JULY

On the topic of mental illness, I was thinking of physical portrayals. You may be familiar — the cliche shadow monster representing depression, or the "alien" thing that seems to be popular in the ADHD community, and so on. I myself, as seen here, see it as myself contorting into some sort of creature for a short while. Pictures meant to be a representation of me "in the pit" have myself physically distorted into something not quite human, or represented by two people, me and myself, having a conversation in my head.

Even through the use of language, to refer to it as being "in the pit" conjures up an image of me suddenly falling through the floor, deep down below, trying to climb back up to normalcy. But nearly all of these represent the nondescript malaise I am plagued by. Or some anxiety-fueled idea, such as March 30 2019, which represents my fear of being recognized by onlookers as having a sick mind, even subconsciously just from seeing me and my behaviors or speech patterns.

My initial motivation for writing this entry was the quite obvious representation of intrusive thoughts as little imps whispering evil ideas into my head. As amusing as the idea is, I don't see it in relation to myself, as evident by the fact that I have never made such a representation in drawing or writing. August 10 2019 might seem so but that little creature on the typewriter is more representative of the thoughts themselves, or my brain's thought process. All those words on all those papers are words I have written in a pit-induced turmoil. From here on out, I think I will continue to refer to it as the pit, because I otherwise lack the language to explain it without resorting to self diagnosis. But back to the idea of representations.

I can't use the imps because I don't believe in my heart that is what the intrusive thoughts 'are.' Take my Muse for example, which appeared naturally to me. I did not come up with the idea and choose to believe it. I, one day, knew it to be true and did not forget it ever since. Likewise, the imagery of falling into a pit is what I know to be my representation. But the funny little imps do not exist in my world. So, I wonder, what are the intrusive thoughts, and how do they present themselves? In due time, I might find out, or they are nothing more than ideas in my own head, because the real representation is my brain itself, which I referred to as "poisoned." There might be my answer. They are not sick thoughts coming out of a mind; it is a sick mind that produced these thoughts originally. That is the representation of the illness plaguing my head.

This discussion I am having with myself about representations reminds me of a conversation I had with a chum of mine, though it was still mostly talking to myself. The discussion was about thought. That is, people and their one-sided discussion of philosophy. A manifesto is an example. It is someone who has many ideas writing down what they think about things. I've made the distinction between internal and external conflict before, and I think it applies to philosophy as well. There are two discussions, internal and external conflict. Discussion of external conflict might also be known as a political ideology. It deals with how the world is and how the world ought to be. I don't believe I can change the world in any meaningful way, and I hardly give a damn about it, so I'm much more interested in the internal philosophies. That is, how people are, and how they ought to govern themselves. The beautiful thing about it is how different experiences might shape different people's philosophies on their own internal conflicts. Two different people might have completely opposites needs or ideas. There just might be the person believing there are imps whispering ideas in their head, because that is how they visualized the problem when it presented itself. And there might be the one who thinks everyone should care for themselves above all else, a sharp contrast from the one who values all others above them self.

What have I been doing recently? Good grief.

This has not been a good time to be me. From July 3 to July 15, I was not right in the head. It would seem I even captured this nuttiness in writing already, yet I don't remember it. My July 3 entry, which I don't remember writing, is especially embarrassing. The obsession I mentioned in it has now passed, thankfully. I will talk about that first. It was definitely not "stalker-y" to be clear. I will leave the entry as is for the sake of whatever purpose this blog serves, but now that my mind is clear, I think my description of it was warped by my perception. Another section, though, I was going to mention here anyway.

My two fears. Death and succumbing to mental illness. Then, during that period, the latter felt more probable than ever before. The obsession thing was only one symptom of the overall... maybe I'd call it a short mental breakdown... I really have not been feeling myself. I said on July 3 that at least I am able to compose myself, but that quickly become untrue as the days went on.

I really don't want to hurt anyone. And I'm starting to cry right now writing that out. I'm terrified. Okay. I am going to wait a few minutes and then resume writing.

Okay. Maybe it didn't end July 15. Maybe it's still going on. I didn't expect to write out those words. Let me finish what I was saying. So mainly besides the usual depression and whatnot accompanying a very negative couple days, I was quicker to anger whereas usually I'm very much in control of my emotions. Other such things. Badness all around. Not getting good sleep. But I've made it clear now that things were, or are, bad. Enough negativity for now. I've done more than suffer.

