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Question:
I can hardly believe my life. From what subject position do I make such pronouncements? What criteria do I use to measure what is believable of life or unbelievable? It seems that life is its own only reference point. It seems that life constantly recreates, imitates, mutates, invents, abandons, and deserts itself. It seems that life is forced upon itself. Life must always resign itself to itself and then adjust itself to itself. Life seems to be entirely self-regulated simultanously out of the control of any entity known to it. Life befuddles itself, invents omniscient and omnipotent beings and forces, worships them, feels failed by them, then rebels against them by turning on itself. Wounded and withdrawn, life contemplates itself in isolated introversion, then, again, befuddles itself and begins the invention of phantasmagoric and scientific explanations of itself. Life is redundant, yet unpredictable. I manage somehow to watch it as if it is a film, plotted, scripted, planned, directed, and produced deliberately, self-consciously. Yet, while I watch, I know that I don’t know what follows what or what comes next or what happened, really, before, or even what it was before. I know that what I watch is myself. My self acts and intervenes upon and into other stuff and beings that then affect my self. My self then changes and with those changes my self changes behaviors. It changes the acts and interventions that affect other parts of the world. So those other things are changed and then they change, by affecting myself, how I am in the world that they comprise. All of these changes are not a linear process, nor can they be graphed out on a two dimensional plane. They exist, even, in more and greater dimensions than three. They surpass even the fourth dimension of time. In fact, time is not but the measurment of that process, which is dynamic and ceaseless. I catch myself thinking such thoughts as I have just typed here and I respond with exhaustion and an urge to d*e. To d*e, simply to fly in the face of life and take control away from it. But the problem is, once I take it, it will cease to exist. So what will I have gained? Nothing? Do I care? I don’t know. Sometimes caring seems to require too much effort. There are, in fact, particulars, in the life-stream, that have recently affected me, and hence bring me to this consciousness. This co-consciousness. I am, more and more frequently, able to establish and sustain some co-consciousness with various alters at various times for various lengths of time. At each incident of this my self-consciousness increases, obviously, and psychic or emotional pain increases along with it. And, of course, more memories of more childhood maladies arrive via thoughts, internal voices, images, dreams, flashbacks, etc. In response, I want to flee back into the mush and miasma of dissociative trances and amnesiac actions. My progress is halting. My gate is problematic. If I see myself or hear or experience or understand myself to be behaving in a way that I am unfamiliar with as myself, then I am always already asking who I am and who asks the question while I am experiencing or understanding myself. So I am always already confused by my own sensibilities. Then I try to gain control of myself and the alter whom I wish to know, whom I need to know, evaporates. Then I don’t know what I’m doing. I have punch outs in the tape. Not just memory loss, but a sense of loss of moments in immediate experience. Things continue to confuse me. I continue to crumble. I know that I have accomplished many things in the past. I can remember feeling differently, you know, the sort of always in the background emotional sense of either self-awareness, self-knowledge, self-determination, self-consciousness, self-confidence, or all of the above or some combination of some of the above. But I can’t summon those states of being now. I can’t sustain myself in "go" mode. I want to. I make deliberate efforts, daily. I do, really. But I can’t. The thing I want help with is to be able. To know and say that I can. after finishing this tome, I’ve come back to this place to add a spoiler because I’m not sure if I splatted everything adequately or if the story that follows and my emotional response to it isn’t too much for anybody or somebody who may be reading this. so, here goes. a b c d e f g h u j k k m n o p q r s t u v w x y z (thank you for letting me borrow the alphabet, {cherish}. i’m hoping that letters can make sense of my thoughts and feeling.) Yesterday I succeeded in getting my friend to admit herself to The Center. She has been actively and intensely self-destructive and suicidal for months now. She stays at my place now and then and I see her pale, bare body coverd with purply roses of bruises. "How do you get those?" I ask. She looks at me, eyes filled with tears, and says, "Do you ever just p*nch yourself?" I watch her pop pills as if they are candy. She pumps herself up on adderall, which is only dexedrine renamed and redefined, and caffeine, then smooths out the edges with ambien. I’ve seen her take two or three ambien and sit up and chatter into the wee hours of morning. If I take that drug I must be in the bed, already, because sometimes I can fall asleep on it before I make it to the bed. I know everyone responds differently, but it is a powerful drug, and everything I’ve read about it says no more than 10 mgs. Some should only take 5. She takes 30 and goes to a party. She drives. Plus, she takes xanax and ativan along with it. She even, sometimes, drinks with this stuff. I am amazed that she lived this long and hope that the hsptl can help her live longer. She is only a kid, under 30 yrs. old, brilliant and compassionate and