Relapse, Recovery and Nightmares

It is no secret that I have a somewhat addiction-prone personality. My lust and passion for life sometimes manifests in addictive behavior. In reality, it could be said I'm addicted to a lot of things. I can't stop playing house music nor can I stop taking pictures. Not being creative in some why is physically painful if I can't engage. Of course, I've learned how not to overspend and I've mostly learned how to budget my time so it doesn't interfere with other things. It is nice that I have a supportive person in my life that contributes a great deal to my creative energy and doesn't discourage me from spending a lot of time on it. The addiction to the creative force doesn't hurt anyone, especially myself. There are plenty of things that I've engaged in, however, that have the power to destroy me. 

When I was younger, I had a problem with alcohol. It really boiled down to easy access. It was legal, I could get it for mostly cheap or free and it did manage to shut the darkness inside my head up, albeit temporarily. I don't like the after effects of alcohol and never have. However, the drive for silence usually outweighed any thought of discomfort later. Eventually, I found cannabis and realized it treats me much better. Honestly, I'm addicted to that too but it isn't nearly as detrimental to my physical and mental health.  What really started to kill me faster rather than slower was energy drinks. DJing at bars was always a trigger point for me because alcohol was right there. Bars also sell Red Bull, which was a perfect alternative. Of course, over the years my consumption spiraled out of control It became a part of my functional existence. It became part of my identity. 

A couple of weeks ago, I had one of the most panic inducing nightmares I have ever experienced. My nightmares have always been somewhat graphic and panic-inducing but this one took it to a whole new level. I was broadcasting. For some reason I had a gun. It was silver, a 9 mm. Why my brain decided to add such excruciating detail, I don't know. The song (THE song) came on. I remember laughing as I put the gun in my mouth. As the final bars of the song played, I pulled the trigger. Suddenly, I am in my bed with the lingering taste of gun metal and blood in my mouth. 

Upon reflection, dreams like this usually crop up when I am over-consuming energy drinks. Caffeine isn't really the issue. I can drink loads of coffee and not have this problem.  The chemical soup, however, seems to have a profound effect on my subconscious. I've quit the damn things multiple times and have relapsed, often worse than before I quit. This time, I am determined to stick with it, not only for my physical well-being but also because even though it helps me in the waking world, it does nothing but bad things for me when I am asleep. I can't help but feel that one day, I would bridge the gap between my nightmares and reality. I don't want to put people through that. I know that many people would be profoundly negatively affected by something that tragic. Having to bury me, having to figure out all of my final affairs (the scope of which is mind boggling and if I can't figure out what that would look like, I can't imagine how tough it would be for those close to me), having to explain to my child why their parent committed suicide, the sheer amount of fallout from killing myself basically in public, the list of ramifications and consequences goes far beyond myself. This is something that I must consciously and subconsciously remember. 

In this moment, it feels like I am going to fail but at the same time I feel a strength and resolve that I haven't felt before. Maybe I'm turning a corner.  I feel like I am making far more progress on the mental end of things than I ever had.  It helps that I have help. I have to keep telling myself all the therapy I went through over the past few years actually has done something, even though sometimes I feel like I wasted everyone's time. That's the depression talking, though. I worked on the things I needed to work on and progressed in my own way. I don't exactly feel like doping myself up on legal medications for as long as I did was really helpful but I do acknowledge that being in a walking coma for a year kind of pushed a reset button. I also acknowledge the trauma of existing this way for so long. Further, I know deep in my soul that I have to work through this, just as I have to work through all of the trauma in the past. It is a lot to unpack but if I don't, I'll carry it to the point where I can't stop myself from ending my own life. 

There's a lesson in all this. Maybe it is just the journey that matters. 

Loneliness

I have a confession: I am deeply, incredibly, profoundly lonely. Saying this even to myself seems asinine. I am surrounded by people who love me. I have more friends than I deserve and I live with two people who would give thier life for me (the feeling is mutual). There is no doubt in my mind that there are people who are in my corner that have my back. They have proven this with both word and action.

