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I could say that nothing happened over the past month, but that would be a big fucking lie. Would have been true until about a week ago, though.

I was over for dinner at my father's house last Wednesday, and he brought up in a lateral fashion that he and his girlfriend were getting married. There were a fair amount of clues, so as such I knew that it could have happened, but the way that he brought it up with his girlfriend right in front of me was emotionally manipulative. I couldn't look him in the eye or tell him that it was wrong (which it is), but I was able to expose him as a liar to his girlfriend, saying calmly that he told my brother that he wasn't going to marry her (which he denied) and that mother never wrote because she thought that he would never remarry (he replied by saying that she did, so I'll have to look into that). And I didn't even mean to expose him like that; nonetheless, it is pretty obvious that he was either lying all along, or decided to go back on his word. I have caught him lying about benign shit multiple times over the past year or two. And even if he didn't plan on lying, does that negate the fact that you can't trust someone who goes back on their word, let alone respect them? I don't think so.

Of course, I told my sister about it. It was hard to do, but I had to; it would have been wrong otherwise. She felt angry about it, but was very reasonable and controlled; she was not hysterical at all. Her main concern was that the house and the belongings might go to another family, which is very possible. I brought up the facts that our father was writing prenups, thus potentially meaning that they wouldn't, and that he told me to make a list of the things that I wanted after he died. She was pleased about the latter, but added that if he dies the prenups won't matter, especially if the house is going to be in the girlfriend's name. I don't know if there is anything we can do about it; it could be worse though, since that house wasn't the one that we grew up in. Still, it is a family resource, and it shouldn't be handed down to a stranger's family just because some divorcee from a lower background married a DOCTOR who was too weak and desperate to stand on his own.

Our conversation was perhaps the most important one I've ever had, or at least one of them.

The day after, my brother called me. He did say that he talked to our father, but didn't bring up the remarriage. I could tell, though, that he was slightly upset; I might speaking too soon, but I think that he is finally starting to see our father for who he really is. He asked me if I wanted to move to where he is so that I could be closer to family that I get along with, and I said that I was now thinking about moving (which is true). I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was worried about me. He also wants me to get a job, which I am thinking about. SSI wouldn't be enough to live on where he lives, and it isn't meant to replace a paycheck in any case. I just applied to Orange Julius yesterday (I have a friend there) so I might be lucky in getting one.

I probably will move. It is just becoming intolerable to live here. Not just my father, either; I've simply been here for too long. I need a change, to leave the past behind me. I've been here for six years, and the people around me just keep getting younger to the point where I don't fit in anymore. I feel like I'm just stagnating here. I could stagnate where I want to move to, as well, but at least I'd be doing something different for once. It is just a matter of money, I think, but that can be remedied over time. I should start getting rid of some of my stuff to prepare for the move.

It is just so bizarre, this turn of events. I can't do much right now, because I'm just dealing with all of this bullshit. And none of it is my fault, either; not a single bit of it has been brought on by myself. I'm being too civil and calm, if anything. But it is like this: I wake up, not really knowing what is going on. Then, after about half an hour, I start to realize the reality that I'm in, and after about an hour I get to the point where I'm so sad, angry and disgusted that I want to scream and vomit. My father is a disgrace to the family, and I'm not alone in thinking that. This whole thing is practically a waking nightmare, one that I never would have thought would happen when mother was still alive, because at the time I bought in to my father's lies. But in fairness, I always knew that he was very weak on some level or another...simply not as weak as this.

Oh well. Nothing I can do about it. Just have to prepare for my own life away from this whole ordeal. I'm done with it now. We never going to be one big, happy family, especially when mother is just replaced like this.
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This month went by pretty quickly. It could have been faster, but it really seems like this summer has just been breezing by.

It has only been a little over five weeks since I've moved from the old place, but it feels like I have been at my apartment for about a year. I really like my apartment; I did like the old place, but my former roommate was starting to become very irritable and unpleasant and I realized that all the good memories that I could have made there had already been made, so as such it was best for me to leave.

I was there just a few days ago because the electricity bill for that place was accidentally sent to me. I went over there and left it at the door, and then went on the carport roof, one of my favorite things to do when I was there. It just didn't feel the same; it didn't even look the same, even though it basically was. All I had in my head was, "This just doesn't feel right." Well, at least that means that I moved on, for the most part.

