Instead, let’s chronicle our predicament, instead of uselessly experiencing it
I think it’s time to write another blog entry, instead of sitting, staring into space and obsessively ruminating, culminating in an overload of sensory stimulation and/or the interesting physical results of any number of the following: rapid eye movement akin to a seizure, movement of the eyes back and forth in a horizontal direction, movement of the head back and forth in a horizontal direction, head lolling back as far as it can go while staring at the ceiling with my mouth open, these usually accompanied by an altered state of consciousness, or role playing in my head a random scenario. This has happened to me consistently, contributed to being in a constant state of unease, the fiery pit of an existential-crisis-hell.
As so, I am right of now facing the truth of the situation that until I deal with this problem of mine, that there are no goals, there is no purpose. This evening I ran out of things to do, and my unease was making a prominent presence. I checked 3 times my two email accounts, and no new messages to drown out the time that awaiteth me. I had filled my stomach with 2 helpings of chile and was in such a state that I chose nay to fixing a cup of coffee to bring myself a false and shallow sense of forward-movement, of completion, of dopamine that’s responding less and less to my beck and call, and a certain acid reflux that would result from acidity upon acidity. I had watched one too many TV programs that were of no interest to me. I feel a revulsion to carry out an over-used and abused self-soothing, self-blinding technique of taking a bath because I am left with nothing providing the illusion that there is motion to my life and even that I have a will to continue trying. None of my regular go-to text buddies answered right away, and here I go, swooping steadily into this state of bleak, raw nothingness. Worse than nothingness; there’s a negative connotation. An agonizing unrest, the pressure of the reality that you should not be in this state; no one should; the push from all the cortisol, adrenaline and norepinephrine to bring the threat load down, which leads into that never-ending cycle of chemically-laden brain processing, trying to find a way out, only leading to the death of neurons. A very present awareness that I’m not who I used to be, I’m nowhere near the who that I would accept of myself, in fact I’ve backtracked a long way. I’m simply now a body filled with poison, occupying a small bedroom that I grew up in, which does not feel familiar to me. Life doesn’t feel real. People don’t feel real, everything seems like a big farce or act. I’m still stuck from that confusing heartbreak that happened over 2 years ago which slithers into my mind like a creeping plant with thorns that cut through the flesh of my brain tissue, tearing apart the fabric of my once-certain reality. I am confronted with all the fragments of my self; my Asperger’s self; my smooth- and efficiently- functioning self that I cultivated carefully over my lifetime which is now either out of reach or destroyed; my present self that loathfully cannot keep out other people’s thought patterns due to my own internal structure having crumbled and not being strong enough to cultivate a solid sense of reality, and even acts in accordance with those outside thought patterns simply to get along in the world (since relatively normal human interaction is required of me in order to not bring undo attention to myself through outer representations of my inner catatonic and chaotic states); my future vision of a healthy self that is confident, expressive, able to harness the potentials of my brain, and has social skills; my wasted self — nearly 26 and nothing to show; my schizophrenic self (a new addition); my severely depressed self; my physical self; my spirit self; the self I would have been had I heeded my inner wisdom more; the selves that are portrayed on the outside to others.
I sit on my floor or my bed and from this weight I start out still and staring into nothingness, which can quickly progress to what is aformentioned in the first paragraph. This is always done in solitude. Never has it been revealed to another human being because I take great care on how I present myself. In a sense I have control over it the whole time. I can lead myself to states where I have an urge or am compelled to rock back and forth or to shift my gaze across the walls and ceiling with open expressions akin to wonder and awe as if watching a fantastic light show. They are not things I determine; more like I’m letting myself be led into that. If someone knocks on my door I can instantly put on a face and revert more or less back to my accustomed self. But if someone doesn’t make an appearance in my reality while I’m amidst this it can get out of hand; mostly with ruminating/obsessive thinking and embodiment of negative and anxious states. Those I do not have much control over. The strength of the dysregulation of my consciousness overpowers to the 112th degree any promotion of a healthy state mentally and physically.
I had six vials of blood drawn this morning. I had drank no liquids, but it came gushing out like an overjoyed fountain. My entire life I’ve had quite low blood pressure and it would take forever for doctors to fill up a tube. Good for fucking up your fantastic genetics. Good for you. Well, where there’s room and means to be utilized…. And so in the mind as well