Even thinking about my childhood, I can't say that I had no friends. In elementary school I didn't really but in middle school I had some good friends, a few that I still speak to now. I still felt isolated. I felt like there was no one to share my inner core with because no one really can understand it. I don't really understand it myself so I can't exactly explain it to anyone else. On the other hand, I come off to most people an open book. I really am open about a lot, mostly because it seems like it helps people. It helps to vent too. I've always been this way. I am the bard, the teller of stories. Stuff that seems utterly surreal has been my reality. I don't mind talking about it. It's entertaining in a way.

I know though that I am more than a sum of my own experience. I also know that I was born outside looking in. I feel alien in my own skin and there's not a damn thing that can be done about it. I understand a great deal about a lot of things yet I still feel as if I know absolutely nothing.

People come to me for advice and most of the time I feel helpful. I'm also not afraid of admitting that I don't know something. 

I feel a separation between myself and everyone else. I feel invisible in the black vastness of the universe. I am important but I am nothing. I feel so blessed but so selfish for acknowledging that I ache on a cellular level. I ache on a soul level. I'm tired. Of what, I can't really articulate. Some, I'm sure, can feel it in my voice and hear it through my words. No one really knows what to say about it though. Everyone is tired at this point. 

I don't think this feeling is unique. A lot of entertainers say they often feel alone in a crowd. I don't feel unloved. I just feel lonely. 

Internal Workings

If I killed myself, it would be on a rainy day. 

I wish I could convey why I would ever want to. I told someone once that one of my earliest memories is of feeling like my brain was split in two. The assumption is that it is a pull between this or that. A fence in between choices that manifest itself into trouble with making decisions. In reality, I am incredibly decisive. I'm also (usually) good at weighing things and making a decision I am comfortable living with. I fuck it up sometimes, as humans do, but in general I am regarded as a fairly good decision maker. The split in my skull is a fight between the swirling darkness swirling on one half and literally everything else. I can't really describe what the darkness is. It isn't a desire to harm, I know that for sure. I'll definitely bitch and express frustration, and sometimes it gets extreme. But verbal complaining is as far as it goes. I have an overactive imagination I admit. I honestly and truthfully don't think I could kill anything, though. I have a hard time with ants and mosquitoes. If I actually had to hunt for food, I'd fail miserably. I struggle with food I know was alive at some point. I wouldn't attack anyone unless defending myself and I wouldn't do any more harm than absolutely necessary. No, the darkness isn't about harming anyone other than myself. Even then, self harm isn't the core impulse. It's more of a black hole with a constant and unending siren song that seems comfortable yet absolutely terrifying.

And then there's everything else. I've been told and have read many things that depression is a lack of emotion. I don't experience this unless drugs are involved. That year I didn't feel anything was hell. Half of my mind was dead and in its place was a black hole of darkness and profound dispair. When things are functioning normally, I feel every emotion like a mule kick to the chest. Even joy is often painful in a way. I crave the pain of happy things. This means that I love intensely. This also means I have to try to maintain a detachment from everything that comes across as aloofness and unemotional. Of course I fail at this at times too. I come across as motivated as well as obsessive. It's a balancing act between letting the black hole consume my entire consciousness and drowning in emotional intensity.

I can't silence the darkness. I've tried. In my sleep, it follows me. Through drugs and alcohol, it persists. I feel like I am constantly on the edge, something whispering in my ear to jump. I pump creativity from every fiber of my being and chanel it like a fire hose aimed at a teacup because I can't stop. I can't pause for a nanosecond. If I do, the invisible hand will push me off the edge. 

For a long time, I was distracted by partying and then by just trying to survive. At this point, I lack large distraction. I realize though that ignoring the storm isn't dealing with it. I'm not sure if I can actually deal with it it. 