enormously dissociative. When she is focused she talks eloquently about politics, sociology, the arts, science, teaching, and her field, mathematics. She has a coherent world view, great integrity, and ambition to affect positive social change. She has dedicated what she has been able to of her young life to that ambition. Her dissociation collapses her, as mine does me. She nearly d*ed once, after downing 400 pills of various types including antidepressants and antipsychotics. She was in a coma for 8 days. Nobody was able to say why she survived. They didn’t get to her in time to pump enough stuff out of her stomach. She was already unconscious with bl**d dripping from her nose and mouth before anyone even called an ambulance. Of late she has been driving poorly and has narrowly escaped serious accidents. She has called me from her cell phone on a few occasions to tell me she was driving but didn’t know where she was. She’ll tell me of such events and cry about them. An hour later she tells me again, as if I never heard of it, and laughs about it. She appears in manner and tone to be a teenager. I say, "You told me when it happened, remember?" She says, "Really? No. I don’t remember. Ha ha ha. I have such a bad memory." I tried to convince her for a long long time to check into the hsptl for an extended stay and do some sustained, intensive thrptc work. When she finally decided to do it, the creepy pschtrst from the fbi told her, "No. Your depression is physiological. You don’t need hsptlzation. You need maintenance ect." I convinced her to go to my t and talk to the psychtrst at The Center. She started making visible progress and decided to do the hsptl thing. Meanwhile, the fbi guy and his lackey t intern have lied and stalled the process and attempted at every turn to manipulate my friend back into their grip. On top of all of their shenanigans, and they have been many. Outright lies and contemtuous commands, eg; "We won’t allow you to go into the hsptl unless you agree not to see the new t for three weeks." "You’re experiencing counter-transference [huh? isn't that the domain of the mh pros?] about my being pregnant." "Oh," said my friend, "I don’t remember you telling me that you’re pregnant." "I didn’t. That’s why you resent it." But, how could she resent what she doesn’t know? Anway, last night she got herself admitted. And the lackey tried to keep the center from having her stay more than one night. I went down there and talked with the center pschtrst. The t is in contact with everyone that he can legally be in contact with. And, guess what? The insurance co. says she only gets three more days of in-patient. I’m not gonna punch myself, but I may pull my hair out. Anyway, you can imagine, with everything else in my life, that although I am glad to have been able to help in this situation, I am also getting triggered like mad. But, that brings me back to how I started this post. Which is to say, I think, that life is triggering and trying to figure out how to keep it from triggering me is triggering me and I have to keep doing it all or give up on life and if I give up on life then life will give up on me. And exactly how much bad bad hurts and profound disappointments can one person withstand? Why do some people live through warfare and appear to be more emotionally stable and mentally healthy than I feel and act? Is the discourse through which any individual understands her, him, or hirself the key to it all? Does ideology or theology help to sustain someone? Does my utter lack of belief in anything but the tangible (and I even question that) cause me to experience this intangible pain and disability? Or does this intangible pain and disability cause me to question everything? Does that distinction matter? sighing and sighing in despondent sadness and despair, I expel more and more of my breath rather than gasping for air. I think that
… read more »
Response:
i know i keep syaing this and ima sorry for being too demanding but still it would help so much if somebody could pelase make somekidns of response to what i wrote in this post because i ma ahving a lot fo trouble being grounded or focused and sfafe with these confusions.’ and tonight i did visti the friedn at the hsptl again and i did watch her wswitcht and capirutulat to her sisters demands that she have maitnendce ect. what does that mean. brain fries every couple of weeks. forever. and while my friend did insiset that the hsptl was helping and while i saw that she made progress when we were there together ehr sister kept sayint this place doesn’t do any good. the thing you need is some more ect. shichw shse ahs been having for 4 mos. now and still she is in the same dissy and depressed state of mind and also her sister kept saying if you cuold just keep yourself alive until you get the stimulateor in your brain. because my freind is scheduled to have an implant put in her brain in an experimental stufy for control of depression next mos. and the compnay doing the experiemtnt through a state university and the national instoitute of mental health is called cyberonics and they are selling stock in themselves in a pitch that this is going to be the cure for depression and thaey talk about how many huge nubmers of people suffer forom severe, chronic cdepression. its on a web site. trill
