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It has been a really odd month so far.

I recently found out that one of my friends from MTSU died in a car accident last May. I can't believe that I didn't know that one of my friends had been dead for over seven months. We were pretty good friends during my last year at MTSU, but after I left we barely talked to one another so as such it wasn't as painful as it could have been. I guess that it just goes to show how far removed I am from that phase of my life; I really have changed a fair amount. He is roughly the ninth or tenth person who has died on me in my life, which is actually a fairly large number for someone who is only 31 years old; most of the departed were young people like him, too (he was only 26 when he died). I am no stranger to death; I was introduced to it on a significant level when my best friend died from auto-erotic asphyxiation when we were both 17. That was really shocking because I didn't know that people did that to themselves, and my friend was very straight-laced.

An odd thing about my dead friend was that when I was talking to him through Facebook four years ago, I told him that I wanted to move and yet I didn't want to abandon my mother, who had cancer and was going to die a year and a half later (I had no idea that my mother was soon to be dead, though; I just thought that I shouldn't leave her just in case she was going to die). He said something around the lines of "Dude, just leave and have your own life." He was right, but I really couldn't have left my mother like that. I just find it sort of ironic that he is also now dead, and I had no idea that anything like that would happen to him. To be fair, though, he had a vibrant personality that while it made him a very pleasant person to be around, it didn't really fit his age. He basically acted like he was 20 or so by the time he was 26 (not that he did stupid things; he was just very jovial and didn't take many things seriously), and there was always a part of me that wondered just how he would be when he was about my age; looking back on it, I honestly couldn't have seen him seriously being my age, not that I thought that he was going to die, though. He was my brother's age, which makes it pretty odd, to say the least.

I was on that one medication for two days in order to decrease my drinking, and it was strange. The first day, I felt all calm and almost euphoric, and I was kind of mildly dissociated, having the strange thought that we are just put on this earth with no purpose or plan, and no roles to act out, and no restrictions to our behaviors, and yet all of us seem to instinctively feel that all of these things exist in our lives, and that we are here for a specific reason, when we are not. On the second day, however, I felt like I was going to have a heart attack right after I took the dose, so I had to go into the ER. They did a check-up on me and also did an EKG, and I turned out to be fine. As it turned out, the medication gave me an anxiety attack that triggered some psychosomatic symptoms, and I freaked out over it. I don't feel ashamed because it was the first time anything like that happened to me, and I hadn't been to the ER in well over a year in any case. The physician acted surprised that I was on the medication in the first place due to me telling him how much I was drinking, and he said that I seemed to be very motivated to stop drinking and that I should try doing it without any medication. According to him, I don't seem to have a significant alcohol problem.

For days after I stopped taking the medication, my head hurt, I felt dehydrated and I was all-around miserable and prone to anxiety. My hair also seemed to fall out from it. I just felt like the medication had too many negative side effects, and that it was overkill. I didn't drink enough beer to seriously warrant a medication to curb the usage and the medication made me feel way worse than any hangover I ever had, with the exception of one during MTSU.

This is really the first time my psychiatrist has ever made a serious mistake. She must be really conservative with substance use, and probably believes that I have more problems with alcohol than I actually do. I ask people around me if I have problems with alcohol, and they say no and fully admit to drinking more alcohol than me. One of my friends privately felt that I should have never been on the medication, I later found out from him. It was just plain reckless that my psychiatrist would put me on such a serious medication for such a minor problem (if it is even a problem at all), although to be fair she didn't push it on me and it was my idea to try it out. She really can't be fully blamed.

There is one good thing that came from it, though: I quit smoking. It has been three days and I've only had the slightest cravings; it has been way easier than I thought it would be. I decided to quit because it was too expensive, it wasn't good for me, and it made my anxiety worse, so as such I did what I did. I don't regret it at all; if I control my drinking, I will now have a lot more money to save up for important shit or emergencies, for you never know what is going to happen in your life.

Not too much else is going on. Playing Final Fantasy XII for the first time in eight years, and that has proven to be pretty fun. Also trying to read a bit so that I will have enough knowledge and opinions to write one of my papers, although I wonder what the point of writing them exactly is nowadays.
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Still not on SSI again, but I'm less uneasy about it now. Everyone thinks that I'll get back on it.

I just recently read a book called The Divided Self by a man name R.D. Laing. He was only 28 when he wrote that book. Reading that book really taught me many things about myself. The book is essentially a study on the intrapersonal dynamics of Schizoid and Schizophrenic people, and gives many case studies. Apparently, such people feel that their self is robbed of them, and they feel vacuous inside. They start to merge with their surroundings and the people around them, which is frightening to them. At the same time, they want love, but love is also hate to them, for to be loved by someone, is to be that someone, and thus they are no longer themselves.

