Because cutting tithes is masochistic and severing myself is what I do best.

Discussion in 'Rants, Musings and Ideas' started by zaneknight, Dec 27, 2012.

  1. zaneknight

    zaneknight Active Member

    ... I'm going to rage here. I'm going to explicitly describe every one of the hundreds of confused, pandemic, fucked up emotions I feel right now, if an emotion can be described as something that tears you into pieces so rapidly before evanescing into a trillion fragments of pain. Then I'm going to see if that's helped me release any of this, because pencil and paper are beyond helping me now.

    If that isn't enough description, then imagine the sun, that ball of white burning light, turning black, and releasing fire instead of warmth, and burning everything it touches, and sees, and talks to. Then imagine the sun locked inside a chamber of infinite capacity, leaving it to burn and burn yet leaving nothing burnt. And then fill the mind of that ball of black hate with more self loathing, and tear it apart with the rage that it made itself. And on and on and on, entering a chain of anger and hate and pain and loathing, and this circling around inside a certain someone's head, as he contemplates how much he hates himself, and everything around him, and just wants to destroy.

    I want to take a <edit moderator total eclipse triggering>, if only to make a gap for the hate to leave, let it all escape. But I can't. I fucking can't. Am I a coward? To afraid to try a third time, to really really end it, with no one to stop me now? I don't know. Maybe I am. A friendless walking talking corpse, a bipolar mess, a heap of confusion and pain, wishing, begging, pleading for an escape, an exit, an end. I have nothing to live for, no more family to cut ties with, no more friends to stab in the back. More like friends to be stabbed in the back, since I was the one on the receiving end of the bastard blade. Always, always the one to be hated, always the outsider, the odd one out, the stranger, the friendless one, the failure, the waste of space, the twoface, the faker. Every one of those things, a schizophrenic bipolar mess too afraid of his own feelings to even walk outside, too afraid to go back downstairs for a bottle of water because he'll scream at his own family, too self-destructive to want to care, too much of a prick to even spell one word wrong, too much too much too much.

    And that's not even the tip, not even the fang of this embattled mass that is my rage. Not even the tip of this fucking never ending sea of rage, not even anything. It's a frigging anti sun, a ball of black, volcanic and violent. I want to< edit mod total eclipse triggering> run, scream, jump, ANYTHING, Just to end it, just for an escape, just to calm down, just to stop typing. Typing typing typing typing, why the fuck am I still typing? No one can change this, no one would care. It's not a plea for help, it's an acceptance of absence, the absolute certainty that I have not a friend, not an enemy, not an anything. A beggar would spit at me, I would spit at my own reflection, if only to further tarnish this false hope.

    Hope, there's an interesting word. False as what it proclaims, a ball of it exists, somewhere in the mass of hate, that a shoulder to cry on would appear from anywhere, proof that there was someone left who cared about me, me who is me, not their son, not their family, not their classmate, not anything, but the individual, sitting here, wishing for an escape. Someone who'd look past the strangeness, the absurdity of what I am, and who I've become, and what I'm becoming, at really care, look me in the eye, and see the hope, not the hate. Someone without fear, prejudice, hate, any of those things, someone to tell me I'm still here.

    Thus the schizophrenic nature of my predicament, if that's what I can call it, I fear I'm switching between psychs now. Not just violent mood swings, but the actual creation of another me, the one who smiles in class, and laughs at jokes, and pays attention, and plays video games, and eats food, and pretends and pretends and pretends, the one who society will accept, the one who just doesn't care enough to value his own hate.

    And then there's really me, the one you'd see if only you could care, the one who's eyes you'd really see if you looked for more then a glance, the one who needs someone besides himself. The one who so lacks anything he tries to create another of himself so that his psyche doesn't devour itself in it's infinite prison of loneliness and longing, the one who can't give anything anymore, the one who's given up.