A few days ago, I sat motionless in the dark listening to hypno audios, both recreational and erotic, for about six hours. Quite a ride. But in doing so, I realized I really like lying motionless in the dark for extended periods of time. Yesterday, I listened to the entirety of Tiny Tim's album "God Bless Tiny Tim" doing that and it was beautiful. I plan on listening to other Tiny Tim albums the same way, as well as Steve Roach's "Structured From Silence" and a few Ephemeral Rift videos. It is a good way to unwind and relax. Also I thought of joining some online forums, but didn't end up doing so. I can't think of anything else interesting I have done, so back to the suffering.

Firstly: "I really don't want to hurt anyone"

That was just a random thought that popped into my head while I was writing. Not related to what I was saying. Intrusive thoughts. Stuff of nightmares. My brain is poisoned.

I don't think it's ever been so bad for so long. Thirteen or so days now? Every time I've said it fluctuates, and after every bad time I go back to a good time where I don't think about it, but I'm still waiting for that good time. What if it never happens. What if I'm finally hitting a permanent all-time low. I've seen videos - people suffering from whatever mental illness they have, talking about how they've been suffering for years. Full years. And I think to myself well at least it's not that bad. It comes and goes. And as long as it goes, I can manage before it comes again. But I don't know anymore. I'm writing this all out for the world to see, but I don't want to be an example of a downward spiral in real time. Fuck. When I started writing this entry, this is not at all where I expected to be taking it. I wanted to talk about how bad I'd been doing — past tense — and this is just... actually... let me clarify. So from July 3 to whenever, I'd not been myself, blah blah blah, and the important thing is I did a lot of things I feel I wouldn't really do normally. That's the "slipping further into madness" and "losing touch with reality" that I was scared of. I wasn't suffering, except a twinge of despair coming from my self awareness at the time, where I knew things were off but let them happen anyway. Now, right now, is only suffering. So that's that. I have nothing else to say right now.

Update: Okay, I am terrified. It has been a while since I have had such a worrying intrusive thought but it really irks me right now. The only thing to do now is cry and hope it passes.

I measure humanity by external conflict, and because I only have internal conflict, I do not see myself as quite human. Someone who only feels internal conflict is not with the world. They are with themselves and themselves alone. I am cut off from the world, and I am cut off from humanity, because humans are dealt suffering from outside forces and I have no outside force with which to suffer. So I am not human. What might it say about me, though, that I believe humanity is synonymous with suffering. Perhaps that is why I repressed all my natural human desires (to be happy, sad, angry, scared, aroused, depressed, yearning) for so long. Because I did not want to suffer like others do. And now here I am, having dodged the externalaties, and substituting instead the crushing internalities so that I may suffer just the same.

I might also add two other thoughts now, first the one I just had, which prompted another addition, and then an earlier one I wasn't going to add but might as well. First, there is something (might be other things as well but this one specific thing is on my mind now) that is on my mind but I can not say, not here, not anywhere, and I can't say the reason I can't say it because it itself is related to the thing I can't say, so I can't say anything at all. It's all very stupid. It is an interpersonal problem to do with how I must micromanage relationships to be as I see fit. Not to say I am manipulative with those around me (not to say I've never been manipulative before, which I absolutely without a doubt have been, just not, yknow, to an especially malicious degree that one might think of when someone is called manipulative) but that I try to have things in my life a certain way to the best of my ability, and I overthink these things while actually being quite lazy about it. Does this make sense? I mean to say there is a sort of relation I would want to have with someone but can't, so instead I opt for an equally useful (here I use the term useful in a utilitarian way) relationship. And the reason I couldn't say something before is that it would surely make the initial relation impossible, but that is not an issue now. However, it would be troublesome to keep the second sort of relation having said that thing, which might place me in entirely different awkward position, such as where before it would have been an equal alliance sort of thing, it puts us on unequal footing because of the onesidedness of the entire thing. I do not expect this to make much sense but writing this out is more for my own benefit than anyone else's.

Now for the second thought: I have a special way of using language, and before I've even finished this sentence I realize it doesn't matter at all and I don't want to write out my whole explanation for that initial sentiment at the start of this statement. The end.

