Vlog #6: "The Rage"

Vlog #6: "The Rage" — Blue Ink Alchemy

Click the image! Frustration. Anger. Rage. They're not synonyms; they're a progression of negativity and potentially destructive emotions. This week, I lay out that progression, face some of my own issues, and find a way through bad moments towards better ones. If you like what I'm doing with these, please feel free to subscribe or support me on Patreon. Thanks in advance!

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Blue Ink Alchemy

The Open Letter

The Open Letter — Blue Ink Alchemy

This is Josh. The real Josh. The Josh that should have been here all along. The Three Gratitudes Thank you for reading this. So much of this has needed to be said... well, written... for a very long time. Garbage and bullshit has clouded so many of my perceptions, caused so much projection of anxieties and catastrophic conjecture, and it set myself and those I love up for failure and heartbreak. In the last few months, so much of the opposite has happened that I feel warranted in writing this letter. Thank you for honesty. For my own part, I've taken it as my charge to be completely, consistently, transparently honest, with myself, and with everyone around me. This can get awkward at times, but better this than letting fear and grief and unchecked wild emotions and myopic head-weasel-influenced thoughts overwhelm the truth of myself, the truth I denied for so long, the truth I now own. Thank you for bearing with me. There are so many things that can make me, and have made me, unbearable. Approaching relationships from a place of ignorance and impatience. Breaking trusts. Breaking hearts. Shattering something breathtakingly beautiful. Intent does not forgive action, but I have never intended to cause pain or suffering or discomfort in anything I've said or done. I do not deny the part I played in so much going so wrong. I accept the responsibility for what occurred. I bend all of the powers of my mind to be better, to do better. I complexly imagine those hurt by my actions; especially the actions of Josh-that-was. Throwing Away the Garbage Human We, all of us, who survived the devastation of lies being revealed and wonderful constructs full of potential melting down, are still moving away from the disaster zone of Josh-that-was. You, me, all of us had to come face to face with the fact that I was falling so short of the tenants that, even then, I desperately wished I could adhere to on a daily basis, because of self-deception and ignorance and fear. And all of us, including myself, were right to discard and abandon that garbage human. It was a being full of anxiety and impatience. Too often subscribing to "carpe diem" in a way that could only lead to ruin. Possessed by a fear that if someone ended a conversation, went to another location, so much as left the room, that they might never come back. That the same thing would happen to them that happened to Jen - an abrupt, violent, inexplicable death that leaves a deep and festering wound that takes a long time to heal, if it ever does. That fear was so woven into the character of Josh-that-was that every action, every intention, every word was built on unsteady ground, and every seed planted was done so in topsoil far too attractive for head weasels and maggots of that old wound to ignore. That is unfair to other humans. That is too impulsive, too self-destructive, and ultimately leads to dishonesty and devastation. That is why I regard Josh-that-was as an other. In the kindest terms, that thing was a bad shed. Old dead scales clung to me as I tried to grow and change, and that growth was stifled and misdirected, incomplete and painful, and I struggled even to breathe, let alone be rid of that which I no longer needed, had long outgrown, and should not have allowed to shatter and burn so many things that still hold a place in my heart. In unkind terms, I took Josh-that-was, put it on its knees, fired two rounds (honesty and determination) into the back of its head, and buried it out back. Because FUCK THAT BULLSHIT. I apologize. That was intense. I do not want you to feel uneasy reading this. I no longer wish to harm myself. I simply feel that I have gone too long without making it absolutely clear to the people I love where my rational mind is at, even when it goes to dark places, perhaps even especially then. I feel that I owe you insight as to how I am more earnestly and deeply dealing with my Shadow. I feel that I should explain what it means when I say I am learning to love myself. Being My Own Partner I have to see myself as a complex individual worth loving, the way I see you. I ask myself: "If I would treat a partner in the way I'm treating myself, would they tolerate it?" Basically, I am trying to see myself as my primary partner. Engaging in active self-care. Forgiving myself. Learning about myself. Focusing on good moments, and moving past bad ones, rather than encapsulating an entire day with the label of "good" or "bad". And, perhaps most importantly, being honest when I feel afraid or angry or grandiose or depressed or anxious. Fear drove so many of my bad decisions. Even now, it's a serious part of my thought process. I'm afraid of repeating past mistakes. I'm afraid of people I love getting hurt. I'm afraid of always being seen as something monstrous, in my own eyes or in the eyes of others (oh, I'll get to that). But so many of those fears have no real foundation. Past performance, after all, is not an indication of future events. Considering how much I can and have accomplished to heal and recover - my medication is as it should be, I have therapy lined up, my vlog series is yielding positive results and I no longer hate myself nor long for an end to my existence (mostly to satisfy the perceived wishes of those I've harmed) - I have no reason to let those fears take control of my words and actions. While I am circumspect with what I say, how I behave, and the things I decide to do, I work to adopt circumspection not out of fear, but out of respect for the boundaries of others, and just as importantly, respect for my own. Even if I don't have a solid idea of what I want, outside of a few basic things, I do have a solid idea of the core thing I require to get whatever it is I decide I want. And that is to continually grow and change. To work harder to forge myself, temper myself over and over again, even when it's hard, especially when it's hard. To love myself like my life depends on it. Eurydice admonished me to do that very thing.

You know what good writing is. A good protagonist is never static. A good villain very often is.

Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood The thing is, to some of you, I am the villain. We all cope in different ways. We all deal with loss and grief however our current state of mind requirest in order to at least begin healing. For some of you, that is retreating into a place of solitude to collect and parse thoughts and feelings. For others, it is launching off in an entirely different direction in an attempt to escape or dull the pain. And for a few of you, it is changing the narrative, past and present, and casting those who once were the strongest and most beloved of allies to the vilest and most insidious of despicable traitors. All of that is okay. Let me reiterate and emphasize that, point for point. It is okay to not talk to me. It is okay to leave me in your dust. It is okay to make me your villain. Granted, none of these are things I'd want for myself regarding you, if I were given the choice. But the choice is not up to me. It is up to you. You, as an individual, as the sole sovereign of your own mind and heart and soul, make the choices you feel are best given the information you have. You have the right to invite or disinvite me into your orbit as much or as little as befits your comfort zone. None of your feelings, none of them, are invalid. And when you make a choice that puts me at a distance, even if it means to paint me as the villain in your mind and pushing me out of your heart, that is your choice. You have every right to make it. And as much as it might hurt me, as much as it might keep me awake at night, as much as I long to do something, anything, to make things right between us... I cannot hate you for it. I cannot swear out warrants against you for hurting me. I do not resent you, nor do I wish you ill. In fact, you know what? I am fucking proud of you for taking back space for you. Even if it was from me (which you had every right to do, see above regarding me being a garbage human back then). Strange, maybe. But it's the truth. And you have been owed that for a long, long time. "That's all you had to say." "Okay. ONE MORE THING-" I am determined to not rely on any person or any one thing to keep me moving forward. At the end of the day, I am the only thing I can rely upon. I must believe in the me that believes in myself. Yes, I know I just referenced Hamilton and now Gurren Lagann is coming up again. It does that. I'm not apologizing. As much as I say I am done with escalators, at least in terms of relationships (and mostly in terms of transit centers, I need the damn exercise), I am still focused on drilling towards the heavens, even if I'm just digging my own grave. I love you. I appreciate you. I am thankful for you. You mean a lot to me. You always will. Even in the midst of all of the sound and all of the fury of Josh-that-was, I have held fast to the strange and contrary notion that I do not give up on the individuals that I love. Ever. EVER. Relationships have suffered and died, often as a direct result of Josh-that-was, but as individuals? You and me? We are worth believing in. I still do. I always will. Even if we never speak again. You may have put me at a distance. You may have broken off what connections we've had. You may have disappeared into the mists. All I can do, as someone who loves and respect you, is howl at the world and the moon and the mists, and wonder if you can hear me. I will not demand your attentions. I will not make a mountain out of a molehill between you and me. I will not chase you. I will not make presumptions, hold onto how Josh-that-was saw you, or expect anything from you in my daily life. I am all I need for that. I have to be. By myself. For myself. But you and I are alive. And where there is life, there is hope. As much as it might be foolish, I foster the flame of hope deep within the Pandora's jar that contains all of my shit. It's all together, in one place. All of my anxiety and depression and ghosts and grandiosity and fears and rages snarl and gnaw and claw at one another to be the first to pop out. And hope is at the very bottom. Where my inner child cradles it like the tiniest of candle flames. I stand over that child to keep the other shit at bay. Because hoping without action may be a mistake, but hope itself is one of the most powerful forces in the fucking universe. Back To The Future Do I hope that you and I will talk about all of this? Yes. Do I hope that, if you and I are estranged, we will reconnect at some point? Yes. Do I hope for a tomorrow with you so, so much better than anything we could have imagined, for one another as individuals? Yes. Do I expect any of that? No. My only expectation of myself is that I will keep on living. By myself. For myself. Growing and changing and moving into the future, one day, one moment, one step at a time. My expectation of you is that you will live. You will do similarly for you as I do for me. Love yourself. Forgive yourself. Improve yourself. And be yourself, for yourself. You are wonderful. You are beautiful. And you are worth it. To once again call back to Hamilton, "that would be enough." My door is now and will always be unlocked for you. Even if it seems or feels closed. I do not expect you to knock on it. I am fine in the solitude and quiet. I'm thinking. I'm feeling. I'm growing. I am Josh. I am myself. And I am pretty damn cool when I'm not swimming in my own bullshit. But let me just close with this. If you ever want to, if you ever feel ready, whenever that might be... Speak, friend, and enter. Even if it isn't in this life, I hope to know you again. I hope this finds you well. And I hope you take this as it is intended - with honesty, with determination, and most of all, with love. I am and always shall be your friend. Josh

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Blue Ink Alchemy

'The Fix Is In'