    Sure, I'll struggle. I'll claw my way through this year, somehow pass my exams. Maybe realise my dream of joining the air force. But what then? Life doesn't exist in the doing, it exists in the being, of existing in a plane that you, and only you, can accept. No one else can accept me, I can't accept me, I want to erase me. That feeling is one that will never go away, that bubbles up when I pause to breath, that breaks through when I try to sleep.

    It gives me nightmares, dreams that are half forgotten but never non existent. I'm not sure what is real and what is not, maybe this is really a dream too. But it's too vivid, too real to be so. I'm not falling through walls, floating in mid air, seeing strange reflections off opaque surfaces. I see a computer screen, a sad, sad escape, a place promising and delivering a liberty, a place that takes me away. It tries to help me too, the same with my imagination, a knight of essence that battles to hold back the torrent.

    But he's alone, he never had comrades and has none now, nor a steed, nor anything. He has a will, a certainty that he will prevail, because if he loses, his state of existence dies with him. But he's already lost, he doesn't see the dark already behind him, above him, below him. It consumes him, yet he fights on? Why? Why doesn't he fall?

    That's the only thing holding me together, that knight programmed into my state of being, a human, an angel, it matters not, just that there's something that keeps me from jumping. He failed once, when another came to save me instead. But that person is far out of reach, a person who doesn't even know of my hate, a person who I cut off over foolishness. The one person who could slap some sense into this empty psyche isn't here, and the knight is dead. Is dead.

    I've tried to kill myself, twice now. Once another saved me, once my own cowardice. But neither are here now, just an empty husk that tries to convey that which cannot be conveyed into words. It is so so very cold, so so very bleak. What does it matter, a roof and a bed, a plate and a drink, if the body to live off them is already dead? What does it matter, 5 more minutes or 90 more years? What can I possibly find to change that?

    No person would care, no one has nor will, and that's a fact, not a cry for help. There is NOTHING left, NOTHING. The knight is DEAD. WHAT IS LEFT? WHAT?
     
    Last edited by a moderator: Dec 27, 2012
  2. youRprecious!

    youRprecious! Antiquities Friend

    There is still someone and something zane - I read this an hour ago, so it's still fresh in my mind, and having read your post's style, I think it's just for you, today :) :

    [The **what to find to change that** (the answer you are searching for) - my words making it personal to you] ".... comes as soon to the low cottage as to the loftiest palace, to the handmaid as to the mistress, to the poor as to the rich; nay, prefers them here; honours a poor humble maid above all the gallant ladies of the world. You will see his humility most if you consider his wrapping up. He that measures the heavens with his span, the waters in the hollow of his hand, who involves all things, all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge, in whom all our beings and well-beings are wrapped from all eternity; comes now to be wrapped and made up like a new-born child - who can unwind or unfold his humility?

    The clothes his dear mother wrapped him in are the very badges of humility; a rag, or torn and tattered clothes: such were the clothes she wrapped him in - such, he is so humble, he will be content with, even with rags. What make we then such ado for clothes? Our blessed **knight** here is content with what comes next. But Lord! to see what ado have we about our apparel! this lace, and that trimming; this fashion, and that colour; these jewels, and those accoutrements; this cloth, and that stuff; this silk, and that velvet; this silver, and that gold; this way of wearing, and that garb in them; as if our whole life were raiment, our clothes heaven, and our salvation the handsome wearing them. We forget, we forget our sweet (knight's) rags, his poor ragged swaddling-clothes and our garments witness against us to our faces, our pride, our follies, our vanities at the best.

    Well, but though he was content to be wrapped in swaddling-clothes, and those none of the handsomest, neither, may we not look for a cradle at lest to lay him in? No matter what we may look for, we are like to find no better than a manger for that purpose, and a lock of hay for his bed, and for his pillow, and for his mantle too. A poor condition, and an humble one indeed, for him whose chariot is the clouds, whose palace is in heaven, whose throne is with the Most High. What place can we hereafter think too mean for any of us?