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – I can hardly believe my life. From what subject position do I make such pronouncements? What criteria do I use to measure what is believable of life or unbelievable? It seems that life is its own only reference point. It seems that life constantly recreates, imitates, mutates, invents, abandons, and deserts itself. It seems that life is forced upon itself. Life must always resign itself to itself and then adjust itself to itself. Life seems to be entirely self-regulated simultanously out of the control of any entity known to it. Life befuddles itself, invents omniscient and omnipotent beings and forces, worships them, feels failed by them, then rebels against them by turning on itself. Wounded and withdrawn, life contemplates itself in isolated introversion, then, again, befuddles itself and begins the invention of phantasmagoric and scientific explanations of itself. Life is redundant, yet unpredictable. I manage somehow to watch it as if it is a film, plotted, scripted, planned, directed, and produced deliberately, self-consciously. Yet, while I watch, I know that I don’t know what follows what or what comes next or what happened, really, before, or even what it was before. I know that what I watch is myself. My self acts and intervenes upon and into other stuff and beings that then affect my self. My self then changes and with those changes my self changes behaviors. It changes the acts and interventions that affect other parts of the world. So those other things are changed and then they change, by affecting myself, how I am in the world that they comprise. All of these changes are not a linear process, nor can they be graphed out on a two dimensional plane. They exist, even, in more and greater dimensions than three. They surpass even the fourth dimension of time. In fact, time is not but the measurment of that process, which is dynamic and ceaseless. I catch myself thinking such thoughts as I have just typed here and I respond with exhaustion and an urge to d*e. To d*e, simply to fly in the face of life and take control away from it. But the problem is, once I take it, it will cease to exist. So what will I have gained? Nothing? Do I care? I don’t know. Sometimes caring seems to require too much effort. There are, in fact, particulars, in the life-stream, that have recently affected me, and hence bring me to this consciousness. This co-consciousness. I am, more and more frequently, able to establish and sustain some co-consciousness with various alters at various times for various lengths of time. At each incident of this my self-consciousness increases, obviously, and psychic or emotional pain increases along with it. And, of course, more memories of more childhood maladies arrive via thoughts, internal voices, images, dreams, flashbacks, etc. In response, I want to flee back into the mush and miasma of dissociative trances and amnesiac actions. My progress is halting. My gate is problematic. If I see myself or hear or experience or understand myself to be behaving in a way that I am unfamiliar with as myself, then I am always already asking who I am and who asks the question while I am experiencing or understanding myself. So I am always already confused by my own sensibilities. Then I try to gain control of myself and the alter whom I wish to know, whom I need to know, evaporates. Then I don’t know what I’m doing. I have punch outs in the tape. Not just memory loss, but a sense of loss of moments in immediate experience. Things continue to confuse me. I continue to crumble. I know that I have accomplished many things in the past. I can remember feeling differently, you know, the sort of always in the background emotional sense of either self-awareness, self-knowledge, self-determination, self-consciousness, self-confidence, or all of the above or some combination of some of the above. But I can’t summon those states of being now. I can’t sustain myself in "go" mode. I want to. I make deliberate efforts, daily. I do, really. But I can’t. The thing I want help with is to be able. To know and say that I can. after finishing this tome, I’ve come back to this place to add a spoiler because I’m not sure if I splatted everything adequately or if the story that follows and my emotional response to it isn’t too much for anybody or somebody who may be reading this. so, here goes. a b c d e f g h u j k k m n o p q r s t u v w x y z (thank you for letting me borrow the alphabet, {cherish}. i’m hoping that letters can make sense of my thoughts and feeling.) Yesterday I succeeded in getting my friend to admit herself to The Center. She has been actively and intensely self-destructive and suicidal for months now. She stays at my place now and then and I see her pale, bare body coverd with purply roses of bruises. "How do you get those?" I ask. She looks at me, eyes filled with tears, and says, "Do you ever just p*nch yourself?" I watch her pop pills as if they are candy. She pumps herself up on adderall, which is only dexedrine renamed and redefined, and caffeine, then smooths out the edges with ambien. I’ve seen her take two or three ambien and sit up and chatter into the wee hours of morning. If I take that drug I must be in the bed, already, because sometimes I can fall asleep on it before I make it to the bed. I know everyone responds differently, but it is a powerful drug, and everything I’ve read about it says no more than 10 mgs. Some should only take 5. She takes 30 and goes to a party. She drives. Plus, she takes xanax and ativan along with it. She even, sometimes, drinks with this stuff. I am amazed that she lived this long and hope that the hsptl can help her live longer. She is only a kid, under 30 yrs. old, brilliant and compassionate and enormously dissociative. When she is focused she talks eloquently about politics, sociology, the arts, science, teaching, and her field, mathematics. She has a coherent world view, great integrity, and ambition to affect positive social change. She has dedicated what she has been able to of her young life to that ambition. Her dissociation collapses her, as mine does me. She nearly d*ed once, after downing 400 pills of various types including antidepressants and