I run counter to this in many ways. For one thing, I am not vacuous in my sense of self; I have a very strong sense of self, although this sense has changed throughout time, just as I have. To me, I am filled with dark water, full of depth, and at times, profound mystery. Having parents force me to be something I wasn't did not rob me of my psychological autonomy, or at least not for long. Eventually, I developed the strength to stand on my own and dictate who and what I wanted to be. True, I have no real place in society, but someone like me doesn't need one. I do not depend on others in order to define who I am. I am cool and detached; like the Schizoids and Schizophrenics, I am an outsider who simply observes in a detached fashion, but unlike them, I am perfectly content on my own. To be a man who observes all around him, and without him, to take notice on the flaws of humanity and to reflect on that, gives me a sense of grounding, as well as some form of intellectual immortality.

Then there is love. I once pined for love. I loved myself, but it seemed like no one else did, and that drove me insane for a time. But Schizoids and Schizophrenics tend to hate themselves, and see love as hate. I do not see love as hate. Hate really is the opposite of love, at least practically. I simply see love as temporal, and largely selfish. It cannot last, and as such it cannot be depended on. The only love that is deathless is the love for yourself. The same can't even be said for the type of love parents have for their children.

A few days ago I looked at the casual encounters section of the local craigslist. Some of the girls and women there were not bad looking, but I realized by this point that sex would be meaningless, especially without emotion. THAT would make me feel vacuous. I have evolved to the point where I do not have to get involved with others in order to feel whole; others would just drag me down. For all relationships end with at least some disappointment, and I would be one who would both disappoint and be disappointed. To stand on your own means that you don't have to have such connections with others, nor should you want to have them. I truly feel strong in that regard.

But let me not kid myself. There are still moments (a few, actually) where I still feel that pain, the pain that I've never been appreciated in the only way that mattered. But sex, and a relationship, or even sincere love wouldn't be the balm for that wound. Many people are in happy relationships and are still very unhappy with themselves; I have learned a lot from the faults of others.

On the whole, I have learned by this point to live and love myself, by myself. Oh, sure, I might go to a fine escort some time in my life, for if I want to learn the mystery of sexual relationships, I want it to be worth something, if only physical. But that is for a time long in the future.
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I'm doing relatively well. Staying away from drugs, outside of some Damiana that I have tried out. That is an interesting herb; it seems mildly psychedelic but it doesn't really fuck with me that much. The point of using it is partially to distract myself from the harder substances, but mostly to expand my horizons. I want to experience nearly every state of consciousness possible, so long as it doesn't permanently fuck with me, at least on a negative level.

I've been writing again. I think that it is really good for me, and gives me the sense that I'm actually doing something with my time. The document is already about three times longer than my Master's thesis, which is impressive in and of itself. Not many people have the dedication to write something like that for nothing, or at least without the expectation of anything. I hope that others will like it; I plan on writing a lot more soon afterward.

In any case I've been playing Yume Nikki for roughly the fourth time; I play that game once every two years on the same day. I don't remember much of it, but it is still fun. It is different, though, for I'm a much different person at 30 than I was at 24, so as such I can't really relate to my first experience all that much. But that shouldn't get in the way of anything.

I'm helping my sister with sending the rest of her stuff in the basement to her. I already got it out, so now I just have to send it. She is very grateful, but I hope that my father won't get pissed at me. But if he does, I don't mind. I did what was right.

Several years ago, when I was 23, I had this silly crush on a younger girl online; I would talk with her through AIM, and while it was never romantic or sexual, I think she figured out that I liked her more than a friend. Well, I stopped talking to her a little after I turned 24 (it was uneventful) and I moved on with my life. In early 2010, however, I discovered her tumblr, and I've been following it ever since. It has been interesting; she's still a huge, immature idiot, but in a much different way. She's basically a lukewarm manifestation of a self-righteous tumblr girl who doesn't know when to stop screaming, drinking and do drugs. Oh, and she's asexual, agender and panromantic, too! What a combination. She's pretty much never said anything of worth, although it was humorous to find out that she got kicked out of her parents' house because they were sick and tired of her degeneracy.

I haven't gotten to the good part, though. This girl used to be phenomenally beautiful; a 10 out of 10. Even other people in my life were surprised at how attractive she was. When I first saw a picture of her way back when, I "fell in love" (I don't do that anymore). Well, she just recently posted a set of photos that was entitled "Female to Agender in 6 Years" or whatever; it started with a picture of her at her prom, or whatever, being perfectly elegant. Then, the pictures from college started to appear; she wasn't ugly, but she was no longer beautiful and gained a little weight. The last two pictures showed her with male clothing and a very short, unfeminine haircut, and the last picture just made her look hideous.

Isn't that sad? What possessed her to end up that way? I mean, almost everyone changes at college, but not like that, at least not when I went. I guess that it just shows that the initial beauty was wasted by the stupidity of the host, who was so much of a fool as to not care about it and let herself go with all these bad decisions.

I showed those pictures to my friend today. She was like "It is sad to see her let herself go like that!" as well as "Is she gay?" My friend thinks that she isn't making the right choices for herself and is confused as to who she is.

The weird thing, though, is that this is both highly comedic and tragic in an ironic fashion. For now this girl is the same age I was when I first knew her, and she just turned not only into something I could never love, but also messed up her life than I ever realistically could by just 23. Just imagine when she turns my age how she is going to end up, or even at 26! I get the feeling that she's going to kill herself or otherwise die before she hits 40. My friend didn't get why I thought it was so ironic, but when I told her the explanation she kind of laughed.