    Wither hath they humility driven thee, O Saviour of mankind? And what of us? Though there be no rom for him in the inn, I hope there is in our houses for him. It is Christmastime, and let us keep open house for him; let his rags be our christmas raiment, his manger our christmas cheer, his stable our christmas great chamber, hall, dining room. O thou that refusedst not the manger, refuse not the manger of my unworthy heart to lie in, but accept a room in thy servant's soul. Turn and abide with me. they poverty, O sweet Jesu, shall be my patrimony, thy weakness my strength, thy rags my riches, thy manger my kingdom; all the dainties of the world, but chaff to me in comparison of thee; and all the room int he world, no room to that, wheresoever it is, that though vouchsafest to be. Heaven it is wheresoever thou stayest or abidest; and I will change all the house and wealth I have for thy rags and manger.


    Explanation as follows:
     
  3. youRprecious!

    youRprecious! Antiquities Friend

    You described your emotions so well - and that's wonderful and healthy, you have good self awareness.

    Anger, hate, despair that there is no one who cares, the feeling that there is nothing to live for to make life worthwhile. What I tried to convey with that reading (written many years ago, but spiritual things are eternal) - is that our emotions are at the heart of everything that is important, and they can be healed. It is what Christmas is actually all about, underneath what this world has done with it which misses the point so often.

    The baby that lay in the feeding trough lived a life and died because of his mission, but lives on in the spiritual realm which we can stumble upon if we will - and it is there that our healing for our emotions happens, as fantastic as this concept seems at first -

    I know it is the truth of our existence, and yet so few are aware. It is the only thing that was able to save me, and it gets more certain and more true as the journey progresses. This is all in answer to your last 4 words, zane: "What is left, what?"
     
  4. zaneknight

    zaneknight Active Member

    I understand the point you're bringing across, that true value is something measured on basis of self-worth as well as that of peers and whatnot. I suppose you'd also feel that the only one who's worth you need to feel is God's, at least judging neutrally from the nature of the article and your avatar.

    But also understand that I'm not a person who has strong faith, and now is plausibly the most impossible time for me to develop any, especially considering how much self loathing I possess. At the moment I'm considerably more calm then when I raged on the forum, but I've also realised that I'm slowly collapsing internally. My first bipolar episode was 3 weeks ago, in which I very very literally attempted suicide, as aforementioned. Today was my second, and letting out emotion here released it somewhat. Self control is something I consider myself a master of, yet the breaking of that fundamental is damaging my psyche more an more. Studying for exams plausibly triggered my outburst today, while I think it's much more likely that the return of my mother from her father's house caused it. Either way, I'm 100% certain I'm bipolar and 10% sure I have Schizophrenia, what with the blackouts I've been having and the sudden increase in confusion.

    I need self value, a reason to prove to myself that I am worth my own existence. Faith in something above is not the answer for me, nor is faith in humanity, humility, or other people, with which I have abundant reason to lack faith in. What, then, do I prove with my own existence? Self pity is a disgusting attribute, and thankfully not one I possess at the moment, but that resolution is slowly cracking. I have no friends whatsoever, and there isn't a single person in my life I trust, not my family, not my peers, not anything.

    The hate is a very very real element. The knight failed today, perhaps he lives on, but he failed twice and will again. The anti sun is a very real thing too, I wasn't just making a literal reference with that. Imagination is an escape, sleep is not. Exams loom close, but 9 days away, and I know nothing. I fear my own emotions too much, I put stock in nothing, I lack conviction. I have no self belief, I have no solidity. I'm not suicidal, but judging from my own post, I was earlier. The very fact that I'm typing this now verify's my own lack. What, then, is purpose? Perhaps I should seek an existence to value, instead of one within my own value, of which there is none...
     