antipsychotics. She was in a coma for 8 days. Nobody was able to say why she survived. They didn’t get to her in time to pump enough stuff out of her stomach. She was already unconscious with bl**d dripping from her nose and mouth before anyone even called an ambulance. Of late she has been driving poorly and has narrowly escaped serious accidents. She has called me from her cell phone on a few occasions to tell me she was driving but didn’t know where she was. She’ll tell me of such events and cry about them. An hour later she tells me again, as if I never heard of it, and laughs about it. She appears in manner and tone to be a teenager. I say, "You told me when it happened, remember?" She says, "Really? No. I don’t remember. Ha ha ha. I have such a bad memory." I tried to convince her for a long long time to check into the hsptl for an extended stay and do some sustained, intensive thrptc work. When she finally decided to do it, the creepy pschtrst from the fbi told her, "No. Your depression is physiological. You don’t need hsptlzation. You need maintenance ect." I convinced her to go to my t and talk to the psychtrst at The Center. She started making visible progress and decided to do the hsptl thing. Meanwhile, the fbi guy and his lackey t intern have lied and stalled the process and attempted at every turn to manipulate my friend back into their grip. On top of all of their shenanigans, and they have been many. Outright lies and contemtuous commands, eg; "We won’t allow you to go into the hsptl unless you agree not to see the new t for three weeks." "You’re experiencing counter-transference [huh? isn’t that the domain of the mh
… read more »
Response:
i know i keep syaing this and ima sorry for being too demanding but still it would help so much if somebody could pelase make somekidns of response to what i wrote in this post because i ma ahving a lot fo trouble being grounded or focused and sfafe with these confusions.’
hey, trill. your original post was in my box along with the other 6 posts I was planning to answer… – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -and tonight i did visti the friedn at the hsptl again and i did watch her wswitcht and capirutulat to her sisters demands that she have maitnendce ect. what does that mean. brain fries every couple of weeks. forever. and while my friend did insiset that the hsptl was helping and while i saw that she made progress when we were there together ehr sister kept sayint this place doesn’t do any good. the thing you need is some more ect. shichw shse ahs been having for 4 mos. now and still she is in the same dissy and depressed state of mind and also her sister kept saying if you cuold just keep yourself alive until you get the stimulateor in your brain. because my freind is scheduled to have an implant put in her brain in an experimental stufy for control of depression next mos. and the compnay doing the experiemtnt through a state university and the national instoitute of mental health is called cyberonics and they are selling stock in themselves in a pitch that this is going to be the cure for depression and thaey talk about how many huge nubmers of people suffer forom severe, chronic cdepression. its on a web site.
that really sucks. it sounds like her sister is really intent on denying anything else besides depression. it must feel really helpless to be stuck watching people destroy your friend’s mind (in the guise of "helping" her), and to have so little power to affect things. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -trill I can hardly believe my life. From what subject position do I make such pronouncements? What criteria do I use to measure what is believable of life or unbelievable? It seems that life is its own only reference point. It seems that life constantly recreates, imitates, mutates, invents, abandons, and deserts itself. It seems that life is forced upon itself. Life must always resign itself to itself and then adjust itself to itself. Life seems to be entirely self-regulated simultanously out of the control of any entity known to it. Life befuddles itself, invents omniscient and omnipotent beings and forces, worships them, feels failed by them, then rebels against them by turning on itself. Wounded and withdrawn, life contemplates itself in isolated introversion, then, again, befuddles itself and begins the invention of phantasmagoric and scientific explanations of itself. Life is redundant, yet unpredictable. I manage somehow to watch it as if it is a film, plotted, scripted, planned, directed, and produced deliberately, self-consciously. Yet, while I watch, I know that I don’t know what follows what or what comes next or what happened, really, before, or even what it was before. I know that what I watch is myself. My self acts and intervenes upon and into other stuff and beings that then affect my self. My self then changes and with those changes my self changes behaviors. It changes the acts and interventions that affect other parts of the world. So those other things are changed and then they change, by affecting myself, how I am in the world that they comprise. All of these changes are not a linear process, nor can they be graphed out on a two dimensional plane. They exist, even, in more and greater dimensions than three. They surpass even the fourth dimension of time. In fact, time is not but the measurment of that process, which is dynamic and ceaseless. I catch myself thinking such thoughts as I have just typed here and I respond with exhaustion and an urge to d*e. To d*e, simply to fly in the face of life and take control away from it. But the problem is, once I take it, it will cease to exist. So what will I have gained? Nothing? Do I care? I don’t know. Sometimes caring seems to require too much effort.
