Journal Entry – 10-21-16

Soundgarden – Fell On Black Days.

I may die soon, but not due to suicide: there’s a minor chance that my metacognitive practice may be fatal. I suspect I’ll survive, but I’m headed into uncharted territory without restraint, and felt some responsibility to announce the possibility of death.

This degree of risk is necessary because, while no-longer consistently depressed, and even happy at times, I possess only a fraction of my previous capabilities. For example: working more than 20 hours a week, of relatively light work, leads to depression; I used to be capable of a consistent 60+, in absurd conditions, without worry.

Being back in the real world, where I have to constantly face humanity’s savagery, is detrimental to my emotional stability: the vacuum of people with integrity, intelligence, or sanity, makes it difficult to maintain my hope of finding companionship. Without that hope, with my hobbies and interests providing less and less solace, with the taxation of my circumstances and having to babysit every savage that crosses my path, I lack a motivation to live.

I can imagine the possibility of finding company, but the probability seems to approach zero. So, while the emotional turmoil of heartbreak, and the inability to understand/accept my situation has passed, a new problem presents itself: I have nothing to live for, no motivation; I see no reward of any action I take, for any pain I suffer, for any inconvenience I tolerate.

This problem seems to be creating a new issue – or one I didn’t fully comprehended earlier: I now, regularly, feel low-to-moderate-grade physical pain throughout my body, as well as exhaustion. Normally, I feel robust, will pain away without effort, and am even motivated by pain; now, I feel constantly drained, try to will away the exhaustion and pain, but it just persists. And it seems to be getting worse.

I suspect that my hopelessness is psychosomatically destabilizing homeostasis. This destabilization is not only causing pain and exhaustion, but also severely reducing my available energy for thought; this is highly problematic, as I have to regularly focus my thoughts to keep myself motivated and functioning in the face of my hopeless reality.

With nothing to live for, with my energy sapped, I want to curl up and die in a warm place. But, while previously considering suicide [for separate reasons] in my teenage years, I surmised a reason to live without purpose: death guarantees me nothing, and may only provide worse circumstances – living is the lesser of evils.

So, numbly, I resort to the last option: extreme metacognition; I consciously control the biological/psychological processes that are normally stimulated by hope, desire, and happiness; I merely, coldly, will myself to live. Choosing this path terrifies me, however.

Without meaningful hope for a tolerable life, when my dreams gall me with their unreachable distance, yet I endure, what will I become? Will I drive myself insane in the attempt, worsening my situation? I’m afraid – genuinely, childishly afraid, of who I’ll become or what might happen to my sanity.

I’ve tested extreme forms of metacognition in the past, to very minor degrees, and even those minor and temporary changes to my mind and personality were.. I felt as if I didn’t recognize myself. I’m worried that the degrees of self-alteration, required to sustain my life, will make me into someone that I don’t want to be.

I hope I’ll discover some piece of information that reveals my views on humanity to be pessimistic and irrational. I hope someone, compatible with me, will walk into my life tomorrow. But, I’ve been looking hard for both, for quite some time.

Anyway, it looks like this blog is about to turn into a metacognition journal. Lucky you. Oh, and I’ve smoked those two packs, as well as.. maybe 15 other cigarettes since whenever.

 


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~ by Louis Naughtic on October 21, 2016.

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