'The Fix Is In' — Blue Ink Alchemy

This week I talk about one of my pet peeve turns of phrase. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." I won't reiterate my take on it here, because I already discussed it in the vlog (which you should totally go watch, plug plug). Instead, let me turn my attention to a very different one that is still related. "The fix is in." This is a sports term. It has to do with the outcome of a contest being 'fixed' or rigged. And in the context of those contests, and any betting associated with it, it's a bad thing. But let's think about it in terms of storytelling. A fictional tale always has a fixed ending. While characters grow and change, their arcs are also fixed, at least in terms of their anchors throughout the tale. Authors set their characters up for either success or failure, pretty much from the beginning. I think, as individuals, we owe it to ourselves to set ourselves up, too. Setting yourself up for success takes a conscious effort. It's an idea I've heard more and more about as I've worked as a barista. Beans, pitchers of milk, sleeves for cups - these are all things that can be stocked or prepared to make future work easy for co-workers. As individuals, we can, and probably should, sort our thoughts, emotions, and internal processes into helpful patterns. This takes time, and often external help, but it's setting ourselves up for success. It's putting in the fix. It's giving you a sure thing on which to bet - yourself. The alternative is setting yourself up for failure. I don't necessarily mean failure in an immediate, dramatic sense. Failing yourself doesn't always take a catastrophic form. In some cases, failure is a state of being. It's not a failure in acting, it's a failure to act. If we do not challenge ourselves to change, to look at ourselves as complex beings and seek improvement as well as the correction of mistakes, we fail ourselves. It requires honesty. It requires being proactive. It requires deep breaths, introspection, and more than a couple hard conversations. Where did I go wrong? What mistakes did I make? How did my failures come across to others? Can I make amends? Will I be able to learn from my downfalls, rather than repeating them? Are you up for it? Are you willing to take an active role in your own progress towards a better version of yourself? Can you make yourself a sure thing for yourself and others to bet on?

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Vlog #5: "The Fix"

Vlog #5: "The Fix" — Blue Ink Alchemy

Click the image! They say "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." How are they wrong, at least when it comes to working on ourselves, expressing ourselves, and how we see ourselves? Join in our quest for answers and mine for the optimal sound setup. If you like what I'm doing with these, please feel free to subscribe or support me on Patreon. Thanks in advance!

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Learning to Listen

Learning to Listen — Blue Ink Alchemy

We hear all sorts of voices every day. None are more pervasive and frightening than those that come from within. They can amplify what we hear from others, or contradict the good things we're told, or even drown out support and reinforcement from people we care about. There are two very important skills that I feel one needs to learn in order to overcome these distractions and potential downfalls: learn to listen to the right voices, and have the agency to listen to our own, true voice. As I maintain in this week's vlog, our feelings, and the voices that emerge from them, are not invalid. They do come from honest places, even if they are places we do not recognize or want to acknowledge within us. The Shadow contains all sorts of things - fears, ambitions, instincts, hatreds, doubts, etc - and it is up to our conscious mind to evaluate those things and parse the useful and constructive from the antiquated, the superfluous, or the ridiculous. You see, 'valid' and 'useful' are not the same thing. It's a valid want to plop oneself down on the couch and flip on a glowing screen for hours, but how useful is that when there is work to be done? Granted, some time lost in mindless entertainment can be useful for self-care, but so can a minor chore like washing dishes or sorting out laundry, and those have the advantage of organizing our lives and allowing more space for focused self-care. The point is, the voices we struggle to live with and understand are valid, necessary parts of our psyches. I use the visceral imagery of "Josh-that-was" to place my previous, short-sighted, self-deceptive, and ultimately ruinous behavior in a category of useless, old, and broken thoughts. While I myself may not be "broken" or "crazy", the fact is that things did break in the course of Josh-that-was doing what it did. My heart, the hearts of others, the trust of others, and so many other things that haunt me and pain me to this day, and may do so for the rest of my life. I may never make it right. I may never get closure. And I have to accept that as a possibility. The price of the actions of Josh-that-was. The punishment for those acts. The scars left behind on my soul. Ugh. This is getting maudlin. Back to my point. If we can manage to look forward, towards a better version of ourselves that is worth working towards, we can better determine which of the voices we hear every day support and build upon that goal, and which ones hold us back. This is not to say that such voices do not have their uses. Self-correction is an essential part of the growth process. Without it, we can slip into the stream of our own bullshit without realizing it, and start bathing in it before we know what's going on. We have to be aware of our potential downfalls and incoming hazards. We have to grasp our emotional and mental demons and wrestle them to the ground. We have to imagine ourselves as complexly as we do others, see our flaws for what they are, and figure out how best to overcome, integrate, or work around them. We must, indeed, check ourselves before we wreck ourselves. And that means, knowing which of our voices are worth listening to. For example, I could listen to the voices telling me to delve into the Internet at the dark hours of the night, when other, more insidious ones drag me towards a past I am working so hard to move away from. They encourage me to look into the lives of those with whom I've lost contact. I know, in my rational mind, that this sort of thing always leaves me feeling depressed, lonely, and thoroughly angry at the supidity of the actions of Josh-that-was. I still feel the impulse to click, to read, to scroll. It's very difficult to shout down that voice. But it isn't useful. It isn't constructive. It teaches me nothing new, it lends me no strength or courage, and I ultimately have better things to do with my time and energy. This sort of thing is tiring. Have you ever shouted or sang or cried until your throat hurt? Imagine that process within your own mind. Sometimes you have to shout to let your voice be heard. You have to sing at the top of your metaphorical lungs even if nobody is listening - some would say, especially if nobody is listening. It's the best way, sometimes the only way, to keep ourselves in check and on a path to positive, constructive growth. Over the last few months I've metaphorically shouted myself raw at times to make sure I am taking steps away from what I was. It's the only way I know to keep myself on this path. By myself. For myself. Even when it hurts, much like exercise or growth, we have to listen to the right voice. We have to focus on the ones from within us that want us to succeed. It can take effort, and time, and leave you exhausted and worn out. But it's something we all have to learn. If we want to grow into the people we've seen ourselves as being, the people we deserve to be, and the people around us deserve to be with, we have to learn to listen for those right voices.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Vlog #4: "The Voice"

Vlog #4: "The Voice" — Blue Ink Alchemy

Click the image! Voices in our heads! What do they mean? Where do they come from? How do we express them? This week we learn how our feelings become things that have voices of their own. If you like what I'm doing with these, please feel free to subscribe or support me on Patreon. Thanks in advance!

