Growth comes from seeing something that needs change, learning as much as you can to understand it and finding a way to make it better. This is how we’ve gone from walking around and hiding in caves, to flying to the moon. However sacrificing all ethical thought and actions to make progress is not good growth. Instead it’s like a cancer growing from within. You can try to treat it or cut it out, but there’s always a scar or something left behind. Meanwhile there’s 30 other problems you’ve created trying to fix something caused by those bad choices. things damaged like this aren’t easy to repair. Unfortunately as long as there are those who hold onto the past will cause as much damage as those who deny the past in the name of progress. Prosperity isn’t money. It’s life and experience.

Humans are by far the most destructive, selfish, and petty beings. the worst of them live in North America. Globally the problem is men and their fragile sense of superiority. religion further exacerbates the problem as a divisive tool for those seeking power to convince those more ignorant to bend to their will. Political parties claim they are for the people but only are there for those who add more riches to their pockets. If no side is right then how can we move forward?

We can’t.

Nobody budges and nobody cares. Denial is as bad as the malice. Enabling is as bad as the malice. Only when everyone says “no more” and makes equality a real goal, then there is no future or hope for progress.

Falling apples

When can we choose psychosis over medical intervention? While it’s scary and bizarre, sometimes it’s better than the reality that you’re broken.

To heal you first need to acknowledge that you’re fucked up. Then you must accept that you’re fucked up. Only then can you ask for help. Getting help and going through with treatment is hard. It’s hard because not everyone has the strength to get through their battle. Many lose their battle because they quit. They punch their ticket and leave a mess behind. That rings through generations as an echo of pain.

It’s really hard sometimes. It’s even harder to see where someone lost that battle. It reminds you that it’s not a one time battle. It’s a battle you have to choose to fight every day.

I spend a lot of time getting by. I’m not complaining here. I’m just saying that some days are really hard. I don’t know how many times lately I have drove out into the middle of nowhere and just screamed out my pain. Yelled at the rocks. Cursed to the sky. Threw stones at invisible giants. All of this to just have moments of feeling like I can feel normal around others. Lately I’ve been struggling with it more. We have added medication to make me seem more calm around others, but while some things are starting to calm, the autism is presenting more. While I struggle to hide my sensitivity to things around me, I deal with the fact that I’m noticing it more myself and now worry if everyone else will see through the mask I wore for years.

Tonight is hard. I’m dealing with so much that my mind is doing things that I need to address. I can’t dismiss visual or auditory hallucinations. Are they hallucinations? Lights flashing in the corners of my vision. The reality is I just want to ignore it and accept the psychosis, because the alternative is scary.

Now it hits. The scene of things hanging off the branches. Shoes against a blue sky. The times I saw things I wished I hadn’t. That thing that left a stain. empathy is overwhelming sometimes because trying to figure out why leads to what, and finding the what leads to the pain of understanding. That they felt so much pain, loss, misery, that it was better to them to leave. Seeing the reality of there being nothing left but an empty shell and a spent soul. Seeing things like that wears you down.

So while I sit fighting my demons and feel overwhelmed and stressed beyond measure, I don’t want to ever make that choice. Instead I take time for therapy and self care. I work on what I can control. I learn from the choices made by others and take that knowledge with me to fight another day.

Dream and dimension

Dreams feeling so real that they have to be. I mean the smells, sounds are so tactile it’s like a memory. I truly feel like they have to be, now especially a peek through the dimensional veil into an alternative reality. Sure they seem bizarre and wild, but some feel as mundane as a morning fart. Just a touch of gas is all. Nothing more. Nothing less. Never mind the next one involves making defensive strategies for invading gorillas that are far advanced like the planet of the apes but they’re also as big as King Kong. Then there’s the ones that are apocalyptic survival after tech is dead and no longer sustainable. Some are worlds of other beings like birds or canines are the elevated beings.

Travel at the speed of a short nap. Which reality is the one you exist? Am I dreaming of this reality over there? Armies fighting off giants and dragons. A man walking through a wash in the desert hiding from invading armies that have decimated the small towns after a massive strike destroying the government with cyber attacks and then physically attack a divided nation. They all feel real. Here I am just some broke, and broken human trying to understand why I feel lost in space and time. sometimes I can’t wait to go to sleep. Other times I fear it so much I avoid it for days.

