A Shitstorm of Words Part 3: Cerebral Maelstrom.

N.B- This post will flit from one thing to the next. I couldn’t be fucked to keep it properly flowing and do some kind of post plan. I can’t be arsed to make any corrections for spelling/grammatical mistakes either. I would love to lie and say that the lack of structural organisation is an art form to compliment the title, but it was purely by chance. And because I can’t be fucked. I might have mentioned that already. There’s a lot to read by the way, so you might need to have a cup of tea handy. I’ll take mine with two sugars, but if you’re not a spoon heaper then I’d like three sugars, thanks.

How does someone help someone in emotional need when they are the go-to person for emotional fixing? Because it genuinely sounds impossible to do. Subjectively I don’t feel like crap. You know, the kind of stuff where you wake up, but stay in bed all day hating yourself and all that. But objectively looking from the outside at myself, I’m pretty sure I’m in deep shit.

I haven’t asked anyone  who I’m close with for help. That stopped purely because, well, people got shit to do with their lives as well as tending to either further education, or getting laid, or getting all lovey with their partners and all that stuff. Which is fine, I never had any issues with that. But I think it’s better to keep my mouth shut to avoid getting too deep into something before it’s met with a “I gotta go, I gotta do *insert important thing* here. But I hope I helped, take care of yourself and I love you etc.” Bear in mind that this may be a 20 minute talk and I’ve literally scratched the surface. That being said, I have no idea what my problem is (more on that later). I tried online venting recently, you know the anonymous kind. So I went on a specific site dealing with people who have issues that need sorting out, kinda like a temporary agony aunt thing. Pretty much all of the people I vented to, were pretty much stumped. They did the whole “I can help you. I’m mature.” or “I can help you, I’ve been there too”, which I entirely believe what they’re saying. But I know they can’t help the moment a few sentences are shared between us. Attempt after attempt was met with a counter-statement which eventually whittles them down into submission and effectively give up. Of course, I leave the conversation to do them a favour, wouldn’t want them feeling like shit because they couldn’t get through to me. Examples of what they said include:

“Yeah, you’re fucking amazing man. You’ll be fine.”

“Things will get better.”

“I can’t really help, but I’m here for you.”

“You’re stronger than this, you can figure something out.”

No. No. No. I’d rather y’all topic changed onto something else if you really wanted to help me.

I may come across as a tad narcissistic or arrogant at believing in my ability to help, but it’s true. Maybe  because of the crappy view I have of most things is the reason I’m particularly able to empathise so well. But on the other hand, if I am able to motivate others out of sadness effectively, then surely somewhere deep down I must hold an optimistic view of the world somehow to see the good in others? I dunno.

There have been weird things happening lately too. People are consistently asking me if I’m ok. Funnily enough it’s not my friends asking me this, but strangers. In fact I haven’t seen or spoken to many of my friends and they’re supposed to know me, yet the people I’ve met for the first time or briefly are asking me if I’m alright. The most recent example being my employer whom I’m in work experience with. In terms of describing her, she’s a super mom. Super mom being, she has kids, and treats everyone like her kids like they’re some Momma Hen and shit. But in an endearing way. She’s dope as fuck. I don’t know if it’s her mother’s intuition or something but she pulls me over and asks why I’m so depressed which surprised me because I wasn’t aware of any indication that I was giving out that vibe. She said that it was in my language when I spoke about “not being good enough” or dismissing any chance I had of landing £25k+ jobs with my current experience. Shit like that. This actually raised my hopes quite a bit that I got figured out so quick seeing as I pride on being Mr “You have no idea what I’m like right now” and I was hoping that she could spark some kind of epiphany which would finally make me be all “Ohhhhhhhhhhh I seeeeee!” But that unfortunately was dashed because she gave the mom version of the above quotes with the addition of, “see life as glass half full instead of empty”. She tried. I guess my dismissal and generic pride is too much to be broken down which all falls on me.