I've met my fair amount of derp-a-derp girls online (especially back when I was in the autism communities way back when), but not even close to this. The rest of the girls at least had a slight amount of sensibility; this particular one had no limits whatsoever.

Man. I'm so glad I didn't end up like that. I might be 30 and alone, but at least I don't have any shame that I should have.
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In about two and a half weeks, it will be the second anniversary of my mother's death, but I'm doing surprisingly well, all things considered.

This time of the year will always be a hard time, at least in some ways. But it fades away after a while, and I'm moving on with my life so as such it is harder to relive that time when I have a different life and I have become a different person.

I'm only drinking about half as much as I did last year during this time period, although I was using DXM every week. I've decided to stop taking DXM for a few weeks; it is messing up my emotions and I need a tolerance break in any case. I did LSA a week ago, and that was an interesting experience; I didn't think that I was going to stop breathing, but I am not sure if I would want to do it again for a while. I did get visuals, but they were fairly weak, and the thoughts and feelings in my head were a bit foreign. It was a bit odd because I wanted to be outside of my room and out in the open, but I would have been angry at anyone who tried to talk to me; DXM, on the other hand, makes me retreat into myself but when I meet others I either don't know they are there, or I'm just like "Oh hey, word up." I don't like psychedelics; they make my brain weird. I think most people who prefer psychedelics over dissociatives do so because they want to project their thoughts onto the world, rather than have the world mold their brains. But your thoughts can go haywire, and thus you'll perceive the world in a warped, even dangerous way. DXM just turn me into a psychological and spiritual receiver; a sponge, if you will. But I'm happier that way. DXM actually helps my psychosis until it fucks with my emotions, but most medications will do that if you abuse them. There is no solid, safe treatment.

In any case I took a break from writing A Perception of Existence and Reality (it reached 20,000 words) and I was surprisingly impressed with it so far. It flows fairly nicely, which shocked me given that I wrote a thousand words separately per day, and it could probably be wrapped up in a week or so. I actually see it as a worthwhile achievement of sorts; to have written two books in a year (really, half a year) is no small feat.

I might move to Portland sooner, since my father is having his girlfriend move in with him. I really don't understand why it happened so fast, and I don't want to get involved. It is one thing to run away from a problem that needs to be solved, and it is entirely another to run away from a problem that will only get bigger and bigger. I was going to move to Portland, anyway. But seriously, if it gets any more absurd than it already has, I'm just leaving and never coming back.

We never really were a solid family, if you think about it. Back when I was 27 and tripping on DXM for one of the first times (this was during a time when I was living at home and my mother didn't seem to be on the verge of death) I had the realization that the "family" that was living in the house was just a loose collection of individuals with totally different trajectories and aims in life, and yet were all here due to their own situations and problems. It was struck me how absurd living at that house was, and how my life at the time was. I no longer feel that my life is so absurd now (for one thing, I'm more or less independent), but I'm still on my own unique path that has no clear end in sight. The past still haunts me, though, with my father trying to be close to me; I don't understand because we were never close in the first place. When my mother was still alive, all he really did was bully me, control me and abuse me. I just see him as a very weak person. He absolutely can't go on without anyone, while I've been alone practically all my life and I'm still fucking standing strong.

But whatever. It will all get resolved in due time. I just got to have my reasons for living, and that lays in writing, and perhaps the Occult. But we'll just see what I'll end up as.

To end this, nothing else is really going on. I did have some outbursts with friends, but those evaporated quickly over time. Just hard times right now. I know how to adapt, though. When I move, I might change my last name from Anderson to Meresworth (or Meresmith). That will be my POWER NAME. But seriously, Anderson is boring.
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So I have more or less gotten over the psychological problems that have plagued me for over a month.

It started when I took DXM after only a three-day break last Saturday. I was in a bad mood, and was disgusted with myself, and wanted to change. So I tripped, recognized that I needed to change, and for some weird reason, a switch got turned on in my brain, and I suddenly became a different person.

I didn't think much of it until the next day, when I noticed that I was very different than how I was previously. Didn't ruminate, didn't feel anguish, didn't go out of my way to think about negative things. I just became very calm and composed, able to handle negative thoughts with detachment and ease.

What I think happened was that I lessened my ego. When I would think about horrible things, I would focus on what the victims were experiencing, due to my immense amount of empathy. It was well-intentioned, but it was more or less psychological and emotional torture, and it was giving me several problems in life. The key wasn't to stop caring (to eliminate my empathy, basically); rather, it was to not put myself in the role of the victim, and furthermore to not put myself in any role outside of that of the observer. By taking myself out of the equation, I no longer felt any pain, and more interestingly I didn't think about those horrible things anywhere near as much.

To have less of an ego, means that you can think about life and the events within it more accurately and objectively, and you also won't experience as much grief when bad things happen. You simply recognize the event with clarity, and you act appropriately. This is a much healthier way to be.