Same vision different day

Nothing has changed. Everyone talks shit on both sides about what is needed. Nobody actually pays attention to what’s really going on around them. They follow propaganda to what drives their feeble minds frenzy. All focused on things that aren’t irrelevant, but are part of the same thing. Nobody watches for those who are waiting to strike while we take each other out. The world hasn’t changed, just the way you play the game. I know this as I type this out on my media driven communication device. I hate carrying it, but it’s become a bit of a necessity for now. Regardless, while everyone is blaming everyone else shits about to get real bad for all.

End of the line.

I realize a huge trigger of my anxiety is death. The finality of it. 25 years ago I danced with it frequently. A couple times it almost claimed me permanently. I tried changing myself to fit in even further. Still, no matter what I did I couldn’t care one way or another if I lived or died. Now after a deep breath and my mind bridging across new chasms i had the realization that my past lives are in fact just genetic memory. Something that tagged onto a part of the dna download that programmed this life. It makes you see why men try to control the narrative. They try to ensure they have offspring and preferably male. Someone long ago had this realization and shared it. And Ignorance and science had yet to discover the things like dna, evolution, etc. They ont understood their own survival instinct. Well as we move on something has to balance the scales. That same thing is still evolving. Viruses, diseases, genetic mutations, etc are all evolving too. So there’s no room in the future for those who can’t provide growth towards the bigger picture.

All I wanted was to be a dad. To look down and see a piece of me in them, a shape of a nose, eyes, hair, whatever. The problem is I have had no such luck. Mind you I was very fortunate to find my wife who had three beautiful children of her own and I have grown to love as my own. That has brought me some happiness, but there’s still that part of me that wanted one child with my DNA. come to find that no matter how many times I planted a seed, it would not bare fruit. It didn’t matter how plentiful my seed was, it lacked the part that made it viable. So now this line ends with me. It had nothing to do with what god I worship or anything other than I lack that code to go to the next level. So no further “reincarnation” or “rebirth” for me. When I die, I will be gone with the last electrical signals in my brain cease to flicker. My memory will only carry to the last generation of people I make any impression with. I will just be gone like a fart on the breeze.

This could be a good thing though. I mean I find my ways are no longer relavent. My way of thinking and acting is no longer needed. I may see the next generations failing too but the ones who are meant to continue, will. While I wish I could see what 100 years down the road looks like, a part of me is glad I can’t. I wouldn’t fit. I’d be like a wart on the nose of society.

So while I understand it’s easy for some to say “don’t dwell on things that haven’t happened yet. Be in the moment.” It’s hard when all you see is numbers and know your clock is winding down fast. The best I can hope for is to plant a tree and have my body be the food that makes it grow strong and tall.

Typically misrepresented

Everyone talks about atypical on Netflix. I’m not a fan. Mainly because of the bs drama is still making Sam out to be the cause of everyone’s stress. I get that, but I thought it was supposed to be about Sam but too much focus is on everyone else’s problems. I much preferred on the spectrum. It’s available on HBO NOW. Warning it’s a show from a different country but it has English overdubs available. It was really good at showing the characters truly trying to get by in a world that never understands what it’s like. Mind you I understand it’s not easy living with us, but we’ve seen that story before.

Spectrum disorders are in no way make us unaware of how people see us. Some of us are highly functioning enough to know when we’re perceived as weird. So much do that we learn to mimic others so we can act “normal”. Growing up through the late 70s and 80s the word “retard” was used a lot. It was not in a clinical sense (to be delayed of development) so you don’t want to be labeled that. We had the foresight to hide.

I was diagnosed when I was 15 with autism spectrum disorder. I was treated as just another hyper active child. This originally was labeled as ADD. I lucked out having a therapist that understood my concerns and was also the therapist for my mother and understood exactly why I needed him to keep that to himself. I don’t know if my mother reads this blog, but if she does I’m sure this is all just a “lie” or me “being over dramatic” or a “whiny little faggot.” What’s funny was this therapist she loved even though he was “a fucking gross faggot, but he’s ok enough. I guess.” This is how he actually was able to pin down my diagnosis so well. Seeing me and the home I came from he knew that it was more than a neuro diverse brain, but there were deeper childhood traumas. My diagnosis overall was autism spectrum disorder with ADHD PTSD and Social Dysphoria.

Instead of doing treatment with medication he saw I was able to function rather well in the environment. I learned how to maintain myself as well as function as a buffer for my younger siblings. The youngest of my siblings at the time was already diagnosed with ADHD and was being treated with medication, but it wasn’t something that stayed with him. As soon as he got to big to argue with he told mom fuck you! I’m not taking those fucking pills!