I recently had a dream too which was kinda worrying. Long story short (but still a lot  to type out), I was in this room where it started to cave in on itself. Walls, ceilings, everything. I see an exit materialise out of nowhere and start running towards it, but within the first few steps I feel incredibly drained. I begin to get shit scared because I can’t do the usual lucid powers shit so I’m effectively this dream’s bitch. Suddenly this other me appears and the falling rubble stops in mid-air, like time was frozen or something. This other me is more visibly worn out, unnecessary stress wrinkles everywhere for someone who wasn’t much older than me. He speaks:

“Don’t fail. You were always hard to persuade but listen to what everyone has said. It might be recycled but you need to let those walls down and make a go of it. Find your worth. Otherwise…”

He spreads his arms out and takes a bow to let it be known I’ll end up like him. He promptly vanishes. I’m even more freaked out. I’m used to dreaming of “evil” me’s running after me threatening to destroy me, but having a warning of some kind of future me was pretty… scary. Not that I believe it was a future me, of course, rationality could state that I care about myself enough to project this image in my dream bla bla bla yawn. But I was made aware. I run towards the exit and the mid-air rubble slowly starts to speed up again. With every step I take closer to the exit the pain in my legs get worse. And then I stop. And look up. The rubble is almost on top of me, I could make the exit if I use all my willpower and just burst through. But I think about the pain and think about the instantaneous ending it would have if I didn’t move. The rubble would fall and that’s it. No more struggle. No issues. Just my face caved in by rock, but I wouldn’t feel anything. I stop and look up. The last thing I see is a huge chunk of rock heading straight for my forehead. After that, I had the rare situation of waking up pretty much panting. It’s a relatively simple dream by my standards than what I’m normally used to. But incredibly profound. It made for a strange link with my past conversations with certain friends. I’ve talked about my death a lot. Mainly for humorous purposes… my humorous purposes. Which is pretty much making things awkward. A few examples include: saying to an old friend whether I’d strike lucky asking all my female friends for sex at my deathbed, or guilt-tripping my Canadian friend for not keeping in touch and telling her that if I died that she’d probably never know until it shown up on Facebook and she’d feel terrible for the rest of her life. Even though I knew very well that she was busy which I was completely ok with. But I don’t think she understood that I was kidding, or maybe I didn’t understand that what constitutes to me as funny isn’t instantly utilitarian and worries people.

Just to clarify, suicide and all that shit is not on the cards. However I am distinctly aware that suicidal thoughts stem from crap like that so maybe I should start toning down on that.

So. How do I solve this? I can’t bring myself to listen to other people mainly because I suppose I’m up myself at the whole “I know how to make people feel better than you do” in addition to the fact that people love using the cliches. Confiding in my friends is pretty much impossible because all of my closest friends are in different parts of the UK doing stuff with their lives. Relationships, Masters degrees, weddings, all that jazz. I refuse to heap my crap on them, even though they were pretty much asking me to over all these years to confide in them which I never properly did. I’d think they wish they never said that especially with the aforementioned stuff they’re doing. So, I’ll save the hassle and just not say anything. Family? No chance, my mom would do the mom thing which will most likely piss me off and give unwarranted dickish behaviour towards her which she doesn’t deserve. Shagging anything? Nah. I’d only wanna fuck a girl I have some kind of rapport with. Relationships? Er… Probably not. I thought something was on the cards, seeing as there was noticeable improvement in myself, you know, the whole, “Holy shit, if she likes me then maybe I AM awesome” thing, but it seems she’s found someone else within two times of meeting him. I thought I was closer with her due to the time we’ve known each other and it’s very slightly annoying that when we hung out she’s super shy and nervous (which added to the appeal) and I respected her decision not to make a move, but she’ll fuck a guy who she just met and on the second meeting she pretty much sprung. Cool. Makes sense. So I pretty much just wasted a hell of a lot of money on train fare to stay over as well as a birthday gift  which was bought a month ago to celebrate us being around each other.

….Woah. Woah. Rewind. That was unnecessarily bitter. That was uncalled for. Feelings/Love are subjective to everyone so if she’s totally sold on him and she’s happy, then I shouldn’t be sour about it. Regardless of the time they’ve known each other she’s happy. I just gotta deal with. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve been in this situation. And frankly, I probably subliminally do this to myself.

Like you always say to everyone else, “That failed relationship /potential relationship only brings you closer to the one you will eventually end up with.”

Don’t use my fucking quotes against me. Fuck this, lemme continue.

Therapy? That’s probably my best bet. Incredibly apprehensive for different reasons compared to the first time though. Mainly because it took them long enough for me to actually confide in them. What tactics could they possibly use on me now? The first time obviously worked because I didn’t know what to expect, but now I do and I’d imagine the second time to be more difficult because I’ll spout everything expecting a quick fix which we both know wouldn’t come.

Which only leaves the final option of…

Me.