Not to mention that it makes you less closed off mentally, with you being more open to new experiences and ideas rather than thinking in some restricted patterns that stagnate and warp over time.

So I feel great. I still sort of revert back, just slightly, whenever I'm irritated or stressed out, but on the whole I think that I've been changed for the better. Both my therapist and my friend have noticed that I've made a big jump forward.

I had a dream last night, where I inherited an old mansion of sorts, and living in it was a young Hispanic dude. We both found out that the mansion was haunted, so I agreed that he could stay here for the time being in order to be more "safe". Eventually I came across the ghost, who was a young girl in her late teens/early 20s that was killed for some reason in the 1930s. I was scared at first, but I could tell that she was in pain, so I decided to approach her. We talked, and she decided to trust me. As it turned out, she didn't want to talk about how she was killed, but I could gather that it was her parents that did it, due to her being mentally ill (she had a psychotic mood disorder). When I asked her if any of her siblings were still alive, she simply said "Yes."

The dream technically ended there, but I kept thinking about it this morning, and as it turned out, she was repeatedly raped by her father (her mother knew, and often helped) in a hidden room of the mansion and was eventually killed by both of her parents, with her corpse stored in a locked chest in the room. The parents told her seven siblings that she ran away, which they believed, however her youngest brother (the only sibling still alive) eventually realized that she was in fact killed. For eighty years, she haunted the mansion, feeling nothing but distrust and anguish that the very two people that were supposed to love her, ended up violating and then killing her, just for being mentally defective.

I think that I'm going to write a story based on that dream. I hope that it didn't actually happen.
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So, what has happened?

I stopped writing poetry, but I'm still reading voraciously. I make notes in my notebook, so that I will use them later for further writings.

I actually wrote a paper for the class that I am auditing, that is centered on defining the self. It is a surprisingly hard thing to do, and I really only barely did it. I told the professor that I didn't think that what makes a person unique defines what the self is, and he found that to be interesting. But we'll see how it goes.

I plan on writing more books, and I am going to start writing one on mysticism and philosophy (my own original take, of course) by the time the semester ends. I think that it is critical to do so, since I'm in my 30s now, and I get the feeling that this may be the only time I will be able to, since I might die soon. I doubt it, but it could very well be possible. I'm not going to take any classes in either the summer or the fall, so I'll have plenty of time to do it, and no excuses. I need to do something with my life, anyways. And writing is really the one talent that I truly have.

My mental illness is still around. Not quite as bad, but definitely still ebbing and flowing in the recesses of my mind. But I'm starting to get over it, and I feel that I'm letting go of my obsessive thoughts and feelings, finally. It wasn't that I was stuck on one or two things in the past so much as though a whole lot of small things (and not so small) gradually built up in my youth, providing fuel for the growing fires of apathy, rage, and grief. It isn't healthy for me to do that. I'm 30, and I still have most of my adult life ahead of me. Let my past go; it isn't relevant anymore.

Of course, to truly escape things, I would literally have to move (probably to somewhere I haven't lived before), but I'll take that when it has to happen (not for another year, at least).
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So, two nights ago I did DXM after a tolerance break of six months.

I thought that I was only going to mildly trip, but instead, I got my ass handed to me.

It was a very brutal experience, the most brutal I ever had from any drug. I even thought about not ever doing it again, when I was coming down from the trip. But it was necessary, in order to learn about the nature of the world, and to move on.

I did it, mainly because my chronomancy abilities told me that it was the right thing to do. Over the past week, I was very bothered by an issue that I have had for half of my life, and I finally told it to my friend, my former boss at the Chemistry Department. She was very worried about me, to the point where she told her husband that she was afraid that I was going crazy. I tried contacting my therapist, but she never called me back. I didn't see her this week, either, even though I was supposed to; the appointment was cancelled.

DXM has proven to be very therapeutic in the past, and I had no other option. So as such, I tripped my balls off, to the point where I didn't know who I was, or that I was tripping in the first place.

I had many visions, but one stood out. It was a crude mechanism of parts that differed from one another, rough in shape and covered in grime. A part would fall off due to not being either wanted or needed, and then the vision zoomed out, with the mechanism being a part of a rough matrix of other similar mechanisms, working separately and in approximate unison.

At first, I didn't know what the vision meant. But now I know; the grime resembled the fact that reality is neither clear nor consistent. Life is filled with various factors contributing to the chaos, and we can't perceive the factors and try to ignore the chaos. The parts resembled humanity; neither equal nor uniform, working as best as they can to function. And the part that was discarded resembled the fraction of humanity that I despised; that they would be recognized as unwanted and unworthy, and as such would be sloughed off and sent to the depths.

All in all, it taught me that life is filled with so many things that we either can't or won't perceive or understand, and that is what makes things interesting. We also try to find those that are compatible to us, in order to be functional with both life and ourselves. There is no global unity; we have to find our own group. Life is complete, but not consistent; we don't understand either existence or the world, but we are nonetheless apart of it, trying to construct our own artificial reality in order to deal with the world better. And the ones who I hate, who don't deserve to exist? Either nature or God will take care of them, and thus things will remain decent in the long run so long as we don't fuck it up with egalitarianism or other worthless ideals (or just plain cowardice). The design will still function, and God will always have his way in the end.