sounds like you feel like you are thinking yourself into a corner. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – There are, in fact, particulars, in the life-stream, that have recently affected me, and hence bring me to this consciousness. This co-consciousness. I am, more and more frequently, able to establish and sustain some co-consciousness with various alters at various times for various lengths of time. At each incident of this my self-consciousness increases, obviously, and psychic or emotional pain increases along with it. And, of course, more memories of more childhood maladies arrive via thoughts, internal voices, images, dreams, flashbacks, etc. In response, I want to flee back into the mush and miasma of dissociative trances and amnesiac actions. My progress is halting. My gate is problematic.
I know that when I was in the middle of stuff, it seemed to me that it would never end — that I would be caught in the pea soup forever. and when I was in the middle of stuff, I could never tell whether or that I was making progress. it was all rather exhausting. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – If I see myself or hear or experience or understand myself to be behaving in a way that I am unfamiliar with as myself, then I am always already asking who I am and who asks the question while I am experiencing or understanding myself. So I am always already confused by my own sensibilities. Then I try to gain control of myself and the alter whom I wish to know, whom I need to know, evaporates. Then I don’t know what I’m doing. I have punch outs in the tape. Not just memory loss, but a sense of loss of moments in immediate experience. Things continue to confuse me. I continue to crumble. I know that I have accomplished many things in the past. I can remember feeling differently, you know, the sort of always in the background emotional sense of either self-awareness, self-knowledge, self-determination, self-consciousness, self-confidence, or all of the above or some combination of some of the above. But I can’t summon those states of being now. I can’t sustain myself in "go" mode. I want to. I make deliberate efforts, daily. I do, really. But I can’t. The thing I want help with is to be able. To know and say that I can.
it has been my observation that you have made progress during your time here. and I don’t think that you have ever regressed all the way back to where you were when you started writing here. but I also understand how difficult it is to measure anything from its midst. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – after finishing this tome, I’ve come back to this place to add a spoiler because I’m not sure if I splatted everything adequately or if the story that follows and my emotional response to it isn’t too much for anybody or somebody who may be reading this. so, here goes. a b c d e f g h u j k k m n o p q r s t u v w x y z (thank you for letting me borrow the alphabet, {cherish}. i’m hoping that letters can make sense of my thoughts and feeling.) Yesterday I succeeded in getting my friend to admit herself to The Center. She has been actively and intensely self-destructive and suicidal for months now. She stays at my place now and then and I see her pale, bare body coverd with purply roses of bruises. "How do you get those?" I ask. She looks at me, eyes filled with tears, and says, "Do you ever just p*nch yourself?" I watch her pop pills as if they are candy. She pumps herself up on adderall, which is only dexedrine renamed and redefined, and caffeine, then smooths out the edges with ambien. I’ve seen her take two or three ambien and sit up and chatter into the wee hours of morning. If I take that drug I must be in the bed, already, because sometimes I can fall asleep on it before I make it to the bed. I know everyone responds differently, but it is a powerful drug, and everything I’ve read about it says no more than 10 mgs. Some should only take 5. She takes 30 and goes to a party. She drives. Plus, she takes xanax and ativan along with it. She even, sometimes, drinks with this stuff. I am amazed that she lived this long and hope that the hsptl can help her live longer. She is only a kid, under 30 yrs. old, brilliant and compassionate and enormously dissociative. When she is focused she talks eloquently about politics, sociology, the arts, science, teaching, and her field, mathematics. She has a coherent world view, great integrity, and ambition to affect positive social change. She has dedicated what she has been able to of her young life to that ambition. Her dissociation collapses her, as mine does me. She nearly d*ed once, after downing 400 pills of various types including antidepressants and antipsychotics. She was in a coma for 8 days. Nobody was able to say why she survived. They didn’t get to her in time to pump enough stuff out of her stomach. She was already unconscious with bl**d dripping from her nose and mouth before anyone even called an ambulance. Of late she has been driving poorly and has narrowly escaped serious accidents. She has called me from her cell phone on a few occasions to tell me she was driving
… read more »
Response:
