[Age 16-22] Back Home [Part 2]

C.W. Stoneking – The Love Me Or Die.

In the previous installment, we discussed the external events of my life, which occurred through this period of time. They were not very important, but nevertheless necessary to mention. Now, we address the important, internal, subjects.

Like much of my past, I look back on those years with mixed emotions: they were hard, but strengthened me. While not distracted by work, friends, family, or roommates, I thought. I tried to hold my increasingly unstable mind and emotions together, reforge my former mental prowess, and develop a worldview. My process of attempting this was very strange.

By nature, I address problems one at a time, and absorb myself in them until completion, so that I can move-on. My mental instability did not allow for my usual method, so the whole process went to shit: I couldn’t simply look at my mind, move the parts around, understand it, fix it, and move-on to the next goal. The reason for this was manifold.

The primary issue was that the mind is extremely complex. As evidenced by The State of Humanity, self-understanding and control is extremely-difficult-to-impossible. In the words of John C. Wright, “Who of us are complex enough to understand, or simple enough to be understood by, ourselves?”

Complexity, I can handle, but metacognition requires self-understanding and alteration – a process that is harder, and more dangerous, than any other. My initial, semi-conscious, and completely reckless attempts, while influenced by marijuana, did serious damage: in experiencing the immutable horror of insanity, I semi-consciously made metacognitive alterations that severely hindered my mental-processes.

I, simple put, shut down a myriad of thought-processes. I did this to contain the madness, which fed itself. The only solution I had, with my juvenile metacognitive skills, was repressing both the thought of, and the thought-processes involved with, the insanity. It worked, but the cost was a dramatic reduction of my mental capacity; it was worth it.

So, while I was trying to think through my emotions, and assess the world around me, I constantly ran into those self-made walls. I simply couldn’t maintain a train of thought on the subjects, as so much of my mind was walled-off. I would try to focus, but I would instinctively distract myself, or repress all thoughts related to my mental issues.

I would spend the majority of these years doing, seemingly, nothing productive. I would play video games, watch shows, listen to music, read books, cook, and chain-smoke cigarettes. I spent my time dicking around, because I was just too scared to look at and fix my mind. But I couldn’t stop thinking about my problems, either.

I was once strong and smart: nothing really stood in my way; I solved problems both through hard work and innovation. At home, hiding from the world, scared to go outside and interact with others [this was after the jobs and apartments away from Granny, afterwhich my mind went increasingly downhill], and filled with self-hatred and shame, I was not myself. I could not accept this. I was ashamed of who I’d become, and needed to change it – but I didn’t know how.

So, I hid from the world. And, while hiding from the world, I hid from my own thoughts. In predictable cycles, I would attempt to throw myself at my mental problems, and I would make progress, but then I’d become terrified again, repress a great deal of my progress, go back to dicking around, and repeat the cycle. A “two steps forward, one step back” situation.

My manner of addressing these issues was simple: I meditated intensely, often for hours at a time. Another huge factor is that I wrote poetry profusely, and posted it on a poetry forum. That forum, the poetry I made and posted, and the discussions with the others there, are a huge part of me: it was a way of semi-openly discussing my issues with others.

There, girls flirted with me; men and women consoled and counseled me; some women became confidants; I expressed my, even then, aberrant and advanced perspectives; etc. I made my first serious attempt at opening my heart to the world, there. Previously, I had kept myself distanced from others, even though I loved company – this distancing likely occurred due to my early childhood.

I visited that forum throughout these years; it was where I was most comfortable. Sadly, the forum has died since then; a number of technical issues made the site increasingly unusable, and competing poetry forums stifled our influx of new-blood. Its very upsetting to think of the place that helped me so much, in such bad condition. If I ever get money, I’ll have to buy and maintain it – even if it never sees use again, and immortalizes all the horrendous poetry and crazy behavior I posted.

The poetry aside, I did a great deal of meditating and thinking. I developed the majority of my current worldview, metacognitive capabilities, and the reason I’m currently enduring my new problems: in those days, I was highly suicidal, but decided against it as death didn’t guarantee me anything; so, while alive, while possessing some hope for a tolerable life due to metacognitively controlling my thoughts and emotions, I live on. What would the world do without me, anyway?

Throughout this time, especially in the later years when it was just Granny and I, we got along great. I was improving, so we spent less time worrying each other and more time enjoying each others’ company. In the last year or two, I had completely taking over cooking, making whatever Granny wanted when she wanted.

I’d do all the work around the house and property, even once dug out a very large garden for her. I stripped the sod from the surface, then ran 2-3 feet of dirt through a screen – a necessary process, as previous residents had put all sorts of trash on the property; that screening also made the soil absolutely ideal for the garden, which was great, as Granny loved gardening.

We were essentially friends, and frankly, were almost like a married couple. Seems odd, I know, but keep in mind that I’ve always been oddly mature. She was, of course, always pressing me to get back into the real world. She wanted me to start my life, but she knew I needed the time, and liked having me around. Oddly, she once asked me if I was human – I think the question was genuine; she wasn’t going senile.

This period of time ended when Granny died. She was always afraid of doctors, due to, as a child, having a butcher of a dentist. And so, when her foot began regularly bleeding small amounts, she put off going to the doctor for months. I eventually talked her into going, after months of trying.

They found a blood clot in her leg, preformed minor surgery, and she came home to recover. During that time, I helped her shower, shit, and generally get about, even wiping her ass – she was embarrassed by it, which I found funny. She surprised me, by stating that she was surprised, by my exuberance in helping her through this time – her kids were such selfish little shits, that I suppose she was used to ill-treatment.

During her recovery, my Uncle visited for a week or so, severely stressing her out. Immediately after, my Mother visited. I advised Granny against both of these events, stating that it was bad for her condition. Unfortunately, she loved her terrible children. The stress caused by my Uncle was amplified by the stress from my Mother.

Granny died while I was sleeping, on my Mother’s watch. I woke to my Mother banging on my door, screaming, and opened the door to find Granny dead on the couch. And so, this period of time in my life ended. I, now, completely refuse to interact with my Mother in any way, and make it clear to my family that she is to know absolutely nothing about me, least they join her ostracization.


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~ by Louis Naughtic on December 3, 2016.

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