We can't all be equal, for if we were, we would all be the same parts, and as such there would be no working mechanism. And some parts just never fit.
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A bit has happened, but it is kind of hard to summarize; partially because things just fade into my subconscious by this point, but mostly because my thoughts and feelings change by the day, so as such there is little to no consistency.

I have realized that my personal past can do nothing but to harm me, and dwelling on it simply causes me to be insensibly angry. Anger does not serve well in either furthering my emotional state for the better, or to move on in life, so as such I should really try as hard as I can to forget about the past and to not be angry so much. All that anger does, is to stunt my psychological growth.

And if you think about it, anger is really a sign of a deep vulnerability that you have; a bright light signaling your insecurities and lack of confidence. I really do have problems with security and confidence. While I am working on it, and I am gaining more confidence, there is a long road ahead of me that I have just barely started on.

As for the hate I had toward women? Did me absolutely no good. They hated me because I had hate towards them, and made it known and directly guided (more or less) online. Who wouldn't hate you if you did that to them? Only the kindest of souls, the saints of women, would be kind to me after that. Granted, most women are not that good, but neither are men. I am certainly not, even though I like to think of myself as such.

So, what do I do, now that I am enlightened by this insight? I will more than likely relapse into the anger and hate, because they are mental heuristics, and even I am not immune to being intellectually lazy when I am emotionally compromised. But I now know, that I am solely at fault, and I will do my best to make sure that I will be better towards others, and more importantly, towards myself.

Through acquisition of knowledge, I will become more adept at handling my faults. Let me continue on.
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I saw my therapist today, and she told me one very important thing: that emotions do not dictate reality, or who or what you really are.

On the onset, that is obvious. Most people would just say "Duh..." to that. But in all seriousness, most people really don't think about what that actually means. And for good reason, because emotions by and large dictate our personal, public image, demeanor, as well as what we like to think about and what we decide to value and choose to do.

But just because you have an emotional reason for why you feel the way you do, or act the way you do, doesn't at all mean that is how it actually is. How many people have wonderful lives, and yet feel like shit for absolutely no reason whatsoever? Quite a few. And then there are those who have horrible lives and yet for some reason or another aren't quite as miserable as you would think. Not too many of them, but they do exist.

Just because I feel like something, doesn't mean that I am that something. I really should have known better by this point, but all throughout my life, emotions of both myself and others guided my development towards a warped end. An emotion, however, does not always correspond to how your life really is. I have a good life where I can do whatever I want, and yet I'm haunted by so many different things. Intellectually I know that emotions and passions lead you nowhere, but I didn't know how to take control of my mind, partially due to my mental illness and mostly because my life was pretty much never any different.

This all started a little while ago when I thought my dad was a creep. But then it occurred to me that he wasn't; he was just emotionally disturbed. When I focused on myself, I realized that I was the one who felt like a creep. And yes, some people would consider me as such. But quite a few wouldn't, and just because I felt that way, doesn't mean that I am.

Just...I don't know. I've learned so much during this past week or so that my mind hurts. Not to mention that I've been totally off-base since there has been more light in the day; I must have the opposite of Seasonal Affective Disorder. But I'll find a way to survive the lows.
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I've decided that I'm going to try to write again. I have another fictional story in mind, but this time I'm going to be working on a self-help guide that is going to center around theoretical psychology. It will be titled Inner Demons, and it will go over how to deal with the subconscious troubles and conflicts that one has in their psyche.

I feel that this will be helpful, not only to develop my own philosophy and writing, but also to discover more things about myself through the creation of it, and thus will give me more therapeutic insight. It won't be as long as A Soul Turned, but it will probably be a lot more informative. It is sort of neat to say that I will have written more than one book in such a relatively small time frame; that is assuming that I start writing, let alone finish, of course.

I've been reading a bit on Theosophy again. I like the literature a lot, even though some things about it are way off. There are things that they talk about, however, that seem to be very insightful and true; I can't wait to read more about what they have to say.

I've decided that I'm going to devote my life to writing. Not only is it the only thing that I can really do, but I do have a real talent with it. I like writing, in comparison to my other hobbies in that it provides a lot of things going for me. For one, it gives me something to do for the day. Secondly, it often provides a window into my imagination and soul; I learn quite a few things about myself through my writings that I otherwise would have never learned or been aware of. And lastly, it gives me the sense that I have accomplished something with my life; to have already written a book, even if it hasn't been published, makes me aware that I'm not a waste of space, and have made a contribution to the world.

The only other constructive hobby that I have is making computer games. I won't give up on that, but I'm going to focus more on writing now. I want to learn how to draw and paint eventually, but I have no idea how to get started with that.

Well, this plan is better than playing video games or looking at porn all day. Not that I do a lot of either, anymore.
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I'm still around. Just nothing has really changed, outside of my thoughts.