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Zone Control

Zone Control — Blue Ink Alchemy

Paradoxically, talking about comfort zones makes me uncomfortable. Not because they are strange things, or because I don't understand them. I do. I know consent is a vital, essential thing, and you cannot and should not cross into someone else's comfort zone without that consent. When you do, apologize and back out. At least, if the offended party tells you directly. They may take other action if they feel deeply uncomfortable or threatened. Or simply slam the metaphorical door in your face. And that's fine. At the end of the day, we must take care of ourselves on an individual, internal level. And that can mean avoiding the external to whatever degree we must to maintain or reinforce our comfort zones. All of that is comprehensive and understandable to me. It doesn't make me uncomfortable. My relationship with me, my own comfort zone, and how it's interacted with others... those things do. Josh has been one of those people who's stumbled headlong into someone else's comfort zone, crashing through a wall Kool-Aid man style if the Kool-Aid man was a well-meaning but ultimately destructive doofus. That's probably the kindest I've been to Josh when regarding his mistakes. I do feel that, for the most part, his heart was in the right place, at least most of the time. While it doesn't change the fact that Josh made bad decisions regarding getting along with other people, trying to imagine him complexly helps me not want to dig up his corpse and shoot him again. The othering of my past self is something I've been working on. The more I change, the more I examine myself, the more I become acquainted with everything inside of me from my Shadow to my action matching intention to (I'm getting to it) my comfort zone, the more I feel the distance between who I am now, and what I was before. And because of my actions, because of the influence and insight of those I love, because of my stubborn refusal to swim in my own fucking bullshit for one second longer, that past self, that Josh, is a thing. A corpse. A creature, an individual, that I kicked to its knees, shot twice in the head, and buried in an unmarked grave out back. Josh-that-was. He is no more. I am very uncomfortable referring to who I was and what I did before in the first person. It fucks with my comfort zone. When I catch myself doing it, some of the emotional creatures - the "head weasels" that appeared regularly in Innercom Chatter (which I really need to get back to doing) - start crying out more loudly. Anxiety, contrition, depression, and anger all claw and squeal for my attention, to buy into whatever it is they're selling. The idea that I have not changed. The idea that I still need to be punished further for what Josh-that-was did. The idea that sustainable happiness, sustainable Relationships, sustainable peace, are things I will never truly know. The idea that I should just get out of the sight of everyone I know before I do something else fucking stupid. These feelings, not invalid, come from honest places, deep and dark ones. I do my utmost to not act on them, as those actions would have consequences, while the feelings themselves do not. I keep telling myself that. I worry that's more of my own bullshit talking. Then I remember that just admitting that I have these fears, these worries, in a broadcast as loud as I can make it to anyone willing to listen places me apart from a lot of people. I'm focused on the path in front of me, the one I walk by myself. I have people in my corner, as well as their own corners, shouting support as loud as they can to make sure I can hear. And I shout it to myself. Sometimes in a whisper, sometimes at the top of my voice. Whatever I need, when I need it, however I need it. Sure, I'll have moments of discomfort. I'll have bad moments where I lose sight of my goal. I'll stumble and pinwheel my arms to keep myself from falling into that threatening but inviting stream of flowing self-deceptive antiquated childish bullshit that still runs beneath all I've worked to build within myself. But this is within my comfort zone. This is something I can and will control. I will continue to be honest, clearly and immediately and consistently honest, growing and nurturing the things that matter to me, reaching out to those I love, and making damn sure my footing on my path is certain and that, at the end of the day, I love myself like my life depends on it. I no longer care if the world knows what my secrets are. And I am not throwing away my shot.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Vlog #3: "The Zone"

Vlog #3: "The Zone" — Blue Ink Alchemy

Click here to watch the vlog! Comfort zones! Being uncomfortable! And talking about it, whee! Would you like to know more? Watch as I try to keep it together. If you like what I'm doing with these, please feel free to subscribe or support me on Patreon. Thanks in advance!

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Vlog #2: "The Feels"

Vlog #2: "The Feels" — Blue Ink Alchemy

We're going to talk about feelings! YOUR feelings. Are feelings valid? Can you feel more than one feeling at once? Do feelings have consequences? I answer all of these questions from my perspective. I hope you find it insightful, useful, or at least interesting. If you like what I'm doing with these, please feel free to subscribe or support me on Patreon. Thanks in advance!

