Hair of the 21 Pilots: Guns 4 a Son of A Bitch

I had a wonderful realization this morning. "Isn't it wonderful that I love, and I mean absolutely love my teenage son's music?" I was moved to tears of joy thinking this while driving to work this morning and listening to a live version of Twenty One Pilots, Guns 4 Hands. I love this group, and Tyler Joseph is one talented dude. Not to mention Josh is a killer on drums ... And this group will be one that we share together through time, a shared love and admiration that binds us together. Music is good for that. I often think of him when listening to this group, and I know he thinks of me. He got his mom to take him to their last concert with him. She came out loving the experience. I love that. 💗

You see, my music at his age put me and my dad at a distance. I still remember him stomping my Nazareth, Hair of the Dog, 8-Track, into the fibers of my bedroom carpet, when I was playing a certain track, a little too loud, on a Sunday, just after church. 

Hair of the Dog <-- link to song

I remember as a 13-year-old boy, the same age as my son now, seeing the look on my father's face, the anger, the rage, the hatred, and seeming all of it directed at me as he yelled at me his contempt and I backed away. I felt right then, a searing realization that he didn't love me. Me, all of me. This was something about me that he didn't love. There was much more in that look than just hate for a band. It was a face void of love, and full of hatred, not just for Nazareth, for me, for my taste in music and my reckless out-of-bounds playing of it on Sunday. He was calling me out for bad behavior. I loved Nazareth ... still do ... and I don't need to drink and swear, fornicate, get tattoos, or do drugs to do so... You know, the "evil" stuff.

So after my father left in a huff, I, still in shock with my finger hooked on my loosened tie, paused to recover from Crush-afflixion of Nazareth. The room was now in stark silence, and my mind was in "wow, that just happened", mode. I sat down on the edge of my bed, halfway through my routine of undressing from church. I remember sitting there motionless and dejected, as I looked at the broken pieces of plastic, and the tape guts bleeding, spooled over the floor. I loved that album. I thought of the work I would have to do to earn the money to buy a new one.

I realized and clung to the idea among all the evidence from times past, that my Dad still loved me, but he certainly didn't love my music. He hated it. He thought it was evil and vulgar. I understood that. I think that's what attracted me to it in the first place...that, and their kickass artwork of Dragons and Demons and Monsters on their albums. It was like naughty candy to my brain. An escape from the reality of pure white Mormonism... an allowable escape... But, "Not in my house on a Sunday!"

On Sunday, you stayed in the box - On Sunday you honored The SABBATH! ... Makes me wonder if Ronnie and the boys could have rocked my Dad's world on Sunday without retribution with tunes off Heaven and Hell? I'm sure it could have passed muster if done more quietly. I recall my brother Steve rocked the walls a time or two on Sunday, beating on his Drums in the basement. Now that was loud, but devoid of offensive cuss words... well mostly. I'm sure he swore a time or two when he lost grip of his sticks.

If Steve was anything like me, one of the first things we would do after church on Sunday was go down to our room and take off our church clothes, eager to play. Sunday was me-time because dad couldn't make me do chores or work around the yard, neither could mom, and I didn't have school. And during me-time was when I freely explored the things I was interested in. It was my free time. Away from church and away from school. I loved the Sabbath as a kid. 😉.  And the time it truly glowed was when I got time off the clock just to be me, and explore what I wanted to explore.... in the days before the internet ...

I was still in my church clothes when the album got destroyed, so Dad won on a technicality. Being dressed as a Saint and listening to Satan, I was out of bounds. Dad=+1, Son= -666 I kept my mouth shut and claimed the loss deserved... knowing now there was something my dad hated about me, enough to crush it to a pulp.

The point is, my Dad didn't like my music when I was my son's age, and it put somewhat of a wedge between us ... although he did begin to come around later after my LDS mission, there was never my love for Hard Rock or Metal in his heart.

I didn't know that he secretly loved my Queen albums until I arrived home and found him smiling and happily engaged in the basement theater room, watching them perform live in concert on his big-screen LaserDisc system... What a shock! It was a Twilight Zone moment, one that my current self, had he been there, would have asked, "What the fuck is this!?"

