. I actually now believe I may have created myself in her and my Dad via manipulation as a self-defense method. When my mother spent the time in the hospital and I visited her, my memory I hold sees her as not seeming like herself, I don't even remember her speaking. I think inside me that felt like she was dead, and scared me deep, deep into my spirit. I felt that, and it scared me to the depth, and I felt my fear of death, and I began to hide from it. Or at least took a step in that direction. I think the fact my mind held onto the flash of the front of the hospital, and the one picture of her in there means a lot. I don't think I remember much else from that year though.. In that time I felt very alone, at my school I had a teacher who was at minimum borderline abusive in mental tactics, trying very hard to brainwash the rebellious kid into belief of god (actually that is definitely an interpretation of an emotional memory. I can not crack into any of my grade 2 memory other than a feeling of fear when I picture her face, and the incident where the teacher I trusted threw me in the locker...what allows me to trust that event is my dad confirming it, but as I believe prior mentioned likely it was significantly triggered... I probably was going so crazy it seemed like the only safe thing to do.) while his mom lay in the hospital and was unable to reach out to him. At my home, I had a father who was torn up inside while his wife lay in hospital, and experiencing a demand that exponentially increased when she went in. I only know what happened in my head, and what I added to this world I was living in, so I will take responsibility for what I added to the chaos. Imagining the level of care it would take to hold two children together while their mother faced mental illness is impossible to me. I didn't give him nearly enough credit for that time in my memory, because most of it is gone.I think I edited my retained experience there to make her feel dead to me to protect myself from the feeling of her loss. When she came back, I'd lost my trust for her, and didn't know it. At a subconcious level I think I manipulated my parents and family into false understandings of each other to create the chaos I felt I deserved. I think I closed myself to my mom and just idolized my Dad, and then in doing so put the drain all on him which he felt, but unwilling to put the blame and responsibility at the source projected it onto his wife. I fed that response with my behavior, reinforcing his interpretation by making it seem easier for him to deal with me by being more cooperative. I even manipulated and controlled my sister. There was a part of me going very crazy. God damn looking back is scary shit now welcoming that idea. It casts a different light on one childhood event that stuck to me deeply... I think a moment when I showed I was going crazy, even to myself. I was very young, I don't remember how old, and in my memory I'm playing with my sister, pushing her around on a cat house. By my memory and I would say with deep confidence by my rational processing at the time I thought I was just pushing her around for fun. But I pushed her near the window, under the little hanging lines for the blinds. She got caught in them, and I remember they left red marks on her neck. The part of my memory that I know should have taught me something earlier is that I obviously kept pushing when she got caught. I know, with absolute certainty, I convinced myself I did not choose to do that. But when I look at things my body has done without even my concious control through my life, there is no way that could possibly be an accident. I think that was the trigger event that showed them I was going crazy. Somehow though I think I convinced them each that it was the other going crazy. Most likely part of that came from them being unable to put the responsibility and weight onto their first born child. They saw the shit that happened to me, they felt like it wasn't fair to blame me even if I did it, or maybe just didn't know how to address it. Or maybe I'm just guessing and reading it totally wrong... I remember getting a time out and feeling really confused. In my head, because it was a mistake, it wasn't my fault... I remember feeling scared of what I did though. I think that was me beginning to realize. I also hope that my interpretation is associating a bit too much power with me, and that it's not possible to take all responsibility from other factors or else I'm just going to return myself to that goddamn god complex. It's a very complicated picture. I'm just going to choose to come to peace with my past by taking responsibility for as much of what I consider hardship as possible, whether direct concious choices or actions taken and created by parts of myself I don't understand.
I began to let it out at school as a temper, and then slowly built up a system of control over this part of myself. I felt like releasing it as a temper was the same thing as actually beating it. Turned out I was actually just training it inside of me. What I was doing when I thought I rejected God was just rejecting my real self, and trying to restrict a part of my being into nonexistence. I thought by choosing to remove God from reality I could choose to close down myself to the animal, lustful, destructive, indulgent, creative, artistic, driven, passionate part. I thought what I saw on Magic School Bus was enough to prove the Brain was running the whole show and that we understood everything completely and it was problem solved I can choose what I want in myself, control myself. I think somehow I felt like if I "understood" I could control everything.