I read one of Chuck Klosterman's books last week, and at first I was tempted to write one of my own in his style, but I eventually decided against it, because I felt that if it brought me fame, it would bring me the kind of fame that I wouldn't want. I wouldn't be writing it in a sincere manner, in any case. I don't want to be ultra-famous or some talking head that is known for being controversial (believe it or not); I just want to write scholarly stuff and be mildly known for that. I actually am writing a rough draft right now on a subject, but I still have doubts about whether or not any of these writings are going to amount to anything. But if I keep on writing and writing, I will have amassed a large amount of original documents, enough to make up a database or archive, and that alone is worth something, in my eyes. I mean, at least I could say that I did something with my life. I like writing, anyway, because it takes my mind off of how pathetic my life is.

I'm glad that I don't have internet at my apartment. I hate most of the internet; it is filled with garbage and boring people. It used to be that you could meet people who were really interesting, or at least fun. But now everyone is so wrapped up in themselves and people are even more caustic than they used to be. Almost no one talks about things that are interesting to me. Back in the day (roughly a decade ago) I could point out at least twenty interesting people online; now, I'm pretty sure that I could only do that with about four or five. I don't know why this is; part of it might be because I have higher standards now. But I think that most of it is because the internet is now a part of real life, and people are too afraid to be different. Of course, they would never admit that, but nonetheless there is always a "right" way of doing things, and many "wrong" ways of doing them, to most people. And that in itself is going to stop a lot of interesting things from happening. Just...I don't know. Most things are so boring these days. There are maybe two or three sites that especially interest me these days. People in general just spend hours dicking around on their smartphones; I have no idea why anyone would waste their time like that. Read a book or something. I've never owned a smartphone, and I doubt that I ever will.

Outside of that, nothing much is going on. I just want to stop drinking altogether; I only drink a 40 oz a night now, which is a significant reduction. I am also looking after my father's house while he is gone; he put down the dog that his girlfriend had. I feel sad about that; before I learned that, I thought that I was a borderline sociopath, but I guess that I am not quite.
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I'm not feeling too well.

I don't know if it is physically or psychologically rooted. It could be both. I just feel like I'm going haywire and that my body is just acting up. I feel like I see things sometimes, my body heats up for no good reason, my throat swells up, my eyes hurt, I have almost no desire or energy...I just have never been through anything like this before.

When my mother was in hospice, I just felt like I was running on empty. I had to keep myself from crying in my workplace. Fortunately, I did, but that was still embarrassing. The year after Mom's death, I just drank a lot and did a stupid amount of legal highs. Last year, I was only worried about my father doing something inappropriate at my mother's grave.

You'd think that it would be easier as it goes on. That was the trend. But now, it isn't so. It is like my father has completely forgotten about my mother; I brought up that it was the time of the year a few days ago to him, and he just thought that I was talking about the seasons. How dense and shallow could he be? That was his wife, and now he forgets all about her. He replaced her with someone else, and expects his children to be happy for him. Well, I'm not.

Also when I inadvertently brought up about the denial of my autonomy growing up, he added "...and you're going to blame your parents for that?", laughed, and then said that his conscience is clear because while he may have made mistakes, he did what was best. Sure, he might have, but best for whom? It was really all about him, growing up. Not to mention that admitting mistakes and saying that "I did my best" does not absolve you from the fact that you fucked your kid's life up; there is no way I can have a normal life due to what happened to me when younger...I basically have no career path, and no future. What is worse, is that he fully admits that he made mistakes, but that it doesn't affect him at all. That takes some real nerve to openly admit that; he probably is emotionally shallow, with both this and forgetting about my mother. I don't know how long I can talk to him.

And even if my father had nothing to do with it, my life is still hard now as is. I have no motivation; I still want to do things with my life, and I have minor interests, but I can barely do anything. I can't even read a book; I have the fear that depression is turning me into an idiot. I'm not quite drinking myself stupid, but I need to watch that, as well.

I feel that this is the beginning of a downward spiral. I don't know how to stop it. It is bad enough that things are the way they are with my mother dead and my father the way he is; I also need to find another place as soon as possible. Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs is ringing true for me, and it may not end up pretty. Just...Jesus. I ended up dealing with low blows, and they all synergized into one great mess.

