The Hare’s Breath

Dancing on the breath of a hare, now that’s living!

My schizophrenic episode was my fault.  It’s not even an issue of feeling blame.  It’s a fact that I’ve had two major schizophrenic episodes.  The truth is, it was my choice to truant school.  It was my choice to begin taking drugs.  I smoked cannabis, I took amphetamines, and I ate magic mushrooms.  I drank myself into a stupor, and I pushed myself over the edge.

Let’s go back.  Am I saying that drugs caused the schizophrenia?  Well, I think my schizophrenia was due to genes.  I had a predisposition towards it.  Drugs and alcohol triggered an episode, but there’s no doubt in my mind that I was already vulnerable to breaking down, mentally.

If I get lung cancer it’ll be my fault.  There need not be emotion attached to that statement.  Facts can exist as absolute truths, and I like to think I’m capable of handling that.  I choose to smoke, and I pay the price.  I like the idea that I hold responsibility for all that happens to me.

You can get to a point where you feel like killing yourself because of the torment you’ve created, in extreme cases.  On the other side of the coin you can rise to a feeling of unlimited power because of the good you’ve manifested.  Simply taking onboard the truth that you are responsible for things manifesting in your experience is empowering.

I don’t talk much to Len about my views on God and the law of attraction.  She gets angry.  For a moment, it’s like I gave those kids cancer, or I’m the one who developed third world hunger.  I imagine that a person deeply invested within organised religion feels the same level of threat from an atheist.  The proclivity’s towards feeling negative emotion towards that person.  Somehow, what they’re suggesting about you and your belief system is some sort of perverse personal attack.

I’m responsible for my responses, emotions, and thoughts.  I’m responsible for how I feel about another.  It’s all about perspective and self-driven, conscientious thinking.  When you’re into the law of attraction and similar ideas, you’re accepting something.  I attract all that manifests within my experience.  The wheels are already there, but I start the engine.

My second schizophrenic meltdown was my fault.  I stopped taking my medicine.  I smoked cannabis.  I even took amphetamines.  I deprived myself of sleep.  I indulged in hatred, aggression, and anger.  I reached into the pit of my belly and pulled out a monster.

I let ego and arrogance envelop me.  The second breakdown was way, way worse than the first.  It’s funny, because I seem to remember someone telling me, at 17, that I’d probably relapse when I was about 30, and that’s exactly what happened.  I might have invented that memory, but to me, it’s a very real memory.

On Sunday, my Nan was telling me of a car crash she’d had near my flat.  I tried to recall, and actually picked a memory out.  I remembered the car hitting us, remembered how I’d felt.  My Nan then told me I wasn’t in the car at the time.  My mind tricks me.

I always say I’m not a very good eye witness.  I remember Tupac rapping about a schizophrenic palm reader.  That always seemed like an appropriate thing to marvel at.  I don’t fully trust my senses.

I’ve learned, in no uncertain terms, that my mind can be its own entity, working against me.  So what am I?  What is my conscious mind?  I’m a soul, and my conscious mind’s the workings and developmental processes of my brain’s neural circuitry and activity.  I can create thoughts, but I am not my thoughts.  We get deeper into this dilemma of belief.  Your beliefs shape your destiny.

I have very little time for people who don’t adopt a belief structure where self-responsibility is a key factor.  Emotion rarely hits me hard, though I’m no robot when it comes to feelings.  I’ve been very, very insensitive in the past, when I first adopted this stance.  I was an idiot back then.  Noughties Theo was a wanker, although he seemed to do better than me, overall, socially.

Ever since I was a child, I was fascinated by self-help books, astonished that they even existed.  I remember somebody getting me a book called ‘How To Deal With Parents’.  I got my Mum to order a pizza instead of cooking by saying, word for word, what it said in the book.

Of course, me being me, I had to tell my Mum straight away that it worked.  I didn’t realise back then just how impactful and astonishing self-help material was to me, nor did I know there was a wealth of this type of stuff, on demand.

I read ‘How To Succeed With Women’, when I was in my early twenties, ‘Think And Grow Rich’ in my late twenties.  They were like bibles, to me.  I was amazed.  I had something I could copy, something I could emulate.  I guess growing up without a father figure really gave me this thirst for a reliable, motivating, and guiding presence.

When I finally discovered there was a wealth of self-help material, and realised I could study as much of it as I wanted, as soon as I realised it was all out there, I couldn’t stop.  There are self-help books out there on every topic, to achieve any aim.

I’ve been ridiculed about my interest in self-help stuff.  That used to bother noughties Theo.  I couldn’t care less, now.  I’m much more accepting.  God will guide me to everything I need.  All I need do is focus my mind, and have the faith to see things through.