That rejected memory and the feeling I remember in it... the erasing of that year, the way I know I went crazy in that school... I think I did a deal with the Devil to save my mom in some part of myself. Maybe that's where this all came from. That resonates with me... more deeply. I can't accept a picture of myself that looks like pure bad or actual destructive will... I remember the way I feel, I've wanted to love, I wrote poetry, I dreamed of writing children's books, I tried to help people, but I felt broken, I kept hurting, I couldn't trust myself. It was me trying to be a hero and turning myself into a villain. Even when I let the devil I was keeping chained and training in the darkness run the show, there was a part of me all along that knew I was good deep inside myself, that I wanted to be good, somehow I was essentially good. I wanted redemption. I thought I could find it in escapism. Then in work. Then martyrism. But what I needed to do was just look into myself and see myself as clearly as I can, and what I'd find was all that bad, that darkness, I built it. It was my choice. While that's a terrifying thing to admit to yourself, it carries weight and responsibility, it's necessary. For me, it's going to help that I'm publishing it. It's scary, but the thing is it lets it out of me. Everyone can read it, everyone can judge me, and no matter what they think I can find peace. I have come to terms with who I am, I take the responsibility, I learn from it, but I do not carry the weight. I can't go back and change those actions or interpretations. I can't redefine my past. What I can do is rebuild myself, reopen myself, and set a new future. Building the strength of the demon inside me, I think it helped train the other parts too. I believe now that I have looked that demon in the eyes and he looked down first. He has joined my pack. Tonight we howl.
Damn it feels good to be honest. I think I finally broke down to the bottom of everything tonight. I embraced the truth of what I said and the truth of what I saw, what I heard, and what I felt. I spoke to the last part I couldn't bring into final coordination with the destruction I needed to enable the creation I needed, and broke through the walls they held up to support me. It felt amazing.
The break moment was a walk into my past. I stepped into a moment. It was my last moment with my grandmother. Tears come to my eyes thinking of it. I thought of it deeply. I finally let myself recognize how much she gave me in that moment. The strength she showed me. I had gone to that home to visit my dying grandmother. She'd lived a hard life like most can't dream of, and died a hard way. She took the burden of so many around her out of a pure unconditional love like most dream of being able to give. At that point she was in a place of torture, physical and mental, and in my head I was god, going to go give her my love and energy to help. Even from that place of deep darkness though when I reached out and held her hands and looked into her eyes, I felt her giving herself to me. I'm going to choose that moment to believe in as the thing which either saved my life or my soul, whichever I reclaimed tonight. There are a lot of other pieces which contributed to it. There are bricks built into an incredibly strong wall. A wood tower atop it, letting me see more clearly. A moat around it, protecting me from the world outside. But the part I can't forget is the rock I sit on, the place it comes from. This strength I see in myself helping me battle, it's all a gift. I didn't say thanks nearly enough, but I fought, not always well, not always smart, not always looking good...but as hard as I could.
That gave me the strength to embrace the level of responsibility I needed to ready myself for. To truly look at this idea which I opened myself to I have to follow it through to its ultimate conclusion: my whole memory is a construct, it's not just subjective interpretation, it's repetitive regeneration. It is destroyed and recreated over and over. I felt myself reboot tonight, and I felt the change in it. Computers helped me see. Mind, soul, body. Software, firmware, hardware. Software and background processes. Viruses. Fragmented hard drives. These all serve as analogies which let us approximate ourselves and see more clearly. If we keep looking from different views, we eventually see the truth. When I opened myself to that responsibility, I entered a new world, and it feel like it's going to be a lot more fun.
It's scary to admit the level of responsibility I took though. What I had to accept was that the type of programming glitch I'd analysed in myself and recoded was likely a defining element of the perception of people around me more than they had admitted to themselves. When I opened myself to my past, and the way I saw the world, I saw a new side of a story that was pretty hard to come to terms with. The hard part was taking the responsibility it put on me. The liberating part was the clearer view it gave me of all the people around me, and the way the world just felt like it made more sense. Rather than explain in the details, I'll just say that I still continued to catch myself pushing blame away even after I felt like I hit complete victory. The truth is, I'm choosing to believe this interpretation of my recollection, because it gives me the greatest ability to open myself to a positive experience of my life from this point forward.