thanks for responding astri. and for paying so much attention t o speciffinc details of it all. and for einbing encouraging and stuff. i need this kind of suppport right now. and i gutuesss like others have been saying i feel guilty for needing but still there it is. i siwiwsh that i could just give what i need to my friedns and be okay about it and everythign i also have to do for myslef. but i cantl. every action creates antohrter need. ite seems. trill
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – i know i keep syaing this and ima sorry for being too demanding but still it would help so much if somebody could pelase make somekidns of response to what i wrote in this post because i ma ahving a lot fo trouble being grounded or focused and sfafe with these confusions.’ hey, trill. your original post was in my box along with the other 6 posts I was planning to answer… and tonight i did visti the friedn at the hsptl again and i did watch her wswitcht and capirutulat to her sisters demands that she have maitnendce ect. what does that mean. brain fries every couple of weeks. forever. and while my friend did insiset that the hsptl was helping and while i saw that she made progress when we were there together ehr sister kept sayint this place doesn’t do any good. the thing you need is some more ect. shichw shse ahs been having for 4 mos. now and still she is in the same dissy and depressed state of mind and also her sister kept saying if you cuold just keep yourself alive until you get the stimulateor in your brain. because my freind is scheduled to have an implant put in her brain in an experimental stufy for control of depression next mos. and the compnay doing the experiemtnt through a state university and the national instoitute of mental health is called cyberonics and they are selling stock in themselves in a pitch that this is going to be the cure for depression and thaey talk about how many huge nubmers of people suffer forom severe, chronic cdepression. its on a web site. that really sucks. it sounds like her sister is really intent on denying anything else besides depression. it must feel really helpless to be stuck watching people destroy your friend’s mind (in the guise of "helping" her), and to have so little power to affect things. trill I can hardly believe my life. From what subject position do I make such pronouncements? What criteria do I use to measure what is believable of life or unbelievable? It seems that life is its own only reference point. It seems that life constantly recreates, imitates, mutates, invents, abandons, and deserts itself. It seems that life is forced upon itself. Life must always resign itself to itself and then adjust itself to itself. Life seems to be entirely self-regulated simultanously out of the control of any entity known to it. Life befuddles itself, invents omniscient and omnipotent beings and forces, worships them, feels failed by them, then rebels against them by turning on itself. Wounded and withdrawn, life contemplates itself in isolated introversion, then, again, befuddles itself and begins the invention of phantasmagoric and scientific explanations of itself. Life is redundant, yet unpredictable. I manage somehow to watch it as if it is a film, plotted, scripted, planned, directed, and produced deliberately, self-consciously. Yet, while I watch, I know that I don’t know what follows what or what comes next or what happened, really, before, or even what it was before. I know that what I watch is myself. My self acts and intervenes upon and into other stuff and beings that then affect my self. My self then changes and with those changes my self changes behaviors. It changes the acts and interventions that affect other parts of the world. So those other things are changed and then they change, by affecting myself, how I am in the world that they comprise. All of these changes are not a linear process, nor can they be graphed out on a two dimensional plane. They exist, even, in more and greater dimensions than three. They surpass even the fourth dimension of time. In fact, time is not but the measurment of that process, which is dynamic and ceaseless. I catch myself thinking such thoughts as I have just typed here and I respond with exhaustion and an urge to d*e. To d*e, simply to fly in the face of life and take control away from it. But the problem is, once I take it, it will cease to exist. So what will I have gained? Nothing? Do I care? I don’t know. Sometimes caring seems to require too much effort. sounds like you feel like you are thinking yourself into a corner. There are, in fact, particulars, in the life-stream, that have recently affected me, and hence bring me to this consciousness. This co-consciousness. I am, more and more frequently, able to establish and sustain some co-consciousness with various alters at various times for various lengths of time. At each incident of this my self-consciousness increases, obviously, and psychic or emotional pain increases along with it. And, of course, more memories of more childhood maladies arrive via thoughts, internal voices, images, dreams, flashbacks, etc. In response, I want to flee back into the mush and miasma of dissociative trances and amnesiac actions. My progress is halting. My gate is problematic. I know that when I was in the middle of stuff, it seemed to me that it would never end — that I would be caught in the pea soup forever. and when I was in the middle of stuff, I could never tell