I don't feel suicidal. Oddly, I feel less angry at myself, or anything anymore. I'm just sad. Perhaps that is a sign of maturity; anger barely changes anything. It can, but it usually doesn't.
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I'm experiencing anxiety and stuff at this time. It is just the time of the year; three years ago was the day when my mother entered hospice, and she died two months later. You'd think that it would get better, and in some ways it ways, but in quite a few other ways it hasn't. I still dream about my mother on the odd occasion, but it really does feel like she's dead now. It has been that way for roughly half a year.

Tomorrow is also the five year anniversary of me leaving MTSU. I can't decide if that is a long time or a short one. Plenty has changed about both myself and others (I don't trust alcohol anymore, I don't like to party, I don't like bars, and one of my friends is dead). But even if not, it doesn't matter because that phase has passed and I doubt that I'll ever meet those people or visit that place again. I mean, sure, you never know, but it just seems unlikely. I did like being there, for the most part, but it is time to move on. On to what, though, I am not sure. I don't have much of a clue, to be honest. Oh well, at least I can say that I more or less act like an adult now.

So I'm just dealing with seasonal shit. Mostly in my personal life, but there have been a few things in the environment, as well. I must have allergies, because my eyes hurt and my nose isn't always doing well. I also don't like it when it suddenly gets hot. Mostly, though, I feel like I have mild dementia, because I can't focus, I get very angry for no reason, I forget things, and I feel like I'm hallucinating half the time. Then again, I seem to do that around this time of the year, and this was true even before my mother dying and then dead.

I've been having odd bouts of hypnagogic visions. It is cool that I have them, but I can't control them very well. I'm just taken to different vistas, and I can see them as plainly as if my eyes were open, but there isn't much to do in those places, if you even can do anything in the first place. Whenever I request a vision or an action of my own creation, it seems like my subconscious taunts me and either denies it, or gives me something I wouldn't expect. It seems that even in either the Astral plane or the Mental plane, I have little to no power.

Just...I don't know. It just feels crazy.
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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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I tried writing an autobiography from the beginning of this month until about four days ago, but I couldn't do it. It was way too painful; I couldn't find any real substantial good memories or qualities about myself or my life when I was younger. They were almost all bad memories. I wrote it in a truthful, yet negative fashion and while it wasn't so hard to actually write it down, when I was focusing on other things I felt like crying and sometimes even vomiting from remembering all of the stuff in my younger life.

I did discover, though, that I still have a fairly good memory. I thought that my memory was crap, but apparently it is still good; I just focus on the present now.

I did learn one important thing from this, which is to not focus on the past and instead focus on the future. But what future do I have? I mean, I write stuff, but that doesn't mean that I am going to amount to anything. I'm afraid of failure, but the certain failure is to not even try. Still, trying doesn't guarantee a success, or the prevention of a worse failure.

I wasn't able to write very well when trying to write my autobiography. I told my therapist that, and she said that the autobiographical style just isn't what suits me. I would probably have to agree with that; my writing style is generally fairly formal and intellectual.

Outside of that, the university isn't back from vacation yet, but they will be soon. It is odd that they take such a long break; I don't always know how to adjust to that. When my friends were gone for two weeks, I had a hard time dealing with that. I've been reading books to help alleviate the anxiety, which seems to help me keep myself from stagnating.

I'm trying to get on a medication that will help me reduce my drinking, but the psychiatrist has to send information to my insurance, and I think she forgot to do that. I'm really making an effort to reduce that habit.
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Christmas was somewhat uneventful. There were some minor awkward moments, but overall I had an okay time, and received more presents than I thought that I would. I didn't have presents then, but the day after I felt bad so I bought two boxes of Moon Pies for my brother and a box of chocolates each for my father and his girlfriend.

I talked to my sister the day after Christmas. She seemed well, but somewhat disturbed. We talked a lot about the past, and of family stuff. I might have drained her a little bit, but the conversation ended well.

My brother was here until yesterday. We hung out a bit and he got me new pillows; he wanted to replace the sheets on my bed, but I washed them and they ended up being salvageable. I did buy him lunch yesterday, and we also had some beer that I bought the day before yesterday.

All in all, not a particularly bad holiday season.

I finished The Dynamics of Light and Dark over two weeks ago. I'll probably start writing again in a few days, because I still have a lot to write about and I need to keep my brain active.