The most liberating part of tonight was I finally found a rational structure to liberate myself from this feeling of need to hold guilt against my mother. I had a series of memories of her having serious breakdown/trigger moments, as her own form of manifestation of my temper essentially. In these memories she went dark places that seemed hard to forgive her for and said things which seemed across some ethical line of comfort I saw. The problem was coming to terms with the real reason of those memories. I actually now believe I may have created myself in her and my Dad via manipulation as a self-defense method. When my mother spent the time in the hospital and I visited her, my memory I hold sees her as not seeming like herself, I don't even remember her speaking. I think inside me that felt like she was dead, and scared me deep, deep into my spirit. I felt that, and it scared me to the depth, and I felt my fear of death, and I began to hide from it. Or at least took a step in that direction. I think the fact my mind held onto the flash of the front of the hospital, and the one picture of her in there means a lot. I don't think I remember much else from that year though.. In that time I felt very alone, at my school I had a teacher who was at minimum borderline abusive in mental tactics, trying very hard to brainwash the rebellious kid into belief of god (actually that is definitely an interpretation of an emotional memory. I can not crack into any of my grade 2 memory other than a feeling of fear when I picture her face, and the incident where the teacher I trusted threw me in the locker...what allows me to trust that event is my dad confirming it, but as I believe prior mentioned likely it was significantly triggered... I probably was going so crazy it seemed like the only safe thing to do.) while his mom lay in the hospital and was unable to reach out to him. At my home, I had a father who was torn up inside while his wife lay in hospital, and experiencing a demand that exponentially increased when she went in. I only know what happened in my head, and what I added to this world I was living in, so I will take responsibility for what I added to the chaos. Imagining the level of care it would take to hold two children together while their mother faced mental illness is impossible to me. I didn't give him nearly enough credit for that time in my memory, because most of it is gone.I think I edited my retained experience there to make her feel dead to me to protect myself from the feeling of her loss. When she came back, I'd lost my trust for her, and didn't know it. At a subconcious level I think I manipulated my parents and family into false understandings of each other to create the chaos I felt I deserved. I think I closed myself to my mom and just idolized my Dad, and then in doing so put the drain all on him which he felt, but unwilling to put the blame and responsibility at the source projected it onto his wife. I fed that response with my behavior, reinforcing his interpretation by making it seem easier for him to deal with me by being more cooperative. I even manipulated and controlled my sister. There was a part of me going very crazy. God damn looking back is scary shit now welcoming that idea. It casts a different light on one childhood event that stuck to me deeply... I think a moment when I showed I was going crazy, even to myself. I was very young, I don't remember how old, and in my memory I'm playing with my sister, pushing her around on a cat house. By my memory and I would say with deep confidence by my rational processing at the time I thought I was just pushing her around for fun. But I pushed her near the window, under the little hanging lines for the blinds. She got caught in them, and I remember they left red marks on her neck. The part of my memory that I know should have taught me something earlier is that I obviously kept pushing when she got caught. I know, with absolute certainty, I convinced myself I did not choose to do that. But when I look at things my body has done without even my concious control through my life, there is no way that could possibly be an accident. I think that was the trigger event that showed them I was going crazy. Somehow though I think I convinced them each that it was the other going crazy. Most likely part of that came from them being unable to put the responsibility and weight onto their first born child. They saw the shit that happened to me, they felt like it wasn't fair to blame me even if I did it, or maybe just didn't know how to address it. Or maybe I'm just guessing and reading it totally wrong... I remember getting a time out and feeling really confused. In my head, because it was a mistake, it wasn't my fault... I remember feeling scared of what I did though. I think that was me beginning to realize. I also hope that my interpretation is associating a bit too much power with me, and that it's not possible to take all responsibility from other factors or else I'm just going to return myself to that goddamn god complex. It's a very complicated picture. I'm just going to choose to come to peace with my past by taking responsibility for as much of what I consider hardship as possible, whether direct concious choices or actions taken and created by parts of myself I don't understand.