  5. youRprecious!

    youRprecious! Antiquities Friend

    I do understand exactly where you're at zane, because I have been there big time, and have found my path out - each person does have a path because there is nothing special about me :)

    All I'm saying about all of this, probably sounds trite and you've heard it all before, but there is a lot of truth in the advice "hang in there" - as angry and as despairing as we are - when we hear it from other people it can make it worse, I know.

    However, exiting ourselves is not the way to solve the dilemma when the answer is always there for us to venture towards. I know how it is, that the prospect of "development of faith" seems obscure, hard, uninteresting, even irrelvant - which is why we always, always, have choices about what to do with the concept, ie. to go for it hell for leather or to put it on the back burner and say that can wait.

    I had a bi-polar father back in the 50's who I was prevented from knowing and having half his genetic makeup have had my own episodes, and know full well the state of internal collapse that you describe. I have also had an acute schizophrenic episode - and something else I've actually forgotten the name of but - oh yes, psychosis!!

    But **the knight** has come through for me in it all - and I have the understanding now I did not have 20 years ago - which makes me so firm in my conviction that He came, as He said - and still says - to bind up the broken-hearted and heal their wounds - their psychological woundedness because of what we have to battle in this life :)

    Above all, don't fret about the faith thing - it will unfold for you by itself** as long as you put up no deliberate opposition to it :) (**existence to value included)
     
  6. zaneknight

    zaneknight Active Member

    Ugh, I hate being bipolar. Or perhaps I get some vague enjoyment out of complete chaos and anarchy.

    On second thought, definitely not. I suppose all I can do now is hope that my moods don't burst when I try to study and such. I've noticed that when doing things like studying subjects I'm scared off (ie. all of them) or being in the same room as my family greatly accelerates my mood swings, and that might be the main reason why my academics have been lagging behind with my social life, steadily for the past 5 years. I feel the same as you, if only I had the knowledge I have today, a couple years ago...

    Nothing to do now but suck it up and try to move on with it. Thanks for the help!
     
  7. zaneknight

    zaneknight Active Member

    Oh gawd, I just reread my own post, it sounds so shallow.

    I think what I really meant to say was "I read your post a literal 15 times and considered every possible way to apply this onto myself and not freak out or feel suicidal or do anything stupid, and am attempting to apply that logic to myself as I type, I'm sorry that came out so shallow, my mind works in weird ways."
     
  8. youRprecious!

    youRprecious! Antiquities Friend

    the problem with writing to a screen that can be read by so many other people is that one can never be sure how what we type is going to be received. I hope to goodness that nothing I wrote has made things any the worse for you, and that in fact it might have even helped a little - from the PM just received I think it may have been :) All the best with your resolves - anything that we know to be a positive step in the right direction, to dwell on is going to be a help :)
     
  9. Sais

    Sais Well-Known Member

    Beautifuly said, really!

    That s what I do too. I feel like crap now too, so I don t have my feel better words on me. But try to hang in there!
    I guess you know that sometimes, ocasionally, shit gets better.
    :)
     
  10. zaneknight

    zaneknight Active Member

    @urPrecious

    Oh trust me, it helped, a TON. Adding a third voice (a real one at that) to the nix really gave me some clarity as to why the heck I was feeling so intensely negative. Besides that, nice words are under-rated, and they help either way.

    @Sais

    Wow, this is you in a bad mood? When I'm in a bad mood I start murdering small animals and verbally scarring people. Honestly, your self control is amazing.
     
    Last edited by a moderator: Dec 31, 2012
  11. youRprecious!

    youRprecious! Antiquities Friend

    I know hun, words have the most amazing power to heal us when we are open to what they have to say - stick with it zane - you have so much potential and power to rise above this stuff and to see it in its true perspective. We can arrive at a place where we are able to even be grateful for all that it has taught us :) Just to let you know I won't be around much over the next month, it's our summer holiday time in this part of the world, but will be praying for all who write into SF that they decide to continue their journeys into health and wellbeing :)