Back on the Drink

It’s almost eight, and Len and I have been watching season 2 of Supernatural.  It’s one of her favourite shows.  I can get down with it.

I’m on my third John Smith’s Extra Smooth.  It’s going down well.  I started drinking again.  I’m not worried about health issues.  When am I?

I’m not worried about dependency.  Drinking relaxes me.  I only stopped to focus on meditation, and mental clarity.  Now I’m less concerned with meditation and clarity.  I’d like to spend some time relaxing.

I’ve been braindead for the longest time.  It’s only in the past few hours I’ve felt awake.  The drink knocked me out yesterday.  Again, I’m not worried, and I’m not going to humour worries.  I can sleep whenever I find the need.  I like that way of living.

It seems I’ll drink over the winter now.  I’ll drink less if I start to meditate more, or play Xbox more.  It’s not like I drink a lot, anyway.  My body started rejecting the alcohol last time  One can was near-impossible to finish.  I was drinking lager then.  I’ve now switched to the delicious and luscious John Smith’s.

I gave up drinking for about four months, I think, only beginning again a few days ago.  I didn’t quit for health reasons.  I just lost interest.  It’s going to be a good winter.  I can feel it.

I’ll raise a toast and focus on relaxing.  I’ll still be reading and studying to develop myself.  I’ll still be writing.  There’s every reason to feel optimistic about my second-favourite season approaching.

Quick Note

I’ve been up for about twenty-four hours. Len and I are sitting here, tapping away at our laptops.  I started my Christmas shopping.  Len found out she’s getting priority to move into a new flat.

I’m scrapping the blogging method used in the past two posts.  I waited all day (on both days) for inspiration, and when it hit me I wrote it down in a couple of words  I got a bunch of these ideas and tried to cement them into one post.  I’m missing the flow that writing as the idea comes brings.

The wind’s billowing about.  You can hear the scattering of the leaves.  I’m looking forward to Christmas.  I’ve been drinking beer.  I’ve got more coming today.  I’m pleasantly surprised that I can have two beers a day and still be within the recommended allowance.  Two cans is all I need.

The sun’ll be up soon.  It’s half-five.  I’m going to drink coffee, see if I can give myself a running start to the day.  Not a lot’s on.  I plan to read, write, listen to Audible books, and do some positivity writing in my journal.  I’ll meditate and do EFT.  I’m feeling good about the day ahead.

Misunderstandings Abound

Patients kept thinking I was a staff member on the psychiatric wards.  It happened enough times for it to be a thing.  I must have looked somewhat normal.  I found solace in that idea.

A few months ago Len went into hospital for a week.  I went up to visit.  I chatted with all the familiar psychiatric nurses.  It was strange to be on the other side of the equation.  I felt no common bond with any of the patients.  It’s a different world when you’re visiting.

I had a sweet thing going when I was in my mid-twenties.  Nobody knew I was crazy.  Well, they thought I was crazy, but in an innocuous, playful way, but nobody knew about my history of mental health problems.

It was liberating, to an extent.  I felt like I was free to be an independant person.  Everyone judged me by the regular standards they’d use to judge anybody else.  I felt more willing to find a girlfriend, socialise, and meet new people.

It’s a different bond altogether, knowing people who are genuinely crazy, whilst it’s known that you yourself are genuinely crazy.  There’s no outlier present.  There’s something inspiring and comforting about not being altogether sane, and making no secret of it.  You tend to accept people more.  You don’t evaluate them with the same standards you’ judge everyone else by.  It feels like an emancipation.

I kept my secret well, but I was far from sane as I strutted bravely into my late twenties.  I got to a stage where I resented the universe around me.  I’d go through hardships and hate it.  I’d see people living close to me and hate them.  A concerning thing happens when you fall into the trap of hating the universe around you.

You start to see your anger as power.  Sure, rage and bitterness change you within, but can it change the without in a constructive way?  You start thinking that anger equals empowerment, bitterness equals a readiness to be assertive.  If only you could be elsewhere, with all the good people, but it doesn’t work like that.

I was fueled by the ideal that there was something noble about struggling.  I was surrounded by, as I saw it, culturally and intellectually bankrupt people.  They held a mirror up to the very core of my dark, unforgiving soul.

I was mentally fighting with myself to produce energetic states of being.  I didn’t eat.  I fed myself on the one thing that, in the long run, costs the most.  I developed energy as fuel for life, by outwardly hating the world, and everything that I observed in it.

I’m in a state of peace with the world, now.  I have the odd snag, here and there.  I snap back to redundant ways of thinking.  The fallout was harsh.  It was the result of being hateful and uptight for a prolonged period of time.

I’ve learned my lesson, now.  The one thing I’ve realised is that you really do get out what you put in.  I’d like to think I could be in that same location, with the same financial limitations, yet find peace and relative stability, now.

I suppose people thinking I was a staff member on the wards meant something to me on a deep level.  Maybe it meant I still had an air of civility about me.  The madness hadn’t fully taken me.  I was still something that resembled human.  I looked around and saw a dozen faces that were brimming over with a passion that wasn’t so obvious to see at first glance.

You get to a stage where you’re staring the psychological pink elephant in the face.  Somebody’s saying something to you, and you’re thinking just how insane they sound.  Not my beliefs, though.  Not my views.  That’s something else.  This person’s crazy.  You try and ignore this faint, swelling sense of hypocrisy within you, and you start to wake up to your own subjective nature.

All I ask of myself now is that I project myself as strong, and good.  In the privacy of my own home I’m a clown and sentimentalist, but as far as the world at large is concerned, when I’m truly embodying my ideal persona, I am strong, and I am good.