In school it was challenging because I learned by watching others. I can read a book fine, but my brain files that information where I can use it in recall only after seeing how you are supposed to recall it. The best example of this was my music class. I could read music. I learned theory and practices etc, but I always failed music. It wasn’t until my last music teacher sat with me watching me learn a hard song (battery by Metallica and pull me under by dream theatre)on the guitar during lunch only after hearing it twice and was able to play it seamlessly with the recording. He stopped and says he doesn’t understand how I can do that but can’t do basic sight reading. He knew I could read and understand what was on the page. I knew what the time, key, notes, and the instrument I was playing, but as soon as I was sat down with the sheets of music I couldn’t play. I told him it’s because I can’t hear what I’m reading. I told him it’s ink on paper until I hear the music. I finally passed a music class that year. Not with high grades because sight reading etc still had to be graded, but I’m happy to say I got a C- and that was a passing grade.

Here I am now. 45 years old and only learning over the past few years that I’m ok. Yes I have this thing that most people call a disease or disorder, but I’m not “retarded” or “challenged” or “slow.” This isn’t a disease. It’s not a disorder. We’re just wired a little different. that guy with cerebral palsy isn’t fucking slow or stupid either. Nor that person with Down’s syndrome. We’re all people who are just as human as you. We just want to live our life with your typical judgment.

Cracks in the concrete

I’ve been seeing things that make me wonder what I am supposed to prepare for? My grandmother carrying a big heavy battle axe ready to split a skull. My grandfather standing under falling waters. My father cutting down a large tree. People attacking others and not showing remorse. Those who have fought long and hard, just quit and drop their sword. These are visions every day now.

Meanwhile I’m losing my mind trying to accomplish little tasks. Always being stopped by something out of my control. Slowly this is chipping away my protective cage. The place that holds a beast of rage and fury deep within. The walls are beginning to crack. I’m not sure how long before it breaks. I’m hiding in a dark corner trying to breathe. I hear him breathing.

Lies and what lies between

All my life I have had a connection with everything around me. Understanding deeply the truths of each thing. The problem with that is nobody likes being that vulnerable. So you pretend to be naive or ignorant to what people say or do. You pretend to believe their lies or play along with the game. However you grow tired of the feeling you get for tolerating the poison in the well you drink from. You move on and find yourself secluded but the sickness you feel goes away.

Eventually you find yourself looking for company of people who instead are like you you search and find some, but you realize they are just as broken as the ones you sought refuge from before. Few are genuine. Some you become good friends with, but others who refer to you as friend are just poison and you again need to distance yourself. They use “good deeds” to earn favors that they use to benefit their own agendas. Again you find yourself withdrawing. Only keeping contact with the ones you can trust to not manipulate you, and keep minimal contact with others.

From a distance I still see what happens. I see that I still need to be cautious of my surroundings and pay mind to who I let in. I learned this time that strength is not good when it’s only good for the few while it benefits them. Strength needs to endure when it’s hard and must benefit the whole of the community. We are still far from the path forward I guess. Humans are the most flawed species on this planet. A virus that is unlike anything else. Ultimate bringers of havoc that set forth destruction in their paths. Even those who try to live better, still can’t help but to fall to their more basic need for self worth.

I have doubt that there still be much hope for a real positive outcome in the near future. We continue to fall.

Home(less) of the brave

There’s been a lot of stuff going on over the past few weeks. There’s never the “right time” or whatever to post or even try to post. It’s hard for so many nowadays. Everyone is trying to get back to their entertained state of convenience. It’s getting uglier than ever out there. There’s something though that made me feel like things are worse for those who are already doing much worse than you.