I've dealt with being erased for a long time. I feel almost like my entire existence was very nearly erased at conception. There has to be a reason for my existence, other than just screaming silently into the void. 

Calling me Home

This picture is the closest I have come to somewhat accurately portraying the home I dream about. I have seen this place with its purple sky and twin suns since I was a very small child. Of course if I tell anyone about this, they assume I either have an overactive imagination or that I am some sort of crazy. I've had the crazy label thrown at me quite a bit, for a whole multitude of reasons.  It hurts because it seems as if my reality is invalid. It reminds me that for some reason, I was born not of this place. It is doubly sad and painful that simple differences in physical appearance make me a less valid human being. There are days where I don't feel human at all and this only serves to drive home the message that I am different. 

I've been told by a few people that I really do seem to have a good grip on reality. That I seem to exist in peace while chaos is all around me. It must be at least partially true but sometimes I think it is just a mask I have built around myself. Sadness clutches my heart like a vice and I often feel like crying. I don't because what would be the point? I feel like to cry would be allowing weakness to seep in and upset the people I care about. My strength and resolve is helpful to them. I wouldn't ever tell them how close I am to snapping in half. 

I guess the problem with being so self reliant emotionally is that reaching out is difficult. I don't even know how to convey the absolute chaos inside my head, especially now that external entropy seems to be the normal right now. So many people are dealing with reality, there's little time for contemplation of the internal struggle. I don't have a choice, however. No matter what is going on outside of myself, I am still stuck neck deep in the mire and muck of my own thoughts. I've never been able to escape this, even though I have certainly tried. Not even in the embrace of eternal sleep have I been able to truly get away. 

I have "died" a few times. Some due to actions of my own hand, some due to unforeseen circumstances. Regardless of why, I was always told that I had to go back. That my mortal existence on this plane means something.  What that is, I cannot say. I have danced through the tangle of life and death, of immortality and mortality and I realize that all I want is to simply go home. I do wonder if some of my thoughts are just simply seeing greener grass on the other side. Is home all that wonderful compared to what I experience now or am I just waxing nostalgic for something that I can't entirely remember? 

I am of this life and it is of me. I am intertwined in the reality of others and while I could just disappear, that wouldn't be very nice. I am driven to keep doing, whatever the fuck that might mean. I can't idle or else the darkness will swallow me whole. I can't medicate myself into oblivion even though I really want to.  Consciousness and awareness are sometimes way too much for me to handle. And yet I keep enduring it. I have no fucking idea why as the reward isn't obvious. There are some schools of thought that say the reward is simply to exist. Maybe that's my motivation. 

I put up a really convincing narrative that I have it all figured out.  Truth of the matter is I really have no idea what I'm doing. 

Rain

Today I took a walk in the rain. It made me contemplate my existence and purpose on this world. I reflected on the good things I do and of the study I must continue to be a better citizen. I am also painfully aware that my definition of being a good citizen is different from what some people think. I try to do no harm and work at preventing harm to others. I guess all other things are wibbly wobbly. 

Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve the precious gift of life. I feel like nothing I do really matters as I am just a tiny speck of dust in an infinite universe. I also feel like I share my experiences to an empty room. I know this isn't true because I've been told by many that my vulnerability and creativity is very much appreciated. 

I don't think I'm destined to be famous. I think that fame would corrupt the message that I end up conveying. I don't think sheer numbers are really the important part either. Still, sometimes I crave the fame just a little bit. It comes from a place of never being noticed. A childhood filled with the pain of being ignored. Of being told my imagination and lived experience were meaningless. That my flaws and deficiency were what mattered the most. Thirty years later, I am still hurt. The pain clouds my every decision and manifests itself in all of my art. It also allows me to appreciate the deep and profound beauty in most things. I also am aware of the suffering and pain all around me and it it's depressing, to put it mildly. There is so much and so little I can do. Maybe sometimes we're just meant to watch flowers in the rain. 

On Social Media

UNFRIEND ME IF...ya really want to.