I went to church today, and I mentioned to my pastor how I have a lot of ugly, destructive thoughts towards people. He basically said that I had that anger because I wanted to have it, which I didn't accept at first, but when I said that most people would just do me harm and leave me to rot, he said that Jesus had to suffer the same, and yet he still forgave them. That made me think a bit about my emotional state.

Most of the people I've been extremely angry at are people that I've had altercations with online; I don't even know what these people look like, let alone have ever met them. And yet I was around them for an extended amount of time, people who I probably wouldn't even notice in real life, and I let their toxic words seep into my soul. I let people who I never knew well, never met them in real life and would never either truly be their friend or enemy, hurt me in ways almost no one in real life ever had. People I didn't know, didn't care about, didn't get along with, and nonetheless I let them all warp me.

Why hate them? Why be hurt by them? The answer is simple: you don't. For all they were, was just a stream of words on a monitor. Never hearing their voices, seldom seeing their faces...they were just phantoms. And due to my weakness, I let them haunt me.

I'm a full grown man, now. I won't let that happen again. No one on the internet knows me fully or truly, and I'll never let any vulnerability show again. And seriously, my heart needs to harden, or else I'll just become a monster.
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It has been a while. There just wasn't much to write about; I've been quietly reading and overall life has been more calm and boring. But I like it that way, usually.

Last night one of my roommate's friends came over, and we started talking. I had met him once before and he seemed like a cool guy. I seemed to really impress him with my insights and knowledge, and after an hour or so of talking and having beer, I smoked a cigarette with him (wasn't so bad, but that was because I didn't inhale it inside my lungs), and later I smoked weed with him and my roommate. I don't remember a whole lot, and I didn't feel too high, but it was quite a pleasant experience, and I learned a lot from talking to them about all sorts of stuff.

I woke up this morning with a mild hangover. I didn't drink too many beers, but when I talked to my other roommate about what I did, he said that weed can cause hangovers, especially if you don't smoke it often (I've done it only three times).

It was odd; during last night and this early morning, I could close my eyes, and see mental pictures more vividly. I have a very adept mind's eye, but this time the weed sort of amplified it.

I felt that from the experience last night, I went to sleep and woke up the next morning as a different person. I really do feel that I am born again, in some ways. My life is different, my outlook is a little different; everything feels so clean for some reason.

What sort of signifies that my life has changed a lot is that over a period of several months, all of the previous emotional drama that was going on in my life sort of evaporated into the ether, and got replaced with intellect and philosophy. Just recently, the last tag from that time period got removed from my tag cloud.

This really does signify the start of a new chapter in my life. I have a lot to look forward to, and I think it will just get better.
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Today I went to church, and had an early dinner at the pastor's house. I've been there roughly three or four times before.

I was eating a nice dinner with some of my friends from church, one of whom was the pastor's youngest son. I got into a discussion about how I support universal healthcare, and they didn't agree with me. I didn't agree with them, either, but it was still interesting to hear their perspective. I was telling the other friend about how I wrote a book, and when I told him what it was about, he perked up and said that he wanted to read it. I promised him a free copy, I'm pretty sure; I've said that to around six or seven people about now. I do mean it, but I'm not sure if it will get published.

I actually made him laugh, but I don't remember from what.

In the spiritual discussion, I asked if being curious about the occult was bad. The pastor said yes, and while he did lend himself to the possibility that not every spirit is against God, he said that detracted against the devotion towards God. He said that he didn't think that magic itself was evil, but rather how people used it for their own ends. I told him that I was just curious, and simply wanted to gain visions.

From that, we talked about my previous drug use and my experiences with having visions. They frowned upon my previous habits, but I told them that if it wasn't for my experiences, I'd still be a functional agnostic and would likely be with the Unitarian church instead of a real one. Some reacted with a "BUT YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!", but most said that it was due to the fact that God reached my heart in spite of my destructive habits, and as such I reached out to him.

The pastor eventually did a poll where he took note of everyone in the room (about ten of us) who had visions. Outside of dreams, there was only the pastor and I with our hands up; there was one person who had one while sick, but the pastor didn't count that. I had told them about the "ADO" incident while at church a few minutes earlier (they were surprisingly accepting about that), which is what brought up the whole issue. I explained myself by saying that while I thought that a fair amount of people were connected on some level to the spiritual dimension (far from all, since physicalism and atheism have rendered most people dead inside, in that respect), some had a deeper connection for some odd reason, and I was one of them. I couldn't explain myself; that was just how it was. The pastor agreed with me.

Eventually, I left; the bottom line was that it was okay to be curious, so long as I checked my head. One person gave me an 8 out of 10 in how I presented my arguments, so I didn't look like a fool. I wasn't angry, either, so that was good.

I smoked a cigar a while later (I meant to smoke it with the group, but didn't end up doing so) and I felt horrible for about an hour or two later. I don't want to smoke again; dead honest.