I recently got put into a very uncomfortable state of being, as my spouse made me do a road trip to spend some of her vacation time. I don’t like to do the social interaction thing with people. Long before the pandemic, I was well cemented in my antisocial ways of anxiety hiding from the mass amount of mindless idiots that are growing exponentially. I’m telling you that I don’t need tv or movies. Not when you have 21st century America. However because for some reason this beautiful person loves me and wants me to go with her on her trip, I go. Things start bittersweet because we started the trip by dropping our son off at the airport to fly back to Virginia. It’s so hard when we hadn’t seen him in over two years. So day one is just miserably hot and uncomfortable. My arthritis is flaring something awful and it’s hot as shit in this very uncomfortable passenger seat of her convertible. 12 hours into this drive we finally make our first stop. We try our best to get comfortable in the hotel, but we’re so exhausted that we just pass out regardless. The next day we are doing less drive time but still won’t be into Oregon because the wife wants a picture at the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco before we end the day in Eureka. We get to our hotel stop and it’s the worst one of the whole trip. Shitty staff. Shitty and dirty room. Shitty loud guests. The place was filled with old broken cars everywhere. Normally I would not care, but this was the most expensive room on the trip up there and just very uncomfortable. I couldn’t sleep but that happens. We go to get breakfast and the McDonald’s app forces me to do the curbside pickup. The doors are barricaded at this place. I’m very discouraged. This kid finally comes out with only half our order and gets himself locked out. His coworkers just dit watching him laughing as he’s trying to go in to get the stuff he forgot. Finally one of them opens the door and the kid goes to get the rest of the order. This poor kid was embarrassed but was polite and still had a smile with his return. I only had a couple bucks in my wallet but gave it to him as a thank you for doing a god job taking care of the customers while dealing with shitty coworkers. With that we cross the street to get gas, and that’s when I saw something that hurt a lot.

I’ve seen the homeless and understand that there is some shit that happens to everyone. Some have bad luck. Some just choose to live like that. I don’t judge. I was homeless myself for a good spell. however I have not seen it first hand where these people are just invisible. It’s a feeling I didn’t like. Not only was this man digging up to his armpits in the trash at the gas station, but to get his attention I had to pat him on the shoulder. He said he thought I was talking to someone else because everyone just ignores him. I handed him all my breakfast and then after gassing up the car I went into the gas station buying canned food and beef jerky, bottles of water and brought it back to him. He was grateful but continued to dig in the trash, because bottles and cans he can exchange for money. This guy knew that the food I gave him will only go so far. I wished I could do more but knew it’s out of my control. From that stop until we reached our destination in Portland area, all I noticed was the sheer amount of little homeless encampments. When we toured Portland I noticed that blocks and blocks and blocks of the city were all just tents and boxes and shopping carts. People sleeping in doorways of now closed businesses. Some are clearly dealing with mental health issues, but so many looked like they were new to this life. Trying to survive in the heat with nothing. So many businesses closed down. So many losing jobs and homes. Worse than this though, was the blind eye turned to them and the struggle. Like they’re nothing but vermin or insects in the gutter. I mean they’re clearly there and there’s not just a few, or hundreds, but thousands.

Everyone wants to believe it’s not that bad and we’re getting back to normal , but why is this normal? Why do so many choose to ignore the suffering of others? Does it really make you feel better about yourself if you say it’s not that bad? Do you think if you just ignore it, it will all just go away like a stray cat? For a country that brags about being the best, it’s far from it.

People seem to only help if they’re recording it for social media clout. I didn’t even think of it, because I don’t need praise for being empathetic to my fellow people. I don’t give a shit about praise. I just want to help if I can, and let people know that I see them and They matter. Im very privileged and I understand it 100% I can easily be worse off, but I’m beyond gray for my family and there happiness. The rest is just stuff. Stuff comes and goes. I hope someone can figure out a real solution to the problems of the world but the reality is, people only invest in things with a return. So if they can’t profit from a good deed, then they say it’s just a bad investment.

Spitting into the wind

You can not carry water in a broken vessel. You can not fly across to water with a hole in your sail. Anger and frustration causes fractures and cracks in your walls. It leaves your spirit exposed and vulnerable. While you may feel strong some days, really you’re just punching holes it the walls and stomping cracks in your foundation.

I have been so angry for so long, I forgot what I was angry about and realized the anger was just a mask for my fears and insecurities. What happens when I unclench my fists and reach out my open hands? Will I find something reaching back? Will I be led back to happiness? Will I then find peace again? I used to tell myself “Not my circus. Not my monkeys!” Then I stopped telling myself that and I forgot I can’t control other things. All I can control is my words, and actions. I wasted precious time and energy trying to make others listen, but I can’t do that. I became deaf to my own words. I became blind to my own actions. My vessel became weak and the cracks started to show.

Today is a new day. Now is a new moment. I take back my light, and I will patch the walls. I will clean house and give it a new coat of paint. Clear the dirt and dust that blankets everything. I will open the windows to allow the fresh air to kiss my lungs. I will take a shower and wash away the blood and salt and shit that has splattered over me from my tantrums of madness. Then I will refill my vessel and remember that I am still worthy of my love.