I take responsibility and I get over the initial shock that feeling like you’re a powerful creator brings.  Mostly, I’m optimistic, almost hopeful.  I know I can develop myself, to any degree, in direct relation to the time and effort I put into something.  I do feel quite liberated.

When I first started this blog, in June, I was a nihilistic, suicidal, alcoholic atheist.  I’ve come a long way.  I’m now on the fringe of insanity, but I like that.  A man in a psychiatric hospital once told me

“There’s a hare’s breath between a genius and a madman.”  Now, I only call myself a genius in private, and mock-ironically to other people, but I love this idea.  I’m all about concepts that empower me, and the hare comment certainly was a fitting statement, something I could sink my teeth into.

I suppose the takeaway from all this is that I’m quite accommodating and accepting.  At least, that’s what I know I strive to be.  We’ve all got different beliefs, and that’s fine.  I’ll honour others’ beliefs, whilst simultaneously keeping mine relatively private.

I once read that a situation is fate, but that an individual’s reaction to a situation is karma.  Although that statement doesn’t make my heart sing, and is quite crude, I can get on board with the general gist of it.

Sneaky Sleep Reversal

Well, today was different.  I went to bed at midnight, mainly ’cause my internet stopped working.  I’ll take that as a sign, I thought.  After snoozing, eating almost half a strawberry cheesecake, and switching between the sofa and my bed, I was finally up at 5 PM.

I drank a beer.  Len’s had them in the cupboard.  I ate some nice food and browsed the internet.  I’ve been wasting time.  Today feels like a day off.  After talking about the lack of heat too much, the universe realised I was obsessed with heat, and gave me more heat, in the form of Len telling me that she was afraid to have the windows open.  I’ve been drinking Capri-Sun and sitting in my shorts like it’s a hot summer’s day.  I even contemplated having a cold bath.

The night is young.  At the back of my mind I was trying to fuck up mine and Len’s synchronisation.  I got my wish.  She’s asleep, it’s ten thirty PM and the night is young.  I’ve still got time to feed my mind, get myself into a peaceful and focused place, and do something constructive.

I’m still smoking.  It’s amazing how long a pouch of Amber Leaf lasts, and it’s not like I smoke in moderation.  I don’t.  Right now I’m thinking of continuing with the smoking.  I really like it.  That’s not to say I won’t sway in the opposite direction at a moment’s notice.  We’ll have to see.

With Len retiring, after becoming completely drunk after three drinks, I feel like I’m going to get some much-needed me time.  With my wish granted, I can now focus and choose my path for the next ten hours or so, maybe even longer.

Get a life, Theo!

Try not to talk about Jordan Peterson, meditation, or EFT.  Go on.  Give it a go.  I bet you can’t.  Me and the boys have been wondering why you don’t take action and make some money, seeing as you seem to be so enthralled with the philosophy behind making it.  We’re also wondering why you don’t give a shit about your body.  You’re fat!  Get some exercise!

Some of the women have been explaining your virtuous nature.  I don’t know why women root for you or stick up for you.  It must be something to do with a mother role.  Yes I know, Theo.  You saw an episode of Eastenders where a woman expressed her desire to mother Phil Mitchell.  Yes, and your mother told you that your father was like Grant Mitchell, and you’ve loved Ross Kemp ever since.  I don’t get it.

You’re trying hard without trying at all.  I’ve got to hand it to you.  You don’t come across as a try-hard at all.  Fuck knows what you’re doing with this blog.  Nobody reads it.  You’ve got seven followers, probably your friends and family.  Well, you tell me!  What are you hoping to get out of all this?

You’ve been through hell, yes, but join the club.  Life is suffering.  People suffer.  Do you remember that Sylvester Stallone speech, from that movie, you memorised?  What happened to thinking like that?  Did the complete destruction of everything you thought you were really get you down, that much?  Yes, I’m joking slightly, but come on.

There seems to be a divide between where you are and where you claim to know you’ll end up.  I don’t see how you’re going to bridge the gap.  Infinite Intelligence?  What sort of a strategy is that?

Go and stack shelves.  Do something useful with your time.  Plant trees, go running, smother yourself in jam and climb onto the rooftop naked and scream at the footballers on the top field.  Do something.

It’s no good, is it?  Your lack of a father figure left you in a state where you think no man rules you.  You’d rather commit suicide than grind through a mediocre existence, so you write this diary to give yourself a sense of involvement with your external world.  I’ll let you in on a little secret.

Those books you’ve got, read them.  Read until your brain hurts.  Read until your ideas are many and your reservations few.  Read and meditate and do your EFT.  Listen to your Jordan Peterson.  I admire you for making the effort to better yourself.  If you’re not going to be useful, you might as well think usefully.