whether or that I was making progress. it was all rather exhausting. If I see myself or hear or experience or understand myself to be behaving in a way that I am unfamiliar with as myself, then I am always already asking who I am and who asks the question while I am experiencing or understanding myself. So I am always already confused by my own sensibilities. Then I try to gain control of myself and the alter whom I wish to know, whom I need to know, evaporates. Then I don’t know what I’m doing. I have punch outs in the tape. Not just memory loss, but a sense of loss of moments in immediate experience. Things continue to confuse me. I continue to crumble. I know that I have accomplished many things in the past. I can remember feeling differently, you know, the sort of always in the background emotional sense of either self-awareness, self-knowledge, self-determination, self-consciousness, self-confidence, or all of the above or some combination of some of the above. But I can’t summon those states of being now. I can’t sustain myself in "go" mode. I want to. I make deliberate efforts, daily. I do, really. But I can’t. The thing I want help with is to be able. To know and say that I can. it has been my observation that you have made progress during your time here. and I don’t think that you have ever regressed all the way back to where you were when you started writing here. but I also understand how difficult it is to measure anything from its midst. after finishing this tome, I’ve come back to this place to add a spoiler because I’m not sure if I splatted everything adequately or if the story that follows and my emotional response to it isn’t too much for anybody or somebody who may be reading this. so, here goes. a b c d e f g h u j k k m n o p q r s t u v w x y z (thank you for letting me borrow the alphabet, {cherish}. i’m hoping that letters can make sense of my thoughts and feeling.) Yesterday I succeeded in getting my friend to admit herself to The Center. She has been actively and intensely self-destructive and suicidal for months now. She stays at my place now and then and I see her pale, bare body coverd with purply roses of bruises. "How do you get those?" I ask. She looks at me, eyes filled with tears, and says, "Do you ever just p*nch yourself?" I watch her pop pills as if they are candy. She pumps herself up on adderall, which is only dexedrine renamed and redefined, and caffeine, then smooths out the edges with ambien. I’ve seen her take two or three ambien and sit up and chatter into the wee hours of morning. If I take that drug I must be in the bed, already, because sometimes I can fall asleep on it before I make it to the bed. I know everyone responds differently, but it is a powerful drug, and everything I’ve read about it says no more than 10 mgs. Some should only take 5. She takes 30 and goes to a party. She drives. Plus, she takes xanax and ativan along with it. She even, sometimes, drinks with this stuff. I am amazed that she lived this long and hope that the hsptl can help her live longer. She is only a kid, under 30 yrs. old,
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Response:
thanks for responding astri. and for paying so much attention t o speciffinc details of it all. and for einbing encouraging and stuff. i need this kind of suppport right now. and i gutuesss like others have been saying i feel guilty for needing but still there it is. i siwiwsh that i could just give what i need to my friedns and be okay about it and everythign i also have to do for myslef. but i cantl. every action creates antohrter need. ite seems. trill
t’wasn’t any bother. I’m glad you felt supported. hope for you that eventually you can be ok with needing. — astri
Response:
trill my friend, I am osry to know that things are so hard righ now. All that you have shared here speaksto my heart and soul. I to have lost many friends, and have a hard time deling wih my b-day. we don’t know what to say alway and certainly do not understand much about how his life works but one thing we do know is that we "celabrate" that we found this place called asd and especially that we have had the honor and privillege to get to know you. You are a wise, courageous, compasionate spirit, one who brings light to a world that is often dark and bleak. We are glad that you were born and that our paths have crossed. peace, love, strength and hope mags
Response:
but thanask you but needing tggets to be more okay when soembody notices nad responds to it alike you di d do so that is good and thansk you asd feels more real thatn reall and it is safe so serarches for more to read and trieds to wriete thngs keep going and day dissapppearesa’ thenak you
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – thanks for responding astri. and for paying so much attention t o speciffinc details of it all. and for einbing encouraging and stuff. i need this kind of suppport right now. and i gutuesss like others have been saying i feel guilty for needing but still there it is. i siwiwsh that i could just give what i need to my friedns and be okay about it and everythign i also have to do for myslef. but i cantl. every action creates antohrter need. ite seems. trill t’wasn’t any bother. I’m glad you felt supported. hope for you that eventually you can be ok with needing. — astri