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Vlog #1: "The Stigma"

Vlog #1: "The Stigma" — Blue Ink Alchemy

[/tube] We all have to start somewhere. This is my first attempt at doing something like this, on a lot of levels. I can be a bit of a perfectionist, and there are a great deal of things I want to change, tweak, and improve upon the next time I slap one of these together. But, here you go. The first, I hope, of many vlogs talking openly about mental illness, how it makes me feel, and how I feel we as individuals should address the battles in our own heads. Be kind.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Vlog #1: "The Stigma"

Vlog #1: "The Stigma" — Blue Ink Alchemy

[tube]Oyjs6iHd4jQ[/tube] We all have to start somewhere. This is my first attempt at doing something like this, on a lot of levels. I can be a bit of a perfectionist, and there are a great deal of things I want to change, tweak, and improve upon the next time I slap one of these together. But, here you go. The first, I hope, of many vlogs talking openly about mental illness, how it makes me feel, and how I feel we as individuals should address the battles in our own heads. Be kind.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Feeling Like Dying

Feeling Like Dying — Blue Ink Alchemy

Suicide discussion follows. Be forewarned. For someone who no longer has the impulse to commit suicide, I think about it quite a bit. It's a feeling. I talked about feelings earlier this week. I know that my suicidal thoughts, and the attached feelings, are not invalid. I have no intention of acting upon them, so there are no real consequences to me having them in and of themselves. But I am going to write about them, and try to unpack this tangled mess in my head when I ask myself questions like: "Why is it worth the pain and struggle to get up every morning?" "What, if anything, do I really bring to the world around me?" "Who in their right mind would want to give me their time, let alone trust or affection, when they see me as I am, now, and know all I was and all I've done?" Especially in light of losing so much that was so important to me, through my own ignorance, impulsiveness, self-deception, and lack of cognitive wherewithal, I have a hard time considering myself a worthwhile human being. I fight every day to hold on to some semblance of self-worth, some notion that later today or maybe tomorrow will be better, and some days are easier than others. I try to focus on good moments, rather than bad ones. And, as I have so many times before, I fail miserably and spectacularly. I don't even fail in half-measures. I either prevail or crash and burn in absolutely breathtaking fashion. I've never attempted suicide. I've put myself in the care of medical professionals when I reach that brink. I rarely call a crisis hotline. 9-1-1 is my go-to "I need real help, no really, right the fuck now" number. Because I would rather face my demons head-on even if their horns are going to gouge out my idiot brain, than just give up. And if I ever did give up, I'd do the job right. I'd go somewhere nobody has to clean up after my mess and just disappear from your lives. And some people out there, my badbrain tells me, would be glad for it. Sighs of relief would be breathed. "Good riddance," they would say. "That guy made me so uncomfortable/angry/sad. I'm glad he's dead." I don't think the people I know are actually like that. But my brain won't shut up about such sentiments. If there is a God, and I was made this way for some esoteric and inscrutable "higher purpose", I want to speak to someone in charge about this defective product. It's really irritating. Rather than the above maudlin badbrain idiocy, I think a lot of people would just exhale and shake their heads. "His heart was in the right place." At least, I'd like to think it is. It has not ever been, nor will it ever be, my intention to just grab whatever it is I want, and to the hells what other people need. I tend to go in the opposite direction. The more I'm pushed, the more I go out of my way to satisfy other people's needs. To the hells with my needs, self-care, or any of that stuff. Other people first. Their safety, their comfort, their desires come first. That is the way I've been wired since I was young. So the thought of someone feeling unsafe or uncomfortable or having their needs unmet because of something I've done really fucking burns me up inside. The feelings of the offended are not invalid. They had the right to take action. Those actions had consequences. I felt the full brunt of them. I will go on feeling them for a long time. Nevertheless, I have no desire to demonize the offended, or blame what has happened to me on them. Again - their feelings are not invalid. Neither are mine. All I'm doing with them is screaming into the void. It doesn't really matter who, if anyone, is listening. The head weasels, of course, want to know if there's more I can do to punish myself. Because it isn't enough that I am left physically intact by this. They say more is required. Justice is still undone, they say. My freedom is unearned, they say. I should not have the freedom to do whatever I want, to grow in the ways I need to grow, to see another beautiful sight when I've done so many ugly things. "You do not deserve your life," they say. "You've wasted it. And there is no point denying that or letting it go one more day." At the very least, they inspire me to think: I should harm myself in some way. Castrate myself. Flagellate myself nightly. Form a celice out of wire and nails. Scar myself. I want tattoos but cannot afford them. I guess that will be the ultimate expression of all of this frustration and anger and pain and grief in my lifetime. Willingly allowing my flesh to get marked in a permanent way that, from what I understand, hurts in various ways depending on where it happens. As I said, I doubt I'll stop feeling these things any time soon. And as much as I may feel like dying in a given moment or on a given day, I think I trust my mind enough to not push me into doing something awfully stupid with dire and irrevocable consequences for my family and friends. I try to remind myself that I'm allowed to have feelings. Even if I feel like dying. I will not act on that particular feeling. I will, instead, pack another few pinches of pipe tobacco into my pipe's bowl. I'll pour myself another drink. Maybe find something edible to enjoy. I will wait. And when Death finally arrives, I will toast their entry, greet them as an old friend, and wonder what the hells took them so long. [tube]1iAYhQsQhSY[/tube] [spoiler] I'm gonna need someone to help me I'm gonna need somebody's hand I'm gonna need someone to hold me down I'm gonna need someone to care I'm gonna writhe and shake my body I'll start pulling out my hair I'm going to cover myself with the ashes of you and nobody's gonna give a damn. Son of a bitch Give me a drink One more night This can't be me Son of a bitch If I can't get clean I'm gonna drink my life away Now for seventeen years I've been throwing them back Seventeen more will bury me Can somebody please just tie me down Or somebody give me a goddamn drink Son of a bitch Give me a drink One more night This can't be me Son of a bitch If I can't get clean I'm gonna drink my life away My heart was breaking, hands are shaking, bugs are crawling all over me My heart was breaking, hands are shaking, bugs are crawling all over me My heart was breaking, hands are shaking, bugs are crawling all over me My heart is breaking, hands are shaking, bugs are crawling all over me Son of a bitch Give me a drink One more night This can't be me Son of a bitch If I can't get clean I'm gonna drink my life away Son of a bitch Give me a drink Son of a bitch This can't be me Son of a bitch If I can't get clean I'm gonna drink my life away [/spoiler]