I'm not gonna do it over anything said on fuckbook.

I know, racism isn't a simple difference of opinion. I also know people are freaking out on a global level for more than one reason and that's bad enough.

We all slip up and say/.do stupid shit. That's part of being alive. However, there's fear, ignorance and trauma responses and then there's being an intentional genitalia for the sake of who knows what reason. Attention? Cultivating an echo chamber (which I guess boils down to attention)? I don't pretend to know enough about the human psyche to understand why people say inflammatory things when they know people will get upset. Sure, I'll make wise cracks and sometimes they fall super flat but humor is my deflection. I've learned at least somewhat what punching up looks like too and I admit I'm still learning. Sometimes, you just have to let go, though.

What I absolutely am not saying is that people being upset right now is invalid. It also is completely understandable why some things people say upset others (upset is a mild word but I can't think of a better one). But I'm seeing people that have known each other for decades tear each other apart over shit people said on the internet. It is SHIT people say on the internet. We have the world at our fingertips. Unfortunately this means we can blather our thoughts without thinking things through at a moment's notice.

I am human. I admit that. I love all of my friends, especially those I've known for an incredibly long time. I value long friendships that have survived differences of opinions. I hate seeing people I know fight with each other when we should be fighting the bullshit that has gotten us to this point. Nothing is going to happen in an instant, though. This shit storm has been brewing for at least 200 years. No amount of protesting is going to change that overnight. But we're starting. We're coming together as a species to try and make it so everyone is treated with fairness and respect. Keep fighting for that. Always fight for that. Don't fight each other because if we are doing that, we aren't fighting the actual problems.

Black lives matter because all lives matter not because they matter more (and even if they did, feels pretty shitty to be dismissed as lesser because of something you can't control even in the slightest bit, doesn't it?) I'm not trying to be sanctimonious and get up on a high horse. I don't know everything and my perception is 100% limited to what I experience. In the grand scope of the universe, that is very little.

If you go because of this, or anything I say on this soapbox, I'll be sad but it would be unfair to call you out for how you cope. I won't be sad because you disagree with me, I'll be sad that you didn't come to me to discuss why.

None of us are perfect but that would be boring as fuck anyhow. Shine on, friends. Always remember, suffering sucks but it isn't an Olympic sport. Be kind and just listen to each other.

A Spiritual Day

Today started with a grim image of the future. Everything was in ruins and the bombs were dropping. Chaos spun through my head and I felt helpless. The smell of blood and fire consumed the air. I started to run but there was nowhere I could go. I knew this, but I couldn't do anything but run.

Something snapped me back to reality. Soft fur and tiny meow slowly worked its way into my consciousness. I can only hope this special soul knows what she means to me. 

I decided to go on a walk to see the roses in bloom. My path happened to go by some railroad tracks and a building with absolutely stunning street art. As I approached, a shirtless man caught my attention. He told me that my pocket was open. I'll admit, sometimes I'm so lost in my own head that I don't acknowledge people on the street. Sometimes my creep radar goes off and I'll try to politely avoid interaction. This time, I felt that I absolutely needed to listen. We got to chatting and it struck me that the guy was probably hungry. I had some bacon jerky on me and I offered him a bag. He was genuinely appreciative. He asked sheepishly if I had the means to get him some ice and a soda. A simple and easy ask since there was a convenience store a couple of blocks up the road. When I came back, the guy seemed surprised. I figure that people have said that they'd do stuff for him but instead of helping out, they would just vanish. Such is the nature of the streets, unfortunately. I stuck around for a little while and continued to chat. The guy was all over the place but had a genuineness about him that I could definitely feel. I felt, through a connection of conversation, a sense of the divine nature of the universe. It was incredibly powerful. I thought in that moment that we are all revolutionary in our own way. I may not have the spoons to be an out loud activist but I can do other things. I've always been consumed with the notion of helping people. I do this because I feel it is the right thing to do. As a child, I was fascinated by the stories of Jesus my grandmother told me. Of course as I got older, I realized that those stories are often twisted by evil people and used to oppress and demean others. I have distain for anyone taking a message of peace and love and corrupting it for personal gain. I hold the myths in my heart and try my hardest be like the human I look up to while acknowledging that he was human too (at least partly). Today I felt like I got close. Of course I have to be mindful to not be boastful. As beautiful as this moment was, I have to keep in mind that I gained a lot from the interaction too. 