Overall, I learned a lot today.
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Due to having internet at my apartment again, I don't go to the university as early as I used to. I'd usually be there at around 9:00 am or 9:30 am in the past; now I arrive at around 11:00 am. I don't have to use the library computers anymore (although I currently am right now), so there is no other reason to go there besides visit friends and go to the one class that I audit.

I don't mind it, really. The mornings have been quiet and pleasant, with me being able to look at whatever I want. I am starting to notice that I am spending a lot more time on it, though.

I did manage to read a book last night. It was hard at first, but it eventually helped me think about things. I don't even know what the main point of the book is, outside of the whole science versus faith theme that was common in the early half of the 20th century, and still sort of is today. It is kind of sad that I'm not as attached to reading anymore.

I found a group on reddit that is centered around the occult. At first, you are sort of put off by how silly it seems on the surface, but when you start looking more into it, it just becomes more fascinating to read about and study. The occult has had a tremendous impact on the development and evolution of humanity, and I think that it is sort of sad that people are turning away from not only God, but all other things spiritual.

The group is a lot more accepting of fringe subjects, and outside beliefs. They don't usually see you as being an idiot just for having an opinion or belief that others don't have. The philosophy group wasn't like that at all; just purely based on consensus and clarity, and while those two things can be important to have, they alone don't make anything true. Yet those fools think that things are so simple. In any case, there is hardly anything more offensive than a person who thinks that reality is nothing more than a limited set of abstractions; in other words, they think that things are more simple than they actually are.
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I tried reading yesterday. I just couldn't do it.

It isn't because I feel that I don't need to anymore. Just the opposite; there is still so many things that I need to learn, and books are perhaps the only way to learn those things. But I just can't bring myself to it. I'm not depressed; I just don't have any serious interest. I put all of the research articles that I had downloaded onto my laptop some time ago into folders, and then put those folders away last night.

Perhaps it is because I am over-whelmed. Or more accurately, it might be because I am done with consuming knowledge, and now want to produce it. It might be fair to say that my subconscious is telling me that enough research is enough. I have energy to do other things, so maybe I should try writing once more.

I sent the final draft of my book to my brother and my friend, and I will wait for them to respond before I send it to a publisher. Other than that, I do not plan to do anything else, in the meantime.
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I had a lack of energy yesterday, but I decided to start proofreading my book.

I was pleasantly surprised at how well written it was. I did have to make a few minor corrections, and some parts are slightly repetitive, but it flows together very well. I'm about four-fifths done with it, and I guesstimate that the book would take about two to six hours to read, depending on how fast you read, as well as your interest in reading it.

So yeah, I'm impressed with myself. I definitely want to write more books, and this was a great start. I haven't read very much so far this year (nor do I have as strong of an interest to do so, to be perfectly frank), but writing is better than reading, provided that you have the skill for it. And even if you don't, it is still a good way to exercise your brain.

I do realize one thing, though; the reason why me and the others have the same level of ideas and thought, is that I finally started reading. In just seven months, I read enough philosophy and the like to be on the same level as others. I was always a fairly bright person, but for some reason, I didn't read, because I by and large felt that I didn't have to. Well, a lot of knowledge is contained in books, and if you don't read anything at all, you won't become as educated or aware. Of course, there is such a thing as reading too much, or at least taking everything that has been published as the literal truth, but it is better to be aware of the thoughts of others than it is to live in your own self-absorbed bubble. I know realize that I don't know everything, and I need to at least be open and receptive to the ideas of others, even if I think they are wrong.
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The new roommate seems cool. We talked about our drug experiences and stuff, and that was enlightening.

One thing that I've noticed, though, was that while I am a smart guy with original ideas, I am far and away from being the brilliant man that I thought that I was. Just speaking to the new roommate and his friends, I realized that they all had a lot of the same ideas I did, and I just recently came to these ideas. So I suppose that my thoughts and ideas are not as rare as I previously believed, and most importantly, I'm not so special.

Now it could be a lot worse. I still know a lot, and I still have a fair amount of wisdom and intelligence. The guys who I talked to respected me and my thoughts, and didn't think that I was an idiot. But still, it is a huge slap in the face that I'm nowhere near as original as I thought myself to be. But no thought or idea is entirely exclusive to someone, so I should just take it in stride.

I wonder how I ended up realizing this relatively late in life. It is probably because I don't talk to a whole lot of people, and was sheltered growing up. My parents were basically like "THIS IS THE TRUTH, OR ELSE!!1" While I was a bright enough kid back then not to respect an attitude like that, I was nonetheless provided with no intellectual or emotional road map in life, and as such not only did I get weird ideas, but I was stunted in quite a few ways (still am, to an extent).

But perhaps that is the beauty of it. To go your own path away from the main one, and try to seek out another side of the truth. You'd likely get lost, and run into many falsehoods, but you'd experience life in ways that few other people get to, and perhaps discover your own relative, subjective truths (truth is subjective, to a limited extent). The problem though, is that few people would either understand or appreciate what you had to offer, but if you didn't do many things differently from others (or sadly for most, nothing differently), you wouldn't have anything to offer in the first place.