Not because of lack of trying from other people, but I can’t rely on anyone. They can’t give me what I need. What do I need? It’s kinda like, you know that feeling when you watch a video of some person who got stabbed 90 times and lost a leg or two and ends up being a motivational speaker for world peace or some shit like that? And you see people that are very, “Thank you for opening my eyes, I’m totally gonna be confident with myself now”. I wanted that. But from a face to face perspective. I can’t feel that kinda stuff from those videos. I think the chances of meeting the muse to change my pessimism is less likely than actively changing myself  for the better FOR myself.

And that is the multi-million dollar question. How do I do that? I’ve exhausted most suggestions given by others, but I’m gonna have to sit under a waterfall or some shit because I’m most definitely a shadow of myself and whenever I interact with people they seem to see it straightaway. That’s my main worry. Being read easily. I loved being hard to figure out and got more enjoyment out of it when people and friends realised that I actually gave more of a shit about them than I let on. What I don’t like is when people figure out that I have more baggage than usual when I haven’t said a word to them about it which seems to be slowly increasing in frequency. I guess this is the part where I can’t let future me deal with this anymore. Mainly because future me in the dream has pretty much said “I ain’t doing shit. S’on you mate.”

Fuck you and your procrastination, past me’s.

Grit your teeth and drag yourself over the exit, or let the rubble crush you?

That is the question.

 

Headline Act.

It’s nice to know that, regardless of my internal battle with deciding whether I loathe or just about tolerate myself, that I give a shit about myself enough to click on my past posts out of curiosity. Someone had apparently read a post of mine titled “Medical Slut” and I had no recollection of that post, never mind the title. One casual click later and it turns out that it was a reference to deepthroating not being so dissimilar to the medication I have to swallow and unfortunately not a recollection of me scoring with a really filthy nurse. Still, at least I’m peaking interest with myself somehow. Only way is up from there I suppose.

A Shitstorm Of Words Part 2: An Orgasmic Rainbow.

I think that’s the only way to describe the acid trip I had with what seems like an eternity ago now.

Yet I still remember it vividly. This was my second time having it and I took it with 2 rather good mates who I rarely get to see, but is always good to catch up with.  You know the videos you see with the bright ass colours based on acid trips, whether they’re music or movie related? It is literally the same thing. I was well aware I was seeing things that wasn’t there at all. I tried to focus my eyes and bring some sense of reality back, but I couldn’t. It was weird, I felt perfectly normal in mindset, maybe a little more giggly, but that’s as far as it went. Yet everything I saw was the stuff I see and think about in my head all the goddamn time. ‘Cept it wasn’t negative and morose… just wonderfully beautiful.

There was this bit where I sat out in the garden and everything was pretty much in HD visuals to me. I could see and appreciate every single blade of grass, Each leaf, no matter how close or far away had this wonderful red tinge at the end of it. I suppose it felt like planet Pandora in Avatar. Everything just overwhelmed me and for the first time in a long time, I was in love with the Earth. I loved it, it was a rare and frankly neglected feeling. But it was there and I couldn’t have felt more grateful. I remember the moment I felt like that too. I was looking in the sky, and it was this really nice shade of turquoise and the sun and clouds were out. I was well aware what happened next wasn’t actually happening, but I was on another level, another wavelength at the time. The clouds… I dunno, kinda danced for me. They were originally thick and puffy, but thinned out almost to cigarette smoke level and swirled around each other. And the surrounding clouds joined in with this dance, morphing the same way until there was nothing but that wonderfully crystalline sky… with a big fucking ass tornado just swirling in the centre with various colours. I’m telling you man, it was an orgasmic rainbow.

This kind of love for the world was different though, like I said earlier, I felt perfectly normal. This kind of unconditional love was way different than ecstasy. On ecstasy I fucking knew I was not sober, I didn’t care that I was not sober, I just cared about making friends and telling them they were the best friends I ever had within ten minutes of meeting them, as well as telling my current ones that I loved them of course. This kind of love… This kind was more, sitting back and appreciating what was in front of me. Like how an artist feels when they finished their masterpiece after laborious hours, or a parent seeing their child graduate from university or something. Of course, I’ve experienced neither of those things and they may realistically be a terrible comparison, but I dunno, it’s just seeing something and feeling a sense of pride that you were part of it. Something like that.

Other shit included seeing moving images on pictures, one funny moment was when me and the two mates I did it with simultaneously saw a a flock of penguins looking up at the sky. After being sober we realised it was actually a patch of grass near the beach. The previous image was better.