Response:
We sends a greeting, Mags on this day of what for you is difficult, and what is a day which marks a special day for the world, for the creation of Mags is a contribution to a goodness. Beauty. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – trill my friend, I am osry to know that things are so hard righ now. All that you have shared here speaksto my heart and soul. I to have lost many friends, and have a hard time deling wih my b-day. we don’t know what to say alway and certainly do not understand much about how his life works but one thing we do know is that we "celabrate" that we found this place called asd and especially that we have had the honor and privillege to get to know you. You are a wise, courageous, compasionate spirit, one who brings light to a world that is often dark and bleak. We are glad that you were born and that our paths have crossed. peace, love, strength and hope mags
Response:
thank you Mags. I made it through my birthday. I took lots of vitamin x. My friends took me out to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, a dim sum place, and we, three rather small women, ordered up every vegetarian thing on the menu. Our table was so full of food that we stacked some of the dishes on top of each other, like plates of stuff over soup. Then we sat there and ate for a couple of hours. The food was delicious. The company great, for these were two dear friends, the ones who organized the fund to sustain me until my disability benefits kicked in, and have helped me in many other ways like taking care of The Potato when I was in the hsptl. Mostly, however, they are just good friends, very smart, very articulate, very talented, and very much fun to talk about everything in the whole wide world with. After our dinner we went to Tr*dr Joes. Does anyone else have that store around where sie lives? It’s great. Wonderful delicacies and unusual and organic foods and health products at excellent prices. After our shopping trip we headed back to one of my friends’ apartments where she had made me a vegan tirramisu (I don’t know how to spell this. Sorry. It’s a rich, italian pastry), that she put wavy b-day candles in. I got them all out in one huff, too. Then they had purple balloons and presents for me. We talked over the pastry and hot, black decaf until about midnight. Then we walked around the park with our dogs. It was a perfect celebration for me. It was the right size crowd, wonderful food, a great deal of conversation about politics, the arts, and culture, some reminiscing, and plenty of giggling. I still feel the funk a little bit, but that b-day celebration did a great deal to help me get grounded, a little happy, and, as someone once said of Nahanton, "a tad" more focused. Tonight I went to a political mtg. for which I’ve been organizing for a few weeks. It went very well. That fact cheered me a bunch, too. And I had to stay focused for the mtg. Actually, bell handled or guided me on most of it. But that’s okay. That’s internal communication and cooperation, right? That’s part of coconsciousness and that’s the goal, right? The expression of your cares means a great deal to me and helps me stay grounded, too. thank you, trill
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – trill my friend, I am osry to know that things are so hard righ now. All that you have shared here speaksto my heart and soul. I to have lost many friends, and have a hard time deling wih my b-day. we don’t know what to say alway and certainly do not understand much about how his life works but one thing we do know is that we "celabrate" that we found this place called asd and especially that we have had the honor and privillege to get to know you. You are a wise, courageous, compasionate spirit, one who brings light to a world that is often dark and bleak. We are glad that you were born and that our paths have crossed. peace, love, strength and hope mags
Response:
well i was just CONFUSED after i read the first part! sorry about your friend, so stres sful for you. depression must be horrible to have constantly. i guess we better buy stock in the "implant" company! gads hope you feel better. best, samantha
Response:
but thanask you but needing tggets to be more okay when soembody notices nad responds to it alike you di d do so that is good and thansk you asd feels more real thatn reall and it is safe so serarches for more to read and trieds to wriete thngs keep going and day dissapppearesa’ thenak you
I saw a post that said you were feeling better after having a good day with friends for your bday. I hope that better feeling stuck around a bit. — astri – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – thanks for responding astri. and for paying so much attention t o speciffinc details of it all. and for einbing encouraging and stuff. i need this kind of suppport right now. and i gutuesss like others have been saying i feel guilty for needing but still there it is. i siwiwsh that i could just give what i need to my friedns and be okay about it and everythign i also have to do for myslef. but i cantl. every action creates antohrter need. ite seems. trill t’wasn’t any bother. I’m glad you felt supported. hope for you that eventually you can be ok with needing. — astri
Response:
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