It is a conundrum of sorts. Stray too far, and no one will understand you, nor would want to. Stray too little, and you're just boring and unremarkable. Hopefully I will be able to write things that people will both want to understand, and care about.
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The new roommate moved in yesterday. He is alright so far, but it was hard to adjust to that.

I ended up drinking more beer than I should have since I didn't know how to quite deal with the change. I didn't drink a whole lot, and I didn't get totally wasted (in fact, I didn't get wasted at all), but I still feel like a complete fucking idiot.

It could have been worse. I mean, I didn't do it out of the blue; something major happened in my life. I now realize that I never had a problem with alcohol in and of itself, per se; I likely drank a whole lot in my past due to having a lot of stressors and unresolved issues that I simply didn't know how to deal with. People misinterpreted my behaviors and just blamed it on substance abuse, due to the fact that they couldn't get inside my head and see that external factors were heavily influencing me. This theory holds because it has been a long time since this last happened, and I haven't been in a bad funk in a while.

But I'm still disgusted with myself. Again, it could have been much, much worse than it actually was, but I broke a good record and I can't feel anything but shame about that. At least I'm going to stay away from the stuff for a long time, and the fact that I know why it happened, as well as the fact that I never want to do it again, is a sign of maturity and progress.

I really shouldn't be so hard on myself. Everyone relapses eventually.

There is some good news: I was still able to write last night. Up to 44,000 words now.
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Up to 34,000 words now. If the story is only going to be 50,000 words long, I've done over two-thirds of it. It might end up being a little longer, but even so I think that the climax of the story has already been reached.

I did a lot yesterday. It really exhausted me. As it turns out, I can really only do two or three things during the day, or else I start getting very depressed and fatigued. I just recently figured that out, and I don't know why it is that way. I can do things that keep me independent just fine, but I can only focus on so many meaningful things. Last night I was laying on my bed in the middle of writing, because I just felt so sad and so physically ill. I don't experience depressive episodes that often, but they are often accompanied by physical illness and it hits me out of nowhere. It is just very odd. This helped me realize that I do need to be on SSI, and really can't have a full-time job. There is just something wrong with either my energy levels, or my brain. Probably both.

We met the new roommate, and as it turns out I met him a few months ago. He seems like a cool guy, and will move in around tomorrow or so.

I might drop the Theory of Numbers class, although I am not certain. It does help me think, but the professor doesn't seem to be very receptive of my insights, despite having a relatively pleasant personality. People in the STEM fields tend to think in terms of absolutes, as well as think in a linear fashion. I am just the opposite, therefore I wouldn't do well in a class like that. Come to think of it, the worst conflicts I have had with teachers in the past were all from the hard sciences. Despite being different people, they just didn't appreciate either my personality or my thinking style (tangential, and philosophical). This has led me to realize that perhaps people aren't defined by their level of social skills or their outward personality, but rather by the way they think. For two people can think the same way and believe the same things while living different lives. I suppose it just depends on how you want to define the person.

I really like Philosophy as well as other classes that promote divergent thought (such as English) because in those classes my manner of thinking is appreciated, or at least tolerated. I don't regret getting my degree in Psychology and pursuing that route in graduate school, but if I had to do it all over again, I'd probably choose Philosophy. Sure, you could say that you can't get a job with that, but I didn't get a job anyway, so LOL.
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For those who don't know me very well (and even those who do), it may come as a huge surprise that I have a shitload of anger hidden within me. I don't usually show it (in fact I've never blown up at someone in real life, with the exception of family members {and even that is rare}), but it kind of brings a lot of psychological torment. I was raised around a bunch of people who had BPD so I ended up being kind of abused and a bit warped because of it. I really am not sure if I will ever have a girlfriend or get married simply because I can't form close relationships as a result.

I try to keep my anger at bay by pursuing intellectual activities; this works wonders in the short term but in the end I find myself back at square one. I'm not solving my problems; I'm simply distracting myself from them by focusing on different kinds of problems. So yesterday, I got to thinking why I had so much anger about so many things, because at the time I didn't even think about why, let alone the reason for it.

Then it hit me. I've been in the same place for four years. I've matured and grown up over those four years, but my past and my failings from it still haunt me here. Not to mention that although I am more or less an independent adult now, I still see my father once a week, and he still occasionally treats me like how he did before my mother died, which is painful. The reason why I have this anger is because subconsciously, I'm still haunted by the way things were, and I need to move on as a result. I could technically move any time, but there is the fear that it wouldn't solve anything, and not to mention I wouldn't want my roommate to find somewhere else to live, since roommates can be hard to replace and if I left, he'd have to deal with a rent that would be impossible to pay off.

So I now know why I have my anger. It is because I have matured, and grown up, but I'm still in the same place, and that haunts me. Sometimes moving away from a location does help, but I've seen my brother do it multiple times and he doesn't get anywhere. I did just the opposite; I more or less passively stayed in one place. MTSU only halfway counts because while I was in a very different place, it was still somewhat sheltered.

I have to move. I know that. But I can't do it anytime soon. I'm going to give it one more year or so, just to make sure things turn out alright.

April 2017

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