But, thinking about it, I do remember him one Sunday, when I was 12 or 13, coming up behind me as I tried to learn "Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon" on his piano. Curiously, he asked me about the song and I told him it was by a group named Queen and showed him the songbook I'd borrowed from a friend. He sat down next to me on the bench, picked it up, and looked it over, keeping his finger in my page. Satisfied, he set it back down on the music stand, back open to my page, and said, "Carry on." and went back to doing whatever he was doing. Maybe that's where the seed was planted? All I know is, it was a real trip coming home off my mission and seeing my conservative, old-fashioned-music, Lawrence Welk bubble-blowin dad, tripping out to Queen on the big screen. I loved it!

After the shock, or maybe because of it, I sat down on the end of the couch next to him and we watched it together. "Boy, a lot can happen in two years.", I thought. It was a weird arrival back home, fresh off my mission. But this was sacred space. Dad and I, smiling and happy together, in the same room, listening to and enjoying the same music, and admiring the same players and performers. It's one of my best memories with my dad ... that and watching his Gaslight Theater program together ... and I don't mean attending church. It was a series that happened every week late at night, where they played a famous old movie, usually black and white.

After my LDS mission, my musical interests started away from rock and heavy metal, into new wave. I blame groups like The Cars, The Buggles, and Yazoo .... and that guy who threw an early Peter Gabriel cassette at me, saying, "Check this out kid!", as we both rifled through a sea of cassettes in the record store's discount bin. I picked up the cassette and looked back and forth at it and him. I smiled and said "Thanks!", holding up the cassette to him. I was a bit embarrassed, and now feeling somewhat obliged to buy it. It could be any kind of weird stuff this dude likes ... But the album cover had a man with half his face melted off. That alone made it worth $3.99! I had no clue who this Peter Gabriel guy was as I left with him from the record store. Back home I rescued him from the cellophane and let him tell me stories in his songs to some really cool music. What a treasure thrown at me here. And how did I not know that the melty-face guy used to play with Genesis!? I loved Genesis! Duke was a masterpiece.

In his later years, my dad liked Genesis, and Phil Collins, and other popular songs, but not much Peter Gabriel. He liked some of my new music too, like Depeche Mode, Erasure, TFF, New Order, Peter Murphy, and Twins like Thompson and Cocteau ... This was the music I played while I lived with him while attending my last year of college, and he was now living as a free man, with another man. He actually asked me to play the Cocteau Twins one day, and I lent him those albums.

Despite moments of anger and disagreement, I always knew my dad loved me. He loved kids, and he loved being a kid, just like me. Although, his childhood was riddled with the tragedy of losing his mother at 7 years old and later his dad when he was 22. With my mother, fate was kind enough to wait until I was 53 ... and it still hurt horribly. I can't imagine losing someone when you need them so much, but his oldest sister Merle picked up the slack and took him into her life and home. He had a great bunch of beautiful sisters, and one grumpy oldest brother, old enough to be his dad and my grandpa. My father loved his family and his kids. I planned to have kids someday too. It was certainly on my list of LDS things to do... Many times I ponder that, if not for the LDS church, and my father believing their judgment and advice, I wouldn't exist ... but that's another story of iRony.

As I grew up, I'd always heard of the Generation Gap, and I'd often get this fearful assumption and dread that I would hate my kid's music too. I dreaded repeating that separation with my kids. And thinking ahead, I planned on it ... It was a fear that never happened, as I'm not fighting demons anymore, having left the LDS church around 2005. I don't believe in evil forces or evil influences anymore, except those in real people. Nothing supernatural, they're just bad players, all by themselves. I know who I AM... enough to endure, and even embrace what others would call evil, without it changing the goodness in me. Except for my coffee drinking, my love for an occasional beer or alcoholic beverage, and my swearing, I'm still basically that good LDS kid my parents raised to be responsible, honest, kind, etc... well minus the LDS spin on reality too. I continue to learn that honest and kind are often a balancing act, with silence replaced for honesty when honesty would not be kind. This was pretty much the gist of my blog on discretion and lying.

My dad wasn't really angry at me right then. He was afraid of the Devil, and a believer that the influence of evil music, as he was told by the prophets and apostles, would lead to my demise and destruction. He was fighting him that day, with the Foot of Gabriel, The Stomper of Moroni, and The Shoe of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego! ... Righteous indignation is the best high ever...
(Shadrach Meshach & Abednego)

He was fighting foul demons, the ones I was entertaining, and the fear of losing me to Satan's influence made him afraid and angry ... I guess, it was a lot like me trying to get him to quit smoking, something he did till he died, after leaving my mother and living his truth as a gay LDS man. Cigarette smoking was a major cause in his death.