Overall, it has been kind of quiet. I came to a realization about a week ago, while I was trying to go to sleep but failing, that throughout my youth I was too familiar and trusting with people, and revealed too much about myself. With my high level of empathy, I was too open and I was foolish enough to at least partially believe that others were as good-natured as me. Of course, I had experience that some were not, but a lot of people were kind to me out of pity, it seems. I wonder how long that has been going on? I wasn't entirely clueless about the whole thing; my experiences with others did give me the notion that I was wrong, but I still had it in my nature to be so open with others, with that sense of aforesaid familiarity. While I have endeavored to become a lot more distant (and have somewhat succeeded), it does not come naturally, and I eventually lose my filter when I feel either anxious enough or comfortable enough. I now know what the problem is, but what is there to do about it? I can't become a total jerk, because then I'll lose my friends and whatnot, and I'll be a lot more of a miserable and unpleasant person.

I have only one more book to read til it hits the 75th mark of all the books that I have read this year. I can do it! That is an impressive number; I have all the time in the world, so I may as well use it to become more knowledgeable, rather than have my mind stagnate.

It is near the end of the year, and I've got to write the Monthly Synopsis soon. Hopefully I won't forget.
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Today is my legal birthday. Technically, it was yesterday, for I was born overseas and it was the 20th in Japan yesterday. I generally celebrate both days out of confusion.

I'm 31 years old now. I was ready for it, and I feel that old (more or less), but I honestly can't believe that I've been on this Earth for over three decades, and basically have had self-awareness for 17 years (I consider the age of 14 as the start of psychological maturity, where you start to be aware of yourself and your life).

I wonder how I'm going to be later on, and how my life is going to play out. I sometimes feel like a loser, for I have no solid career or family of my own, and likely never will. At 31, if you haven't developed those yet, chances are you won't ever. I'm still youngish, but in a few years I won't be. Is my life going to be a dead-end? Then again, I do have motivation as well as a very thoughtful and introspective nature to my mind, and I've already written a lot. I also don't make mistakes nearly as much as I used to, meaning that I have gotten wiser. I still plan on writing more, so I think that there is still a chance that I can make something out of myself; that I still have potential, if you will.

I've improved dramatically over the past year or so; most of this comes from the realization that I can be wrong, and that just because I have a thought or an emotion, does not mean that it is justified. Self-doubt, surprisingly, can take you a long way.

I've been really interested in my dreams, recently. It hasn't gotten to the point where I am lucid in my dreams, however I remember them more clearly and all of my actions within them are in character. I even remember things from my waking life in them, and it has gotten to the point where I am able to learn many things from them. I honestly think that dreams are portal to another world, and I have had both out-of-body experiences as well as astral and mental projection over the course of several months. They seem to be getting more common, although I have yet to know how to do it willingly; they come to me on their own. I'd very much like to master those abilities, for I feel that they are very important to possess.

I have a theory that the afterlife is very similar to the dream world, and that it is important to enhance one's abilities through their dreams as well as obtain the aforesaid abilities in order to have a better afterlife, or at least to understand it better. But who knows for sure?

Other than that, I've just been reading a bit. I was originally somewhat fatigued from it; I still had the motivation, but not really the interest in the things around me. But if you start looking hard enough, you'll find something else.
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Still smoking, although I feel that I should cut back soon, if not quit altogether. I got a pack of smokes early this morning and when I went up the hill to my apartment, I was nearly out of breath. But I did walk longer and up the same hill and more later that day when I went to the university and I was more or less fine then, so I don't know.

I saw my psychiatrist today. I told her that I stopped drinking, but that I was smoking now. She was a little alarmed, but she did admit that it was a sign of progress, in that I realized that I had a problem and that I was trying to find a substitute. She asked me what other substitute I could use (she couldn't think of any on her own). I told her that video games might work; she laughed and said that it was worth a try. I could sit down for a few hours a day and play my old systems while sipping an energy drink, I guess; I used to do that when I was younger. I have fond memories of that, but all in all it is only good to do that when you're just really bored (oddly, I don't get bored as often as one would think; I entertain myself through introspection and daydreaming).

I've been having these weird dreams over the past week or so where I go back to school (either high school, community college, or graduate school) and I fail miserably in the classes. In one dream I forgot that I had a biology test, and I was fretting over how to take it. I think that such dreams illustrate two things: that I am afraid of failure, and that my mindset has changed so much that I would no longer perform well academically, although I dare say that I'm more intelligent than I have ever been, outside of perhaps memory. Last night I had a dream that I went back to community college and that I had a really small, single apartment. I think this represents the introduction to independent adulthood that I was never granted in my late teens and early 20s; that kind of fucked me up. It wasn't until I was 28 when I had any semblance of an independent life, and I really only started acting like an adult when I was nearly 30.