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Feeling Like Dying

Feeling Like Dying — Blue Ink Alchemy

Suicide discussion follows. Be forewarned. For someone who no longer has the impulse to commit suicide, I think about it quite a bit. It's a feeling. I talked about feelings earlier this week. I know that my suicidal thoughts, and the attached feelings, are not invalid. I have no intention of acting upon them, so there are no real consequences to me having them in and of themselves. But I am going to write about them, and try to unpack this tangled mess in my head when I ask myself questions like: "Why is it worth the pain and struggle to get up every morning?" "What, if anything, do I really bring to the world around me?" "Who in their right mind would want to give me their time, let alone trust or affection, when they see me as I am, now, and now all I was and all I've done?" Especially in light of losing so much that was so important to me, through my own ignorance, impulsiveness, self-deception, and lack of cognitive wherewithal, I have a hard time considering myself a worthwhile human being. I fight every day to hold on to some semblance of self-worth, some notion that later today or maybe tomorrow will be better, and some days are easier than others. I try to focus on good moments, rather than bad ones. And, as I have so many times before, I fail miserably and spectacularly. I don't even fail in half-measures. I either prevail or crash and burn in absolutely breathtaking fashion. I've never attempted suicide. I've put myself in the care of medical professionals when I reach that brink. I rarely call a crisis hotline. 9-1-1 is my go-to "I need real help, no really, right the fuck now" number. Because I would rather face my demons head-on even if their horns are going to gouge out my idiot brain, than just give up. And if I ever did give up, I'd do the job right. I'd go somewhere nobody has to clean up after my mess and just disappear from your lives. And some people out there, my badbrain tells me, would be glad for it. Sighs of relief would be breathed. "Good riddance," they would say. "That guy made me so uncomfortable/angry/sad. I'm glad he's dead." I don't think the people I know are actually like that. But my brain won't shut up about such sentiments. If there is a God, and I was made this way for some esoteric and inscrutable "higher purpose", I want to speak to someone in charge about this defective product. It's really irritating. Rather than the above maudlin badbrain idiocy, I think a lot of people would just exhale and shake their heads. "His heart was in the right place." At least, I'd like to think it is. It has not ever been, nor will it ever be, my intention to just grab whatever it is I want, and to the hells what other people need. I tend to go in the opposite direction. The more I'm pushed, the more I go out of my way to satisfy other people's needs. To the hells with my needs, self-care, or any of that stuff. Other people first. Their safety, their comfort, their desires come first. That is the way I've been wired since I was young. So the thought of someone feeling unsafe or uncomfortable or having their needs unmet because of something I've done really fucking burns me up inside. The feelings of the offended are not invalid. They had the right to take action. Those actions had consequences. I felt the full brunt of them. I will go on feeling them for a long time. Nevertheless, I have no desire to demonize the offended, or blame what has happened to me on them. Again - their feelings are not invalid. Neither are mine. All I'm doing with them is screaming into the void. It doesn't really matter who, if anyone, is listening. The head weasels, of course, want to know if there's more I can do to punish myself. Because it isn't enough that I am left physically intact by this. They say more is required. Justice is still undone, they say. My freedom is unearned, they say. I should not have the freedom to do whatever I want, to grow in the ways I need to grow, to see another beautiful sight when I've done so many ugly things. "You do not deserve your life," they say. "You've wasted it. And there is no point denying that or letting it go one more day." At the very least, they inspire me to think: I should harm myself in some way. Castrate myself. Flagellate myself nightly. Form a celice out of wire and nails. Scar myself. I want tattoos but cannot afford them. I guess that will be the ultimate expression of all of this frustration and anger and pain and grief in my lifetime. Willingly allowing my flesh to get marked in a permanent way that, from what I understand, hurts in various ways depending on where it happens. As I said, I doubt I'll stop feeling these things any time soon. And as much as I may feel like dying in a given moment or on a given day, I think I trust my mind enough to not push me into doing something awfully stupid with dire and irrevocable consequences for my family and friends. I try to remind myself that I'm allowed to have feelings. Even if I feel like dying. I will not act on that particular feeling. I will, instead, pack another few pinches of pipe tobacco into my pipe's bowl. I'll pour myself another drink. Maybe find something edible to enjoy. I will wait. And when Death finally arrives, I will toast their entry, greet them as an old friend, and wonder what the hells took them so long. [tube]1iAYhQsQhSY[/tube] [spoiler] I'm gonna need someone to help me I'm gonna need somebody's hand I'm gonna need someone to hold me down I'm gonna need someone to care I'm gonna writhe and shake my body I'll start pulling out my hair I'm going to cover myself with the ashes of you and nobody's gonna give a damn. Son of a bitch Give me a drink One more night This can't be me Son of a bitch If I can't get clean I'm gonna drink my life away Now for seventeen years I've been throwing them back Seventeen more will bury me Can somebody please just tie me down Or somebody give me a goddamn drink Son of a bitch Give me a drink One more night This can't be me Son of a bitch If I can't get clean I'm gonna drink my life away My heart was breaking, hands are shaking, bugs are crawling all over me My heart was breaking, hands are shaking, bugs are crawling all over me My heart was breaking, hands are shaking, bugs are crawling all over me My heart is breaking, hands are shaking, bugs are crawling all over me Son of a bitch Give me a drink One more night This can't be me Son of a bitch If I can't get clean I'm gonna drink my life away Son of a bitch Give me a drink Son of a bitch This can't be me Son of a bitch If I can't get clean I'm gonna drink my life away [/spoiler]