I said my goodbyes and stuck around to photograph the amazing art on walls surrounding the railroad tracks. After that, I took a walk through the rose garden and caught a few pictures there. The beauty of the day was intense. Pictures don't do it justice although I did try to capture a small part of it. The infinite nature of the universe was manifest for just a moment today and I do not feel worthy of the experience. 

All of the photos from today can be found here: https://photographywolf.smugmug.com/A-Spiritual-Day/

Last Night

Last night I slept through a thunderstorm. It helped that I took something I know will knock me out. I hate doing this. The whole notion of not being able to control when I fall asleep (I can't say lose consciousness, as I believe we retain some level even if we are not awake) is terrifying. I imagine it is a combination of some sort of early childhood fears and a trauma response from a suicide attempt that thankfully failed that makes me feel that way. Nonetheless, I'll resort to artificial means of getting to sleep just to make the usual tornado of thoughts to quiet down, if only for a little while. So, because of this, I slept through a thunderstorm. Usually, if I sleep this deeply, the storm inside my head kind of goes away. This time, it didn't. I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. I feel the trauma resonating. I feel the panic of people experiencing profound trauma for the first time. I feel the resignation and sadness of people experiencing profound trauma for the umpteenth time. I feel all the emotions within and of myself. My mind is making up scenarios and playing them in my sleep. It's my deepest fears and past pain wrapped up in the emotions I perceive from others. I am only an interpreter. I can't know if my perception is entirely accurate. I do know that what I feel is absolutely real, to me anyway. 

I feel like I'm losing my grip on sanity. All I can do is keep myself grounded in joyful things and maybe through my joy, others will be comforted. 

Thursday Dreams

Usually, my nightmares and weird shit that I see in my sleep burns off like fog on a sunny day once I'm awake. Lately, there's been shit that has been sticking around all day. It replays in my mind over and over and breaks through most efforts to ignore it. Lately things are getting a bit bizarre while at the same time being very plausible. This is annoying to say the least. Not sure if manifesting bullshit out in the world or if it's just my brain chemicals acting foolish. Likely a combination of both.
For context, here's an example:
I feel myself slowly rising to consciousness. I'm vaguely aware that the bed I'm on is super uncomfortable and something smells and feels like metal. Something is vibrating on the table beside me. I realize it's my phone. I never have my phone on vibrate. I pick it up and stare at it for what seems to be forever and see that the call is coming from a restricted number. I suddenly become aware of the time and day. It's my therapist calling and she calls at a specific day and time from a restricted number. This makes sense to me. It's the only thing that makes sense as everything else is a swirling mass of blackness. I answer the call.
"How are you?" she asks, normal as ever. I answer that I honestly don't know. She asks if I know where I am. What an odd question but one I can't answer which is even stranger. The rest of the conversation is a blur and then the scene changes.
I'm in something that looks like a conference room. The chairs look nice but are really uncomfortable. There's a really shitty photograph of some sort of flower on the wall. There's some sort of paperwork on the wooden table. The table seems new-ish but at the same time looks abused. There's a stern looking balding man in a suit that seems a bit tight. His face is slightly pink. I think maybe he aught to loosen his tie.
He starts talking at me and it sounds like the teacher on the Peanuts cartoon. I stare at him, puzzled. What the fuck do you want me to do, guy?
"I want to see (therapist's name)" I'm not sure if I said it out loud or just thought about it strongly. He gets up, frustrated and walks out of the room, slamming the door. I am alone for what seems like hours but my perception of time can't be trusted at this point. Finally, therapist shows up. She stares at me for a while and I can feel the concern. She starts to say something and then suddenly I'm awake in my own bed, my guys snoring on either side of me. My heart is pounding but calms after a couple of minutes. I feel like I have run a marathon though.
I can't get how real this all felt out of my head while at the same time am sure that none of this happened nor will it happen. I'm sure in a few days this will fade and I'll forget about it like I always do but at least by writing it out, I'll remember the details and hopefully it will help me process things.
If you made it this far, thanks. If you're struggling right now, know that you are not alone and you are loved.
TLDR signing off.