I like to believe my thinking goes deeper than it once did.  I don’t need to know if a person has a history of mental discord.  I’ll read every individual by how I feel about them, deep down.

You sit uneasy with the realisation that dysfunctional, but otherwise sane people are the ones you have to be vigilant around.  Put me in a room full of drunks and there’ll be a palpable tension in the air.  If somebody kicks off, it could easily lead to ugly beginnings.  Give me a room full of mentally ill people, and I feel at ease.

It starts to occur to you that people are just people.  If I’m the universe manifesting itself in higher sentience, then surely the next man is, and the next woman.  If I’m capable of realising my own hypocrisy and the ludicrous nature of my deepest beliefs, others must be experiencing the same thing, even if it’s only on a subconscious level.

We’re all here and we’re all one, except we’re not all one.  Give me a companion and there are three of us.  Leave me alone and there’s two of us.  Really we’re beyond one, when you strip the truth down through several layers.

I am the universe manifesting itself in sentient form.  When you begin to realise that that’s the basis of all human life on this planet, you evolve a little.  Empathy starts to seem worthwhile.  The golden rule comes into play.

I start to appreciate the fact that yes, I am willing to value myself to the degree that I don’t take those other parts of myself for granted.  I start to accept that I created this.  I created all you can see.  I created all that is.

The only time that that’s a counterproductive process of thought is when you leave your awareness of others as one with the whole, look out onto others, and witness separation.  I like to think there’s no real need to be constantly aware of separation or oneness, but it’s fun to feel the impact, from time to time, of the realisation that we’re all this one consciousness.  It’s the one realisation that can really instill lasting change within you.

Travel Within, Travel Without


Travelling on my own revealed a side of me I’d never seen.  I had to have my shit together, and keep my shit together for the foreseeable future.  I couldn’t lose it, I had to navigate an alien environment and seek food and shelter.  I pushed it about as far as it could go.

It felt good to have my world on my shoulders, for a while.  If trouble arose, I’d have to deal with it, effectively.  I’d have to find a way, no matter what.  I never left these beautiful islands, but I felt like the adventure had been vast.

I was carrying around more than just a rucksack.  I had my superiority complex as fuel for chaos.  I thought I was better than every hoi polloi hivemind everyman I encountered.  This belief manifested itself in a thousand woes.  It was a Create Your Own Nightmare adventure.  It was, at one level, the best time of my life, while in other ways, I was terrified, paranoid, and alone.

The problem arose the day I started trading the present for the future.  I’ll be happy when this happens.  I’ll live a full life when this occurs.  No.  It doesn’t work like that.  There’s only the now.  I was trading my happiness and contentment for something that might never occur.  It turned me bitter and tired.

I was trying, on a subconscious level, to get the best Struggle Story I could muster.  I was fueled by success books and inspirational movies.  All great people started small.  It was the Home Town Boy Does Good complex.  I relished in my struggle.  I loved the hubris that it gave me.  The only problem was, I didn’t know how to complete the character arc and write a great reversal of a humble initial stasis.

It seems now I avoid difficulty at any cost.  If I play a game and get stuck, I play something else.  If I don’t like someone, I disown them.  If something’s hard, I do something else.  Of course, all success books speak about the glory of overcoming obstacles.  I just don’t have the stomach for it, right now.

I’m scared to write fiction.  Born from discord and chaos, I forged a new world with my pen.  I didn’t know it at the time, but I’d end up living out that story, with eerie, and scarily accurate similarities.  Today, I think about writing a new story.  Nothing gritty, nothing dark.  If only writing a happy story didn’t bore me.  I’d be a lot further than I am right now, if it didn’t.

Back Down to Earth

For the longest time, I went into theatrical mode with every social interaction.  Communicating was an act.  I moved so all could see, spoke so all could hear.

I always felt like I was being watched, and still do.  The only difference between now and those earlier years is, for the majority of the time, I notice myself entering theatrical mode, and try and avoid it, act in a more authentic manner.

I’d considered myself charismatic, charming.  I could smooth talk anyone.  The Voices first kicked in and I altered my communication accordingly.  I didn’t know they were voices inside my head, at the time, so my grandiose behaviour only increased.  I must have been special, I thought, if people were constantly talking about me.

I look around now, and I feel more humble.  I’m sitting in my flat surrounded by things.  A wealth guru reckoned there was something called the vacuum law.  The universe hated a void, and would fill it.  I gave away everything I owned, in the pursuit of having more.  I ended up with everything I kept, in two bags.

I like having things again.  I feel somewhat prosperous.  I’ve got everything I need to be as comfortable as possible.  I do get rid of things, occasionally, usually giving them to family or friends, but I have a base I can call mine.  I’ve got enough clothes to last me.  I’m feeling relaxed, knowing I own things.  It’s a good feeling.

Possessions were something I felt like I wasn’t supposed to have, which shaped my view on my living arrangements.  It’s funny, because at one point all I wanted was something I wasn’t supposed to have.  I was obsessed with sex.  I wanted to seduce every woman I thought was out of reach.

I’d look upon my fiancée’s friends and desire them.  I looked at my friends’ girlfriends and desire them.  When I was in a relationship, I wanted someone else.  I would have slept with a taken woman, without a second thought.  I wouldn’t have cared.

I straightened that desire out.  I’m in a state where I’m happy with what I’ve got, now.  I’m happy with the social circle I’ve got.  I don’t feel the need to be a thespian with every word, deed and thought.  I’m more natural, now, you could say.  I’ll follow that trend.

I prefer to be hidden, and I need a bit of an act to go out in public, but nothing’s really at the fringes of behaviour or thought.  I’ll buy more things, dress modestly, and aim to present myself as a balanced individual.  Life’s just easier, that way.