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Feeling Like Dying

Feeling Like Dying — Blue Ink Alchemy

Suicide discussion follows. Be forewarned. For someone who no longer has the impulse to commit suicide, I think about it quite a bit. It's a feeling. I talked about feelings earlier this week. I know that my suicidal thoughts, and the attached feelings, are not invalid. I have no intention of acting upon them, so there are no real consequences to me having them in and of themselves. But I am going to write about them, and try to unpack this tangled mess in my head when I ask myself questions like: "Why is it worth the pain and struggle to get up every morning?" "What, if anything, do I really bring to the world around me?" "Who in their right mind would want to give me their time, let alone trust or affection, when they see me as I am, now, and now all I was and all I've done?" Especially in light of losing so much that was so important to me, through my own ignorance, impulsiveness, self-deception, and lack of cognitive wherewithal, I have a hard time considering myself a worthwhile human being. I fight every day to hold on to some semblance of self-worth, some notion that later today or maybe tomorrow will be better, and some days are easier than others. I try to focus on good moments, rather than bad ones. And, as I have so many times before, I fail miserably and spectacularly. I don't even fail in half-measures. I either prevail or crash and burn in absolutely breathtaking fashion. I've never attempted suicide. I've put myself in the care of medical professionals when I reach that brink. I rarely call a crisis hotline. 9-1-1 is my go-to "I need real help, no really, right the fuck now" number. Because I would rather face my demons head-on even if their horns are going to gouge out my idiot brain, than just give up. And if I ever did give up, I'd do the job right. I'd go somewhere nobody has to clean up after my mess and just disappear from your lives. And some people out there, my badbrain tells me, would be glad for it. Sighs of relief would be breathed. "Good riddance," they would say. "That guy made me so uncomfortable/angry/sad. I'm glad he's dead." I don't think the people I know are actually like that. But my brain won't shut up about such sentiments. If there is a God, and I was made this way for some esoteric and inscrutable "higher purpose", I want to speak to someone in charge about this defective product. It's really irritating. Rather than the above maudlin badbrain idiocy, I think a lot of people would just exhale and shake their heads. "His heart was in the right place." At least, I'd like to think it is. It has not ever been, nor will it ever be, my intention to just grab whatever it is I want, and to the hells what other people need. I tend to go in the opposite direction. The more I'm pushed, the more I go out of my way to satisfy other people's needs. To the hells with my needs, self-care, or any of that stuff. Other people first. Their safety, their comfort, their desires come first. That is the way I've been wired since I was young. So the thought of someone feeling unsafe or uncomfortable or having their needs unmet because of something I've done really fucking burns me up inside. The feelings of the offended are not invalid. They had the right to take action. Those actions had consequences. I felt the full brunt of them. I will go on feeling them for a long time. Nevertheless, I have no desire to demonize the offended, or blame what has happened to me on them. Again - their feelings are not invalid. Neither are mine. All I'm doing with them is screaming into the void. It doesn't really matter who, if anyone, is listening. The head weasels, of course, want to know if there's more I can do to punish myself. Because it isn't enough that I am left physically intact by this. They say more is required. Justice is still undone, they say. My freedom is unearned, they say. I should not have the freedom to do whatever I want, to grow in the ways I need to grow, to see another beautiful sight when I've done so many ugly things. "You do not deserve your life," they say. "You've wasted it. And there is no point denying that or letting it go one more day." At the very least, they inspire me to think: I should harm myself in some way. Castrate myself. Flagellate myself nightly. Form a celice out of wire and nails. Scar myself. I want tattoos but cannot afford them. I guess that will be the ultimate expression of all of this frustration and anger and pain and grief in my lifetime. Willingly allowing my flesh to get marked in a permanent way that, from what I understand, hurts in various ways depending on where it happens. As I said, I doubt I'll stop feeling these things any time soon. And as much as I may feel like dying in a given moment or on a given day, I think I trust my mind enough to not push me into doing something awfully stupid with dire and irrevocable consequences for my family and friends. I try to remind myself that I'm allowed to have feelings. Even if I feel like dying. I will not act on that particular feeling. I will, instead, pack another few pinches of pipe tobacco into my pipe's bowl. I'll pour myself another drink. Maybe find something edible to enjoy. I will wait. And when Death finally arrives, I will toast their entry, greet them as an old friend, and wonder what the hells took them so long. [tube]1iAYhQsQhSY[/tube]