Don’t you ever feel you’re going to get to forty-five and regret not having kids?  What’s your purpose?  I don’t see how money’s going to solve everything.  It can’t buy happiness.  Yes, I know.  It doesn’t buy misery, either.  What I will give you is a sense of ease about money.  I’ll attune psychically with you.  No I’m not talking about ESP shit.  Get a life, Theo!

Training Thought

Jordan Peterson snippets are endless on YouTube.  I’ve got a hundred snippet videos, taken from Jordan Peterson’s lectures, lined up.  With every video there’s four more beneath it that I can click on to Watch Later.

Of course, I’m part of the YouTube generation, just.  I have an attention span of about four minutes, thirty seconds if you count porn.  I’m flitting from topic to topic and it’s genuinely fascinating.  It’s wasting time without any real waste.  I can indulge my trigger-happy impulses, and dart from thing to thing while developing myself whilst being entertained.

This guy’s amazing.  I’m so glad I trawl YouTube for Conservative American videos.  What I’ve discovered with Jordan Peterson has changed me, already.  I see things in a different light.  You could argue that I’m simply fascinated by psychology, and I am, but there’s something inspiring about this man.  My brain’s looking out for lessons that tie in with what I’m already studying.  I’m finding a lot of things to take from each video.

On another note, I figure that the message of Abraham is best learned through the written word.  Perhaps Jordan Peterson’s teachings are best digested in writing, but my interest isn’t waning, yet.

Something gets lost in translation when I watch Abraham teaching.  Even more gets lost when it’s an image with an audio track.  Who the hell can tolerate Audible?  Where do you look?  What satisfies the hunger of your sense of sight?

I change it up, now and again, to gaming commentary, an unboxing video of an Xbox One S, something like that.  I’ll watch Ben Shapiro dismantling left wing debaters, but that can only take you so far.

“I’m right, ha!”  Seems to be the only impulse satisfied by watching the left versus right phenomenon happening in America.

By the way, I found what God was alluding to when he asked me about the mermaid disease.  It was a Jordan Peterson video called The Disability Bureaucracy Wants Your Soul, something like that.  It challenged the very legs I rely on to stand, in a manner of speaking.  It was a good watch.  I’m feeling like I’m capable of enjoying challenge more and more, as time goes by.


Anyway, someone distracted me on Facebook.  I lost my train.  Oh well…

Meditation and EFT

Reading’s feeling easy now.  I feel calm and collected.  I’m not tired, even though I didn’t sleep a wink last night.  I feel cool and I feel alive.  I feel like I’ve got good control over my nerves, my body.  I’ve been attracting some aggression and discord.  The tide is shifting in a different direction.  I can feel it.

I know things and I feel things.  I know I’m intelligent.  I know if Len were to leave me tomorrow, a new woman would enter my life.  I know that, see?  I feel I can make a lot of money if I only apply myself.  I feel like that’s God’s honest truth, because it is.

I feel like I can make great friends.

“Oh mind, will you shut up about meditation and EFT.  Thank you.  God!”  Don’t think of a white elephant.  Don’t talk about misfortune and hatred.  Focus on the positive.  Focus on moving towards something, not away from something.  Focus on what is to be attained, not what is being lost, or missing.  That’s what I’m learning.

I’m a juggernaut of mind energy.  You get on this train and you ride it out.  Where you’re going begins making sense after a while.  You accept that there’s this law in the universe, the law of attraction.  And you don’t tell people this because it pisses them off.  They angrily think of a child with cancer or third world hunger and direct all their anger at you.

Still, you believe.  It’s fun to believe things and not tell people.  It’s cheeky to be so into something it fills your heart until it sings, and never talk about it to anyone.  I’m not being sarcastic, no.  No I’m not.  Okay okay.  It can be fun.

In fact, a “support group” would only bring ego into the fray.  The truth is, you hold this treasure dear to you, and you hope nobody even comes close to believing in the same thing.  With that under your belt, you start accepting other people’s beliefs.  It almost takes you by surprise when people try and tell you their views.  I mean, it’s not like you give a shit.  We don’t, really.

We’re all tuned into WIIFM:  What’s In It For Me.  You spend so long using the conversational and social tactic of feigning interest in others you actually begin to care.  You get into this weird place where talking (not writing, I might add) about your own views, interests and habits seems like stating the obvious as you carefully listen to your own tone and pace.

Suddenly other people are interesting, and anyone who’s not on that wavelength, the frequency of cherishing others’ interesting bits, feels gratified that they are, in fact, as great as they secretly think they are.  They must be!  You’re interested!

I don’t get bored of writing.  I just wait for the urge and flow with it.  I’m somewhat self-obsessed.  Writing helps me focus.  I’m having a conversation, here.  The direction of my thought changes from moment to moment.  I’m either talking to the world, my subconscious, God.  It all blends into one at some point.

I’m just going to keep doing me, with the addition of two simple techniques,

“Don’t say it, Theo.”