My third book, The Threads of the Mind, is almost done. I basically have to wrap the sixth chapter up and then write a conclusion. After that, I'm going to revise the parts I haven't revised yet and then design a cover for it. It will be self-published on lulu.com and I'm going to hand out autographed copies to my friends (I have roughly five of them). One of my friends is really impressed with me; I should be happy and proud, sure, but writing a book is something that almost anyone with enough time and effort can do. I'm going to write more soon afterward.

Other than that, not much is happening. This September has been nowhere near as fun as last year's, but the next months might get better.
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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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So it turns out that SSI won't be giving me my monthly paycheck because I'm basically not wasting their money.

Mind you, this isn't permanent, however I really need to get it under the limit of $2000 as soon as possible.

Most people would love to have this problem. My roommate says that people would be jealous of me. But honest-to-God, I don't know how to spend it. I know that I will have to get a new laptop (this current one is half-buggy and 6.5 years old), and I know that I should take a trip to the Washington Coast to visit the old haunts like I said I was going to, but I still have no urge to spend money.

I guess that I'm one of those retarded people who has a lot of money despite having no income because they never spend it.

I do feel burdened, but I feel more frustrated more than anything. I used to be really angry, but now I'm somewhat amused that they actually gave me MORE money while I was trying to get it down to the limit and now I'm not going to get my checks for a while. That doesn't add up in any logical sense. And all of this, was the result of me actually being respectful of their money and therefore not spending it so horribly.

There have been some good things as a result. New t-shirts of anime characters, in order to be "ironic". A used PS3 and some cool games, although I've only played two of them (Dragon's Crown, by the way, is just as awesome as I thought). An emergency supply of food, and some Belgian ales. Basically, I'm living a life I wouldn't normally live, and doing things I wouldn't normally do. Many things can be said about these purchases, but at least I can say that I don't regret them.

All in all, I sort of want to work again. Being on SSI has a lot of limitations, but I need it if my chronic fatigue can't be treated and if I will be discriminated against (as I have been).

So...what else? I don't feel the anxiety anymore. That haunted me for a while. I have sharply reduced my alcohol intake, replacing it with visual meditation. I also don't eat gluten anymore, or at least I'm trying not to. As a result, I'm not as tired, and in better shape. I'm starting to get pretty good at the meditation, and have started to see minor visuals, but I still have a way to go.

I have gotten all the stuff that I cared about from my Dad's house while he's away, and I was looking through my keepsakes. As it turns out, I look and act completely different from when I was in high school/college compared to now. Granted, there was some awkward middling period where I was sort of an embryonic form of my current self back in MTSU and the following year, but I'm distinctly different from my youth and young adulthood.

And you know what? I like what I became, and I sort of resent how I used to be. I've come a long way, and even though I was mediocre at best and then warped into an infantile sperglord for roughly eight years, I got back on my feet and I became someone who I can actually like and respect. Not many people can look at how they are now, and like what they see in comparison to how they once were. The fact that I have made such progress and can look forward to better times, rather than have then behind me is solid evidence that I've made something out of myself, or at least I will sooner or later.

The funny thing, though, was that when I was growing up with my family, they basically made me a black sheep and said that I had all of these defects and problems. Well, looking back to how I was, I was really not that far from normal. I was simply an obnoxious dork who was warped by over-controlling parents; deep down inside, there was someone who was at least halfway normal. It couldn't be helped that my development was skewed, given that I had no proper role models, because my parents were complete freaks. But since my father was a doctor, and I was just a kid back then, all the focus and the blame was on me.

I don't look anything like I did in either my teens or even my early-to-mid 20s. To be honest, I like how I am both mentally and physically better.

Yeah, I turned out alright. Just need to find my place.
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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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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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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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On the 7th of this month, was the anniversary of me leaving my main job, and have a life that was largely unburdened by external factors.

I knew that it was sometime around now, but I didn't know the exact date until I looked at the first poem I wrote in the notebook that I carry around.

Some people thought that I would just stagnate. And for a while, I did. Between March and June of last year I did a bunch of legal drugs, such as Nutmeg, DXM, DPH, LSA, Kratom, as well as plenty of herbal supplements taken in excess and copious amounts of hard beer. I guess that this was the "cleansing" period of my life, in some odd way. To get all of the debauchery and bad habits out of my system so that they wouldn't haunt me for the rest of my life.