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Feeling Like Dying

Feeling Like Dying — Blue Ink Alchemy

Suicide discussion follows. Be forewarned. For someone who no longer has the impulse to commit suicide, I think about it quite a bit. It's a feeling. I talked about feelings earlier this week. I know that my suicidal thoughts, and the attached feelings, are not invalid. I have no intention of acting upon them, so there are no real consequences to me having them in and of themselves. But I am going to write about them, and try to unpack this tangled mess in my head when I ask myself questions like: "Why is it worth the pain and struggle to get up every morning?" "What, if anything, do I really bring to the world around me?" "Who in their right mind would want to give me their time, let alone trust or affection, when they see me as I am, now, and now all I was and all I've done?" Especially in light of losing so much that was so important to me, through my own ignorance, impulsiveness, self-deception, and lack of cognitive wherewithal, I have a hard time considering myself a worthwhile human being. I fight every day to hold on to some semblance of self-worth, some notion that later today or maybe tomorrow will be better, and some days are easier than others. I try to focus on good moments, rather than bad ones. And, as I have so many times before, I fail miserably and spectacularly. I don't even fail in half-measures. I either prevail or crash and burn in absolutely breathtaking fashion. I've never attempted suicide. I've put myself in the care of medical professionals when I reach that brink. I rarely call a crisis hotline. 9-1-1 is my go-to "I need real help, no really, right the fuck now" number. Because I would rather face my demons head-on even if their horns are going to gouge out my idiot brain, than just give up. And if I ever did give up, I'd do the job right. I'd go somewhere nobody has to clean up after my mess and just disappear from your lives. And some people out there, my badbrain tells me, would be glad for it. Sighs of relief would be breathed. "Good riddance," they would say. "That guy made me so uncomfortable/angry/sad. I'm glad he's dead." I don't think the people I know are actually like that. But my brain won't shut up about such sentiments. If there is a God, and I was made this way for some esoteric and inscrutable "higher purpose", I want to speak to someone in charge about this defective product. It's really irritating. Rather than the above maudlin badbrain idiocy, I think a lot of people would just exhale and shake their heads. "His heart was in the right place." At least, I'd like to think it is. It has not ever been, nor will it ever be, my intention to just grab whatever it is I want, and to the hells what other people need. I tend to go in the opposite direction. The more I'm pushed, the more I go out of my way to satisfy other people's needs. To the hells with my needs, self-care, or any of that stuff. Other people first. Their safety, their comfort, their desires come first. That is the way I've been wired since I was young. So the thought of someone feeling unsafe or uncomfortable or having their needs unmet because of something I've done really fucking burns me up inside. The feelings of the offended are not invalid. They had the right to take action. Those actions had consequences. I felt the full brunt of them. I will go on feeling them for a long time. Nevertheless, I have no desire to demonize the offended, or blame what has happened to me on them. Again - their feelings are not invalid. Neither are mine. All I'm doing with them is screaming into the void. It doesn't really matter who, if anyone, is listening. The head weasels, of course, want to know if there's more I can do to punish myself. Because it isn't enough that I am left physically intact by this. They say more is required. Justice is still undone, they say. My freedom is unearned, they say. I should not have the freedom to do whatever I want, to grow in the ways I need to grow, to see another beautiful sight when I've done so many ugly things. "You do not deserve your life," they say. "You've wasted it. And there is no point denying that or letting it go one more day." At the very least, they inspire me to think: I should harm myself in some way. Castrate myself. Flagellate myself nightly. Form a celice out of wire and nails. Scar myself. I want tattoos but cannot afford them. I guess that will be the ultimate expression of all of this frustration and anger and pain and grief in my lifetime. Willingly allowing my flesh to get marked in a permanent way that, from what I understand, hurts in various ways depending on where it happens. As I said, I doubt I'll stop feeling these things any time soon. And as much as I may feel like dying in a given moment or on a given day, I think I trust my mind enough to not push me into doing something awfully stupid with dire and irrevocable consequences for my family and friends. I try to remind myself that I'm allowed to have feelings. Even if I feel like dying. I will not act on that particular feeling. I will, instead, pack another few pinches of pipe tobacco into my pipe's bowl. I'll pour myself another drink. Maybe find something edible to enjoy. I will wait. And when Death finally arrives, I will toast their entry, greet them as an old friend, and wonder what the hells took them so long.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Vlog #2: "The Feels"

Vlog #2: "The Feels" — Blue Ink Alchemy

We're going to talk about feelings! YOUR feelings. Are feelings valid? Can you feel more than one feeling at once? Do feelings have consequences? I answer all of these questions from my perspective. I hope you find it insightful, useful, or at least interesting. If you like what I'm doing with these, please feel free to subscribe or support me on Patreon. Thanks in advance! [tube]WVGNQb68pAk[/tube]

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Poem: "It's 2015"

Poem: "It's 2015" — Blue Ink Alchemy

In addition to the vlog, on the 1st of every month, I'm recording the reading of a poem I've written. The first one, here, was written around the time of my last birthday. I don't imagine to have great skill as a poet, as longer-form fiction has long been my writing focus, but I hope you find something worthwhile in these stanzas. [tube]U3JqLeI4kFg[/tube]

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Blue Ink Alchemy