I began to let it out at school as a temper, and then slowly built up a system of control over this part of myself. I felt like releasing it as a temper was the same thing as actually beating it. Turned out I was actually just training it inside of me. What I was doing when I thought I rejected God was just rejecting my real self, and trying to restrict a part of my being into nonexistence. I thought by choosing to remove God from reality I could choose to close down myself to the animal, lustful, destructive, indulgent, creative, artistic, driven, passionate part. I thought what I saw on Magic School Bus was enough to prove the Brain was running the whole show and that we understood everything completely and it was problem solved I can choose what I want in myself, control myself. I think somehow I felt like if I "understood" I could control everything.
That rejected memory and the feeling I remember in it... the erasing of that year, the way I know I went crazy in that school... I think I did a deal with the Devil to save my mom in some part of myself. Maybe that's where this all came from. That resonates with me... more deeply. I can't accept a picture of myself that looks like pure bad or actual destructive will... I remember the way I feel, I've wanted to love, I wrote poetry, I dreamed of writing children's books, I tried to help people, but I felt broken, I kept hurting, I couldn't trust myself. It was me trying to be a hero and turning myself into a villain. Even when I let the devil I was keeping chained and training in the darkness run the show, there was a part of me all along that knew I was good deep inside myself, that I wanted to be good, somehow I was essentially good. I wanted redemption. I thought I could find it in escapism. Then in work. Then martyrism. But what I needed to do was just look into myself and see myself as clearly as I can, and what I'd find was all that bad, that darkness, I built it. It was my choice. While that's a terrifying thing to admit to yourself, it carries weight and responsibility, it's necessary. For me, it's going to help that I'm publishing it. It's scary, but the thing is it lets it out of me. Everyone can read it, everyone can judge me, and no matter what they think I can find peace. I have come to terms with who I am, I take the responsibility, I learn from it, but I do not carry the weight. I can't go back and change those actions or interpretations. I can't redefine my past. What I can do is rebuild myself, reopen myself, and set a new future. Building the strength of the demon inside me, I think it helped train the other parts too. I believe now that I have looked that demon in the eyes and he looked down first. He has joined my pack. Tonight we howl.
A Reflection
An interesting thought while writing this is that almost certainly everything I'm saying, if it's right, someone else has already thought. It's just a matter of getting it out there right. I'm sure there are all kinds of things I've not worded perfectly so as to restrict their meaning to my intended interpretation. To try to use that kind of language to talk about it would be to specialize myself and separate myself from people and probably just feed into that same superiority complex/god syndrome/BPD/whatever that ridiculously complicated modernity complex I'm just climbing out of is/was/will be. That's the problem though, I'm pretty sure. Alot of people who strongly disagree actually just don't understand each other. If I seem wrong to you, I'd actually appreciate being called out on it. Even if it turns out you're wrong about me being wrong, I'd learn from your point. Or that's my goal anyway.
