All I want for

Writing for ½ an hour. I can do that.

Who wants to read the ramblings of a stranger?

Ok, maybe I do. Depending on what they’re talking about.

Loneliness. Isolation. Individualism. Collectivism. Our current dystopian world. Hope?

The body.

Existentialism.

Entertainment Addiction.

Attention Disorder.

What am I?

What are we?

Codes of DNA encased in a flesh shell. All that DNA wants to do is survive and replicate.

Is that all we are?

I am a recovering theist atheist. So for those of you hoping to find solidarity in faith or the beyond will not find it here.

You will find someone who struggles with:

loneliness and isolation

being overwhelmed by politics, wanting to do something, thinking if we got together things would change, feeling like it’s all hopeless

trying to adapt with a mind brought up to think in black and white, positivity, afterlife, everything has a reason that clashes with how things really are

still thinks there’s hope and it’s worth fighting for

Existentialism feels more real to me every day.

But E is nothing more than socially programmed humans who have a surplus of time living isolated, individualistic lives:

What do I do with my free time?

The culture of individualism is a culture of isolation / living alone – which leads to stress – which leads to addictions of all kinds – which leads to more isolation and feelings of powerlessness – and this cycle is how we’re pushed more and more out of power / how more and more voting rights are demolished.

One merger after another. We’re definitely heading towards the BnL Wall-E future. Maybe we’re in it already.

How do we escape?

Is it through intentional communities and cohousing? Is that the crux of all this? Shifting the culture of individualism aka isolationism to ‘cohousing-ism’?

The very thought of sharing my personal space with others makes me want to crawl into a hole.

“I’d go crazy” I think.

But I’m going crazy now.

That’s why I’m sitting on the floor of a darkened room with the glow of a computer screen as the only form of illumination. This urge to EXPRESS…this urge to express ME… to cry out…. am I… REALLY alone as I feel?

Seeing words materialize on a blank white canvass feels…comforting. So the very act of typing feels nice. I’m able to shape and create SOMETHING.

So why publish it then?

I am lonely and so are you.

I…. want it to stop and so do you.

I think.

The world as it could be. The world as it could be.

I was born into an environment that shaped me into an idealist.

Phenomenon after phenomenon.

Is there ‘a god’. Are we here for a conscious purpose?

While I ask these questions, I could be helping someone fleeing a country or someone who is starving. But I have the privilege of existentiality. The horror of the mind and the modern age of surplus time and isolation.

Existentiality is beautiful, but not at the price of inaction.

I know I am grossly misusing the term in a strict, academic philosophical sense.

“Existence precedes essence”

But as I lay on my death bed in 5, 10, 20, 50 years from now – at least I did SOMETHING.

I felt lonely. I moved my fingers. I pushed a button. And other people can see it. Hey, I feel that way, too.

Pointless. Hopeful. Maybe it’s a way out of my crippling escapist behaviors. It’s definitely an EB in itself. But at least it’s better time spent then watching another half hour of pornography or the next show on Netflix. It’s better than just being in a reverie of thought-mulling, a trance of rumination, where thirty minutes has passed and I’ve just been sitting on my bed, half aware of what I’m thinking and half not.

I struggle with this process of sticking my neck out. Of now being open to criticism.

You’re a fucking dumbass.

You’re a shitty writer.

Go kill yourself.

How EMBARRASSING. I feel so goddamn embarrassed for you, you fucking loser. You fucking piece of shit loser. Jesus fucking Christ you are a lost cause. You’ve wasted your life and now this? And now this?

Why in the absolute fuck are you putting yourself through more pain?

The pain of exposure.

The shifting judging eyes.

The flying thoughts of judgment like thousands of tiny daggers. The frown. The squint. The click. The turn. The forgetting.

Am I just attention crazed?

Yes. Yes I am. I am in desperate need of attention and that’s why I’m writing and posting on the internet because I have no friends.

(Well, I do have friends, but… I crave community. I crave community. And I crave a life worth living. I crave meaningful work. I crave doing something instead of caving into paralysis in the face of a dystopian society.) Boy, we’ve been fucking dystopian for a LONG ass time. Where the fuck have you been?

Grandpa, what did you do with your life?

Well imaginary grandchild, not fucking much. I did however, once or twice, be in just the right mood to right an existential, rambling blog post.

What I want: a variety of intentional communities (rural to urban) that shifts culture from individualism and isolation and addiction to healthy minded, diverse, and connected individuals who are aware of and participate in the political process, decentralizing power and resources, to create a stable, sustainable union with the planet and each other.

I want to love myself and have the courage to say what I want in front of others, and face the fear of criticism and backlash. I want to believe in myself. I want to believe in the goodness of humanity. I want to believe in hope and give hope a try.

That’s all I want.

170714 Friday – Day 4

Even with small success, I remind myself I have a problem, and explore what this blog is about. A stream-of-conscious prompt at the end.

Sleep: <7 hours

I am feeling a classic pattern of:

“Whoa! I’m free! Psh, I’m not an addict, I’m fine! This is easy. Wow, I wonder what it must be like to not have control.”

When can I say, “I’m no longer an addict”? Definitely not after 3 days.

And is a ‘true addict’ only someone who cannot recover unless they move / are moved into some kind of controlled living environment where they are monitored constantly?

Regardless, I have a problem. A problem that, while I hasn’t wrecked total havoc on my life, it has ‘delayed’ it (at least I feel like my life’s been delayed), and has made day-to-day living a roller coaster of emotions. I don’t like thinking ‘I have a problem’. I don’t want to think there’s nothing wrong with me.