I ended up going to the psych ward in May of last year, and soon afterwards I stopped the drug use (outside of DXM and Kratom, which I only did occasionally). I still drank a lot of beer (the extent of which amazes me to this day), but that was because I was dealing with the upcoming anniversary of my mother's death. There was simply no other way to handle it at the time.

Now, I still do drugs on the occasion when it is appropriate. Nitrous oxide has proven to be interesting, and DXM will definitely be done again in about four months from now. But they are no longer my life. I have other things to do, and to focus on. I'm keeping away from beer now, and what I drink now is pretty mild and not in excess (I haven't been seriously drunk in four months).

But since I've settled down, I've realized that since about July of last year, I have made tremendous steps forward in order to become something worthwhile in this world. I've written over 360 poems, dozens of essays, made two computer games, made a painting (want to make more, but it is sort of on the side right now), and I even wrote a book. And it will only go forward from here. There is no sign of me stopping.

It was all because I started reading academic books. It opened my mind to so many different things, got me out of my self-pity and emotional stagnation, and helped me discover many things about both the mind and the world that I had no idea existed. I've read over 40 books or so, and I'm not stopping anytime soon (although I did take a break from it when I wrote A Soul Turned).

So no, I'm not a failure. I'm on the way to something great. And it will happen.
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So I did three more songs, and finished an album. I put it up on Bandcamp, and I'm waiting to see the reception.

I'm not sure if it is going to be well-liked, but I did have a lot of fun making it, and that is what counts, right?

I didn't read today, but I can read tomorrow. I don't have anything to do tomorrow, so it will probably just be me waiting to hear from others about how my music was and all that.

I met someone I knew from years ago today, and I didn't really impress him with what I was currently doing. Now, I didn't tell him even half of what I am doing, and I certainly couldn't tell him that I was on SSI, but that kind of hit me. Still, I have done a fair amount of creative and constructive stuff since I got on disability, and I have a lot of people to vouch for that. And I'm only going to do more, so I think in essence I will live a productive life.

I hope to do more. I'm pretty sure that I will. But there is always that nagging fear that I won't, and that what I do produce won't be good enough. But the only failure is not to try.
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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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We got internet back! That means that I get to access it whenever I want to, pretty much.

I don't know how to feel about that. On one hand, it will make things less boring at the apartment, but on the other, not having it prompted me to actually go outside, and read, make games, and write. Of course I will continue to do those things, however I probably won't for a while due to the distraction that the internet will provide. While I am glad that it is back, I sort of appreciated the times I had without it.

I was really angry this morning, and had a headache. I was getting into my delusions, but when I saw the therapist today, I was able to talk about them, and told her that I felt horrible. It all stemmed from the fact that I desire to be appreciated and loved, and I've been rejected by both my family and society in general. There is no way to fix that, but since I know what is causing those ugly thoughts and feelings, it will be easier to deal with.

I mentioned the Zoroastrian belief of the afterlife to her, about how if you have lived a life with pure thoughts, you meet an angel on a bridge, but if you have ugly thoughts, you meet a hag that throws you off of the bridge, down into hell. She said that everyone would meet the hag, so that makes me feel better.

So I'm better now. I really don't think that I will be in a bad place for a while, or at least I hope not.
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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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I'm at 38,000 words now. I sort of have the feeling that the story will go over 50,000 words, but I'm not sure by how much. There are really only two pivotal scenes in the book left, so I could very well be wrong about that.

There isn't really a whole lot to do today. I ended up not going to the Theory of Numbers class yesterday, and I doubt that I will go again. I can just tell that I'm not for classes like that. They simply don't appreciate how my mind works. That isn't to say that my thinking style fits in well with fields outside of STEM, but they still seem to tolerate me better.

At least I seem to learn from my mistakes. I was once in a class that I officially took three years ago, and the professor sort of made me look like a fool. Knowing that things could repeat themselves, I decided to cut the losses in advance. I'm pretty fortunate that I was in the field of Psychology throughout both my undergraduate and graduate school, or else I probably would have dropped out of college by around the first or second year. I actually did think that I wasn't college material from the first two quarters of my first year in community college, because I did so horribly in the math and science classes. The only science that I don't entirely suck at is Biology.

Sort of bored, right now. Not much to do today, besides go back home.

August 2017

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