Another thought was reflecting on my drinking behavioural patterns. I really wonder who I turned into when I went blackout. It seems like I actually mostly made friends, rather than turning into some demonic figure I created in my imagination. I definitely also had some shitty inappropriate nights and stuff, but I have a feeling I may have been partly just trying to let out this big simple oaf a guy who just wanted to be what he thought he was: a man. Looking back it's pretty easy to remember my mental pattern of drinking. Drink hard, get fired up with the boys to start the night. Chug lots of beer or liquor, start the night at peak drunk, and then kind of taper. As soon as the alcohol would hit me I'd start to fill with lust. But I'd let it out really wrong usually. Only place I remember being good was at high school dances, and it was because I didn't even really have to talk there, just feel the music. But yeah. Usually what I'd do would be go into a mental state of chasing girls, but make no actual effort out of fear, not so much of rejection but I was scared of being accused of being too aggressive/scaring girls, I think with girls I saw myself as the demon I'd created inside me and had trouble trusting it, and always worried they'd see it and be scared off/not see who I really was. Sometimes I was actually up and on top of it, but it's easiest and most significant to look into the darkest nights. I'd go and tell myself I was trying with girls, but I'd look for the first thing I could call rejection, and then go into fight-wait mode. I'd hold to the rules I'd drawn for myself in the sand, but I'd be walking around, looking aggressive and grumpy, bumping shoulders and stuff, waiting for someone to cross that line I drew in the sand to get into it. That's me at my worst, but that's a little piece of the pattern that was in there all the time. There's another side too, a much happier nicer side, stories, hugs, friendship, and helping people, but this is the part I need to deal with. I can look at the happy part later. I know from memories and stories of me, when I'd get too drunk and my aggression would fire up, sometimes my friends would just find girls and get them to go be nice to me and nurture me to make me feel better. At some level I knew I wasn't just trying to get laid, I was looking for something girls have and I don't, trying to fill this hole. If I couldn't fill it, I'd want to let out the frustration with anger and violence, but honorable violence. I clung to that ideal. I think, looking deeper, it was just me finding a way to let out a part of myself I'm not completely in control of and don't understand all the way. It's like I just want to let myself out into the world, and I can do it through creation or destruction, sex or a fight were my most simple reductions of those much bigger concepts, and it was only when I turned off enough of my brain that the self constructed world I was living in fell apart and I reconnected to the reality around me that I was able to let them out, and I was doing so in a very poorly constructed fashion. From now on instead of fights and sex, work and making love, and not just the simple physical implications of those words, but the whole diaspora of being they can encompass with the openness to interpretation of the postmodern world.
Another thought was reflecting on my drinking behavioural patterns. I really wonder who I turned into when I went blackout. It seems like I actually mostly made friends, rather than turning into some demonic figure I created in my imagination. I definitely also had some shitty inappropriate nights and stuff, but I have a feeling I may have been partly just trying to let out this big simple oaf a guy who just wanted to be what he thought he was: a man. Looking back it's pretty easy to remember my mental pattern of drinking. Drink hard, get fired up with the boys to start the night. Chug lots of beer or liquor, start the night at peak drunk, and then kind of taper. As soon as the alcohol would hit me I'd start to fill with lust. But I'd let it out really wrong usually. Only place I remember being good was at high school dances, and it was because I didn't even really have to talk there, just feel the music. But yeah. Usually what I'd do would be go into a mental state of chasing girls, but make no actual effort out of fear, not so much of rejection but I was scared of being accused of being too aggressive/scaring girls, I think with girls I saw myself as the demon I'd created inside me and had trouble trusting it, and always worried they'd see it and be scared off/not see who I really was. Sometimes I was actually up and on top of it, but it's easiest and most significant to look into the darkest nights. I'd go and tell myself I was trying with girls, but I'd look for the first thing I could call rejection, and then go into fight-wait mode. I'd hold to the rules I'd drawn for myself in the sand, but I'd be walking around, looking aggressive and grumpy, bumping shoulders and stuff, waiting for someone to cross that line I drew in the sand to get into it. That's me at my worst, but that's a little piece of the pattern that was in there all the time. There's another side too, a much happier nicer side, stories, hugs, friendship, and helping people, but this is the part I need to deal with. I can look at the happy part later. I know from memories and stories of me, when I'd get too drunk and my aggression would fire up, sometimes my friends would just find girls and get them to go be nice to me and nurture me to make me feel better. At some level I knew I wasn't just trying to get laid, I was looking for something girls have and I don't, trying to fill this hole. If I couldn't fill it, I'd want to let out the frustration with anger and violence, but honorable violence. I clung to that ideal. I think, looking deeper, it was just me finding a way to let out a part of myself I'm not completely in control of and don't understand all the way. It's like I just want to let myself out into the world, and I can do it through creation or destruction, sex or a fight were my most simple reductions of those much bigger concepts, and it was only when I turned off enough of my brain that the self constructed world I was living in fell apart and I reconnected to the reality around me that I was able to let them out, and I was doing so in a very poorly constructed fashion. From now on instead of fights and sex, work and making love, and not just the simple physical implications of those words, but the whole diaspora of being they can encompass with the openness to interpretation of the postmodern world.
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