Emotions and stuff

This sticker is a support message for MS (a terrible illness and I fully support research for a cure) but it got me thinking about life in general. I usually try to be as invisible as possible mostly because I really don't like attention. Go figure, I am a fairly popular online radio host and make a fair bit of coin off of promoting my creativity and calling attention to myself. In reality, I'm calling attention to my work and try (mostly subconsciously) to heap the focus on to my actual creative output and not myself. Love the work, admire the work but don't see the artist. It's a bit weird with the radio thing. On air I am a personality. As genuine as that personality is, it isn't the whole of me. It also is somewhat of an act. I am a character in a role and as much as throw the real me into it, the fact remains that I am acting. I do it all the time because it is therapeutic to entertain. I like being a bit over the top, a bit larger than life. I like the attention the act gets and I love that other people enjoy both the act and the way I present music. Music has always been an emotional comfort to me and what I groove on at any given moment is a reflection of what is going on in my head. Recording all of my shows and mixes has given me a huge diary that anyone can go back and look at. I can only hope that years from now when I've ascended to a different plane of existence, someone will understand me through my art. I hope people get it while I am alive too but eh. I'm pumping creative energy into the void to distract myself. In all honesty, it is the drive to express experience that keeps me alive. I have lots of things to value, don't get me wrong. I have love and companionship. I have wonderful friends and family. I have adorable cats. But the truth of the matter is that all that isn't enough to keep me alive. The burning ember in my soul that is expression is what keeps me from pulling the trigger. Also, the odd curiosity of what existence will yield definitely helps. What pushes me to the absolute edge? Grief, certainly. I get painfully close to people. I suppose that's why I tend to seem standoffish to people not in my inner circle. That's not to say that people can't know me through art and I do tend to overshare a bit. But that's that over the top thing I mentioned before. My creative expression is certainly personal but it's not the same as letting someone in. The people I truly open up to are incredibly few and far between. I knew a person for a few years. I talked to them on a weekly basis. Sure, we had a professional relationship on the surface but as with anyone I completely expose myself to, we ended up in a deeper relationship. No, it wasn't romantic. Oddly my closest relationships aren't really romantic in nature. Sure, there's romance involved with some but that isn't the important part, at least for me. I do wish my romantic partners understood this and I hope that they do not take my feelings on the subject personally. Anyway, I've been talking with therapists for a long long time off and on. I notice the grand majority of them, helpful though they may have been, didn't seem comfortable with how I ended up being somewhat close to them. I can't open up without an emotional connection so we usually end up at a roadblock eventually. B was...different. From the first meeting we just vibed with each other for lack of a better word. We shared a common history, saw some of the same shit, felt some of the same confusion. I have a feeling had we met on the street, we would have become incredibly close friends. Alas at the end of it all, he was a therapist and I was a client. There's a level of closeness that just doesn't happen or at least it shouldn't. For better or worse, it happened anyway. One day, though I didn't really know it, we said goodbye for the last time. The last thing he said to me was "hang in there." Nothing out of the ordinary, but I somehow knew that would be the last time we spoke. Call it a gut feeling or whatever. Part of me was hoping that he'd be back, that whatever called him away was temporary. The other day though, I found out that he was just...gone. No closure, no goodbye, no point of contact. I don't know if that would help really but I would have liked to tell him that I deeply care and that because he put himself out there and let me become so emotionally close, I've progressed further in my mental state than I ever could have expected. The flip side is, when it was over, it hit like a ton of bricks. I feel like I have lost one of my best friends.  Even though I am somewhat close to other people, the relationship I had with B was something profound and unique. The guy knows things about me that absolutely no one else knows, not even my partners.  