This is a neat little thing I've set up, this blog. But there is another need I have that it does not quite fill. This is good for big thoughts, but what about little thoughts? It's not worth writing about here if it's only a few sentences. Twitter is good for small thoughts but my feelings for most aspects of social media might be accurately summed up in a hyperbolic sentiment in the form of an "AM's hate rant from I Have No Mouth And My Must Scream" -esque hate rant. And I do not care much for tumblr. This is the only space that is mine, and mine alone. Where might I put such small thoughts as "Brought me to tears with these words" and "various idiosyncracies." I might be better off keeping them to myself with how recurring they are.

Update: I tried to relay a thought to tumblr but it did not feel right, so i will put it here instead:

how can i expect to be honest with others when i continue to lie to myself.

the inverse might also be true, if i lie so much to others, how would i be true to myself at all

But this makes me realize just why I don't like Twitter or Tumblr or any other site. Because it is not my space. Nothing would make my heart and stomach churn like seeing a notification in relation to baring my soul. Dread seeps in every time. Every time. So to be honest, this space I have built is swell for opening up and showing my whole self off. However, I have been opening up for years, and I have next to no intention of putting it all up here. It has been a long journey, but you, the reader, will likely never get the whole thing. You will not get every piece of the puzzle. I have more to say but don't quite know how to express it, so I will depart from this train of thought now.

Now this really peeves me off. In the time I took to write that last sentence, I forgot the next thought I wanted to put out. If I think of it again, I will put it here.

What have I done this past week? I've been brainstorming. I have one medium-sized upcoming thing I'm excited about. I just hope it'll turn out as well as I hope. I have a few other ideas written out that I didn't think would be used, but yesterday I realized I could make them in comic form rather than video form. Since I focus mainly on my YouTube channel, I don't have much of an incentive to make non-video content, but it would fit better with the ideas. On a saucier note, I recently discovered how fun self bondage can be. Some of it is a bit complicated, but I'm sure I'll get the hang of it.

I stated yesterday, to nobody in particular, that the two things I fear most are becoming irreversibly insane or dying.

Dying is obvious. I live to create, and as long as I am creating, I must live. Ideas may flow through me indefinitely so I will never be ready to die.

And going crazy: It is not so much that I can no longer care for myself. It is that I won't be aware anymore off my actions. Or that I have gone off the deep end. As of now, any peculiarities i may have, I am at least acutely aware of. Any irregularities are nothing more than a minor behavioral disorder, I assume. But what if I suddenly crack? It is probably an irrational fear but the looming threat of losing awareness hangs over me. In the same sense that a roof over my head may collapse at any moment. I don't really think about it at all but it's always a possibility.

Dying, though, looms over my head like a big ol spooky black shadowy figure type of fella breathing down my neck saying "ooooh i am a big shadowy figure, here to remind you of your mortality." It's always ALWAYS in the back of my mind.

But I guess the problem is not suddenly cracking, which I am sure is irrational; the real worry is the slowly losing grip with reality. Sometimes I really do feel like I have slipped a little further into madness. On the outside, I am able to compose myself. Which is comforting--being able to present as a vapid run of the mill nothing of a person. It's as if I have no problems at all.

As an aside, another fear of mine is that the mask will slip, or that it already has. Just a quick look at me and someone knows there's something off. They will realize I am not normal like them.

I have my little quirks, nothing too out there, I think. Sometimes I can be obsessive about something or another for a short amount of time. What inspired me to write this was the being obsessed with someone. I never worried about it before. I might find some obscure youtuber, subscribers only in the double or triple digits, or some oddity of a person on another corner of the web. Their stories may fascinate me for days at a time. But now, now as in yesterday, when it thankfully only lasted about 24 hours, I felt a different sort of obsession, with them as a person rather than the story of their lives. A stalker-y sort of obsession. I did not do anything that would be cause for head-scratching and collar-tugging but were my inhibitions a bit lower, who knows.

Once again this has turned into a stream of consciousness, jumping from one thought to the next. But unlike my private messages, which I have every intention of sharing specifically with close folks, I do not care about making this perfectly coherent. I only want to write out my thoughts. It is part of my creative philosophy to not let work go to waste, so I must make it public in some capacity regardless. Otherwise, I might as well have not written this at all. Also unlike my private messages, I feel slightly less inhibited -- though more inhibited in a few other ways. Having my thoughts out, publicly, does not matter here in the safety of my own website, where there are no comments or reactions. I do not wait with bated breath to see if there is a response, whether I am hoping to see one or hoping that my awkward ramblings were ignored. These words just exist. No pressure. They may not even be seen. But they exist. Because I have shared them.