But I’m three years behind in taxes. I don’t have healthcare. I’ve deeply struggled with relationships. Having crippling anxiety. Etc, etc. Sure, some of that is structural issues with society itself (isn’t everything?), but I have to believe I’d be a little farther along if I hadn’t chosen to play at least 8-15 hours of video games every weekend or losing 1-2 hours of sleep to watch pornography almost every night for years and years. Sure, there were periods when I didn’t touch video games. There were times – not usually more than a week – where I was responsible. But these have been far and few between.

The two edge sword of this blog process for me is that, while I am processing my feelings, and while I feeling a greater sense of feeling accountable to myself, and to the people who read this, I am feeling the nagging feeling that I may begin to use writing as a way to escape my daily responsibilities. And I suddenly just realized that I am on unstructured time right now.

Ok, just created a small schedule.

As I was saying, that this process can do the opposite effect of being present with myself and with my surroundings, and instead, delve into what ifs and stir up latent anxiety.

I pause.

And hear

the silence

of where I am.

I play ‘Dark Beyond the Blue’ by Hammock on repeat.

Silence is fresh. Silence is sharp.

And it’s not that there is no sound. I hear cars. I hear others talking. I see movement. But it is all movement that is happening now. Not the rushed cavorting about that happens with avatars and distorted time frames of movies and shows.

An unbroken stream of time, real-time.

I notice I am breathing.

This person comes. That person leaves.

The clouds are moving. Can I see them move?

 

What is the end goal of all of this?

This is a blog not just about reporting back on withdrawal symptoms and how bad pornography and entertainment addiction is.

This must include the journey of facing all the feelings I am trying to get away from. Of letting Shame and Self-Hate speak, and then reminding it of my other parts. Of seeing how anxiety makes my skin crawl as though I’m covered by thousands of ants.

And it must include the journey of fostering the inner parent, which, I believe is the most important part of all.

Does all life derive from some kind of deep sense or hope of importance, attention, and love?

My inner parent doesn’t know all. But they are calm.

S(HE feels some fear and confusion too. But she is confident in my being. That, she does not second guess.

I…but…here. ah, shh, it’s ok. just take a breath, in, in, and hold, and let out. relax the shoulders. I mess up so much. I mess up so much. I mess up so much. why… why am i….looks down, ashamed. hey, hey, look at me. what do you think I think. tears. a small smile. but… so troubled. yes…but not just troubled, right? no, true. and breathe…feel it in your belly…push it out if you need to….feel it in your chest…relax that jaw, and those cheeks. and now the water works. I am an infant crying. I want to be held. but no one is there. it’s dark? I curl my fists. it’s hard to breathe. I writhe. all muscles contract. am I on a table? want to scream.

It’s about living well in the time that we have. And I have some time today. Small steps. Small moves. I bring the inner wounded along.

We are all walking wounded, as my therapist used to say. Does knowing that it make me feel better? Is it actually true?

How do we all become unwounded?

170713 Thursday – Day 3

Partner is moving (will break up). I calm myself down after having racing thoughts.

5.5-6 hours of sleep.

Am I writing for people? Am I writing for myself?

What is happening?

(I am in one of my spiraling inner panic / anxiety / self-doubt episodes right now).

My partner is moving several states away soon, and at first I thought maybe I’d move out there with them, but there’s a new opportunity for me here, and as a result, we will probably break up.

Feeling a whole mix of emotions.

Calm.

Deep breath.

Calm.

7:41 AM – There’s this kind fascinated horror that happens – there’s the ‘panicker’:

“But what about this?! And what about that?! And this?!” They’re running around, flopping down in despair. Just kind of crazy, and all the while, there’s this other part, the observer, that can only watch:

“Uhhhhhh” And the observer is kind of panicking, too: “Dunno what to do! Dunno what to do! D…”

But deep breaths.

One thing at a time. One

thing

at

a

time.

 

Calm. Deep breaths.

 

I feel the chaos.

 

And I can also feel the calming effect of deep breaths.

Both can be true.

 

This blog keeps me accountable.

This blog helps keep me accountable.

(See how I like to externalize responsibility?)

 

Now I feel like crying.

 

Relax the shoulders.

 

So…

so much tension…carried in there.

Relax the back the arms.

Hard to open the chest while typing.

But I want to relax that too.

Always crying.

Always in pain.

But always in breath, too.

Gah that was melodramatic.

Roll credits. (Self-hate)

So…

Breaths.

Breaths.

I don’t feel…Ok, a part of me doesn’t feel like this breakup will be good for me. It’s established so much stability in my life. It’s brought me a lot of joy. Have learned tons about myself and how to navigate awkward, difficult parts with someone very close to you.

“They fill me with so much joy” (i.e. I won’t have that joy when they’re gone).

“When I see them, when I am with them, I feel joy.” (This takes more agency).

What is the self? (Rising panic, and beginning philosophical ramble: where is the human race headed? does my life mean anything? what would it take to get to a society living in harmony with itself and the rest of the biosphere? nothing I do matters. it’s all hopeless. Is there an afterlife? What difference would it make?)

All of this is a way to keep myself stimulated. It’s distracting. It causes more anxiety.

What’s helpful right now?

Making a schedule for the day:

Just made my list. It’s just one thing at a time.

Embodying the parent.

Fostering the parent self.

The parent self is calm. It doesn’t necessarily know what to do, but it knows that being confidently, gently calm with deep breaths, and thinking about basic next steps just for today, are important.

Foster the parent self.

So, a lot of this is very stream-of-conscious, if you couldn’t tell already. 8:08am Lolz