Ah. Almost forgot. The background of my phone consists of this, which was shown to me by my best friend as she knew I’m pretty hung up on wolves. Turns out that image is an internet meme for Acid Wolf. Man it just gets better and better. This is what Acid Wolf looks like.

Is this not the most majestic fucker you’ve ever seen?

Bear in mind that it looks trippy now. Imagine what it looked on acid. The colours meshed into each other to the point it was glowing and consistently changing colours. It was wonderful. I was transfixed at my phone screen for ages. I’m not usually phone dependent, but I could’ve looked into that phone screen for the whole time I was tripping. My friends who were trippin’ balls too had to drag me out of that realm because I was way too connected with Acid Wolf. It got too deep for them where they refused to look at him when I wanted to for fear that they’d be sucked in like that too. Acid Wolf is too beautiful, I swear.

And that is exactly why acid is dangerous as fuck. I’m serious. You’ll get hooked. Not because it’s harmful and you need the fix, but because the gateway opened is so majestically fantastic that when you return to the cold harshness of reality you’ll get bored, and take more acid, just so you can see the dancing fairies and all that shit.  I guess a better way is like, I dunno, putting a coin in a vending machine and your own *insert favourite actor/actress here* pops out. And they spend time with you for 12 hours. And then they disappear. But you had a fucking awesome time with that person. So you’ll put another coin in. Because all your other friends aren’t as cool as your celebrity friend. Living in that dreamland, all the while forgetting that while you’re avoiding reality, it’s still there and getting progressively worse as you avoid it. It’s something I’d do not even monthly, most likely bimonthly, purely out of fear of finding reality so depressing. Well… to be honest, I already do, but to the worrying levels where even I would be affected.

I do love acid though.. I prefer shrooms but that experience definitely would have to be in my top 3 experiences of trippin’ cannonballs. No comedown. No bad trip. Nothing. Just pure vibes.

It was the perfect trip and a wonderful experience. Shame there was no acid sex to make it the perfect experience. Eh. It still rocked.

The Sting.

I’ve never been stung by anything before. I mean, I’ve been bitten by insects. But never stung. That changed this morning in frankly, the most un-fucking-necessary of circumstances. I was gearing up for another driving lesson. I can drive. Pretty well actually. No seriously, I’m super safe and traffic friendly, but I seem to have stupid bad luck at driving tests. Shit always goes down somehow. The lesson was my first in a few weeks and it was purely for recapping and making sure I hadn’t forgotten how to drive or anything weird like that.

Anyway, I’m getting in the zone, wearing snug clothes, getting out my favourite socks to wear for that extra feeling of relaxation and confidence behind the wheel. I put those socks on… and next thing you know there’s this fucking dull ass pain on my foot. I man groaned/semi-my orgasm noise during sex as I initially thought that my foot was caught on a thorn or something prickly. I’m scrunching my sock to pull it out and there’s this loud squelch. Confused, I take off my sock  and dig out what seems to be the cause.

...Well, it’s only a fucking wasp that decided to live in my sock.

I didn’t freak out as much as I thought I would. I was more pissed off than anything. Living in my favourite pair of socks? Really? Stinging me minutes before my driving lesson? REALLY? It boiled over. It was still alive. Just. The annoyance took over and I kinda crushed it with my hands, not caring if I got stung again. (I didn’t). I then gave it the ultimate slap in the face by discarding it in the bin and not letting it become part of the Earth like nature intended.

Not only was I annoyed about the not-being-stung streak coming to an abrupt and unexpected end, but the way it came about. I mean, I wouldn’t have minded if I had to save a hot lady from a killer swarm or some shit like that, but no. It was via a sock. On the plus side at least I don’t have a wank sock. Then that’d be REALLY awkward.

But.

Upon the horrific murder of the wasp, I was actually… in a pretty good mood after that. Sure, the irritation was a bitch during the driving lesson, but I was actually a lot more upbeat. All that stress and inability to deal the hand I had with real life was… gone. Hell, even my infamous libido has returned after ages. I guess it’s a rather strange take on venting, at the cost of the wasp’s life.

So, to the hobo wasp that lived in my sock, I thank you for giving me your take on fucked up tough love. I understand that even with my subjectively crappy life, it was nothing compared to yours. I’m not getting you out of the bin though, I hope you’ll understand.