The Three Christs of Ypsilanti [Journal 6-22-17]

Chet Faker – Gold.

So, since beginning to access and alter the deep-down crazies, I’ve basically just been spacing out instead of actively meditating/metacog’n. Don’t really know why. Maybe I’m afraid to find, once I apply myself, that all my optimism is just self-delusion. The consistent proclamations, throughout the journals, of depression ending soon, overcoming all my problems, and returning to who I once was, are certainly evidence of that possibility.

That pattern is certainly discouraging. And it really bothers me to fail in my word. Perhaps, then, I should be concerned that, underneath the genuine self-doubt, I’m also genuinely confident; genuinely believing that, should I be pressed into consistent activity, I can handle it. I even believe that, should that activity demand the utilization of high-tier metacog, I could manage it. But, given my surroundings, I just don’t really care. Cost-benefit analysis of my life says: “Fuck it, relax.”

But regarding the actual metacog progress, it seems most applicable to space out at the moment. In normal metacog, I focus on one specific mental process, analyze it, develop control of it. Then, I try to mix it into the whole. That mixing usually fails, given the whole repression thing, but fractions of my work remain. But, now altering the repression itself, and the central processes it keeps in check, my mind is changing in an unusual manner – seems more slow, “global,” and “subconscious.”

No matter what’s actually going on, I still feel like shit about falsely portraying my mental situation repeatedly. I still think I know what to do, and mostly know how to do it, but just don’t want to. Even knowing how to force my mood to be positive, active, and productive – I still just don’t want to. But again, maybe just delusions; maybe metacog’s just my personal version of religion. In either case, I think the slow, peaceful, “desert running” is for me. Who knows. Maybe the regular activity of a job, which I’ll prolly get within a month, will change me.

In any case, I don’t feel any real need to try, except to follow through on the statements I’ve made in the journal. But that seems like a fruitless endeavor: anyone capable of comprehending the subject matter would be understanding.  Anyone else has no real value to me, unless I miraculously stumble onto a patron. Ha. Still, I feel bad about it. Suppose I just need to let that go. Not to say I won’t progress as long as I’m alive, just that I don’t have an urge to hurry.

Who knows, maybe the first job I get against my will, fully expecting the consistent exploitation and betrayals, will prove otherwise. Maybe I’ll meet a girl, capable of understanding me well enough that I don’t have to reject her – for fear of breaking her heart when we prove incompatible. Maybe I’ll just kill myself. I don’t know. All I know is that my experience and analysis says humanity has very little to give it me. For the moment, what I imagine metacog can do, is enough to compensate.

In any case, I’m starting to settle into the idea that I’m no longer depressed, rather completely adverse to the abundant components of life. I genuinely believe I might eventually get lucky, and meet a sane person, who will engage me. And I still have art, wherein I can simulate a decent life. This whole damn thing’s so ridiculous.

On a side note: I’m thinking about taking up drinking. I’ve never had the slightest issue with it, even during the period of time when I drank daily. I don’t think I’ll become an alcoholic, for the simple reason that alcohol only gives me a short mood increase before granting a headache – no matter how small the quantities I drink. So, the pleasure is balanced out by the pain. Don’t know, don’t know.

I’ll see what happens when I get a job. Money’s almost gone. Never thought this episode of my life would last remotely so long. Ah, I’ve been smoking around 1-3 cigarettes a day. Fap’n with gusto. Cooking and eating more, but not putting on too much weight. Thankfully, I feel physically uncomfortable when I gain too much weight, and just get less hungry/wanting of fattening food. Scale of 1 to 10, I’d say my overall mood is a.. 5-6. I’d say my predepression mood was a 8-9.

Oh, as I’ve mostly given up on this blog’s purpose, there may be an increase in uninteresting information in the journal section, such as is found in the above paragraph. Maybe turn it into a standard journal, a repository for information that only translates for me. Fun as it is talking in a tone, and on subjects I prefer, the chances of finding a single person who understands me is slim to none. You poor, dumb bastards. Cherish your simple minds, suited for this age of insanity.

See ya later, self. I hope you/I find something worth a damn.


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~ by Louis Naughtic on June 22, 2017.

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