Some of that is because the relationship I had with B enabled me to share things I simply don't share with other people. Another part of it is as a professional, he just knew the right questions to ask. It is an old habit of mine never to give up any information that isn't expressly asked of me, even when I am oversharing through art. My partners, close though we may be, don't ask.  Some things are implied through our close relationship, some things just never occur to them.  Regardless of the reason, they don't know every little thing about me. B managed to coax things out of me that I didn't know myself, which is probably why it was such an emotionally helpful relationship.  I'd like to think that it wasn't entirely one sided even though for professionalism's sake it probably should have been. I don't think it would have been so helpful if it was a one sided deal, though. I have lost people close to me. Friends have passed away through some really shitty circumstances and that was and is incredibly sad. I miss my homies that have passed away daily.  I have lost two children, one to death and one to the fucked up court system. Not a day goes by that I don't think of them and the lives I wish I could be a part of but can't. This...this is something entirely different.  This hurts in a way that I can't really put into adiquate words. This on top of the total and utter bat shit craziness that is the scope of human existence right now. I have a feeling that the state of the world is a factor in how much this hurts. Hell the state of the world simply hurts right now.  Seems like humans are always living through something though. I guess history has to make itself somehow, but living in the middle of it happening is really...weird. I feel like I have some sort of purpose in all of this though but fuck all if I know what that purpose is. I have lived through a lot and even my conception and birth was somewhat of a miracle. Did I really go through all of this just to take myself out? Can I truly live and then die on my own terms or is that something I shouldn't even think about? B talked me out of suicide, a couple of times actually.  That's something not a lot of people know. I was 100% going to jump but he convinced me that there was something more. That's something not even my partners were able to do but to be fair I would never ask them to. I try to keep how close to the edge I am a secret, mostly out of a fucked up sense of not wanting to burden the two people I love the most with something so upsetting. If I did just off myself, I'd almost want it to come out of nowhere so they couldn't blame themselves in any way (although I know they would).  My current therapist is a wonderful human who seems to get it.  Again, we share some of the same history and life struggles. I feel like through our conversations, I'm getting close to her too.  Through B (the guy kept incredible notes), she knows quite a bit about me and I vibe enough with her I feel like I can say things without it becoming some sort of classic hassle. Sucks right now I can only speak to her on the phone because I feel like there's something lost a bit in translation.  My body language is stupid hard to read but she's seemed to figure it out.  She's figured out how to read my vocal tone too, which is something no one has been able to get right, other than B. Maybe that's just because we've been talking on the phone for a couple of months and she knows what the fuck she's doing. There is something to be said for good old fashioned intuition combined with professional training. I feel kind of stupid for only being able to get this close to a professional. I shouldn't have to pay for emotional comfort but at the same time, no one should have to be a dumping ground for my profound emotionalism for free. I absolutely expect no one to be able to handle this sort of baggage without compensation especially since you really can't deal with this sort of thing without some sort of training. That's what therapy is for, right? I have absolutely no idea where I was going with this.  I hurt, a lot.  I put on a huge air of confidence, of peace, of contentment.  I love life, I really do. It's a blessing to experience and blessing to be able to share that with others in a way that resonates and gives joy. At the same time I'm fucking tired. I feel the boot of the universe on the back of my neck and I see how hurt and upset and frightened people are. I see how angry people are at others and at themselves. I am but a lone speck of star stuff in a storm of absolute chaos. I am powerful yet powerless. There is so much more to life than this but this is all we have. 
I am visible, I am invisible.