Makes me wonder if my dad were alive today if he'd love Twenty One Pilots too. Maybe it could have been a multi-generational thing ... My son Aaron was the only child of my three that he held in his arms while alive. My dad died when Aaron was just over a year old, in November of 2006. And if life goes on after death, I'm sure he loves my kids. I certainly know that he does, as much as his DNA and life are expressed through me. I hope in knowing me, my children will know what a wonderful man my dad was, even when he was smashing a thing I loved to save me from evil.

It also makes me wonder which of my music he'd still stomp today ... and that makes me glad I have it all backed up electronically. ;)

I know this has been a bit long-winded, but these are the thoughts that exploded in my mind today over the course of just a few minutes, that I had to put to paper, as I realized, "I Love my kid's music!" and What a blessing that love is! 💓
Guns 4 Hands

No Regrets?

Over the course of everyone's life they're dealt a handful of regrets.  Some encounter more disappointments than others, but life has plenty for all.

I often hear people proudly state that they have none, "I have no regrets in my life, my mistakes made me who I am."  
I can see that angle.  Yet this statement bugs me.  It feels a little like denial, or the inability to admit error. My life is just the one I need. My choices made me who I am. It feels proud and egotistical. Like saying, "No flies on me".  

It's a common human trait to have a strong aversion to correction or admitting error, and maybe this attitude is just an extension of that thinking. I think this denial of regret is just another manifestation of the human inability to admit that things go wrong in my life and they're not always good. The inability to admit that, "My choices or thinking is not always good". We'd rather believe in our charmed fate, like everything that happens to us good or bad is part of some sort of divine destined path.
Maybe it's simply putting a positive spin on the typical stuff that happens to everyone.

Every regret is not always a mistake.

Like a game of poker, life is a gamble, and we don't control the cards we're dealt.  We really have no idea what we're going to get, but we do try to make the best choices with what we're dealt, and put on our poker face.  Many times our bluffed bravado blazing boldly forward with a bad hand is our undoing ... sometimes it works.   Sometimes we underestimate our chances with a mediocre or good hand and foolishly fold.  At any rate, I think this statement of No Regrets is often a poker face, at least.  And at worst, it may be a sign of some degree of psychopathy or sociopathy.  They have no regrets/remorse either.

So, like everything, there is a healthy middle to acknowledging mistakes and showing at least a little bit of remorse.

Speculating on the past, although having the potential to be very informative and instructional, is fraught with the woulda-shoulda-coulda, if only's, that halt our forward progress, and our living in the moment of what is today, and what we can make happen in the near future.   The trouble with this is that the future of every choice is hinged on the present moment's choices, and all we really have is the present.  We do the best we know how at the current moment.  There is no golden ticket with choices. Each decision made in the present, is wrapped with our current place in time and understanding, and the chock full of unforeseeable consequences and pathways.  There are no perfect choices.  Everything has a flip-side.

My mother's life story was often filled with regret about who she married, and the what-ifs of how her life would have been if she had chosen another suitor who was wooing her at the time.  She had a few at the time she chose to marry my father.  The most prominent one I remember, is a man named Rodger.  Rodger proposed to her and she took his ring over to my not then Dad and tried to influence his decision toward her.  She obviously loved my dad more (although she would say she fell in love with his family, all a bunch of beautiful happy sisters whom she loved to be around). No, she married my dad, who as it was turned out to be gay. After 32 years of marriage and 6 children, he came out.  I've analyzed the dynamics of why my mother chose my father, and I think it had a lot to do with her mother's love and acceptance - she claimed it was a rarefied thing.

I think this too can be a bad thing, obsessing about the past and trying to make it different than it was - a useless activity.  I think it's good to reminisce and think about your past only in the effort of the joy of remembering, and also to help you steer yourself into the future, hopefully avoiding the mistakes made back there ... self correction.

Typical Regrets:
Relationships that go sour... marrying the wrong person.
Staying in a sour/bad relationship too long
Doing anything you don't find fulfilling too long
Sacrificing for unappreciative undeserving people
Helping people that use and abuse you, and take advantage
Career choices
Believing the stories and lies of a religion/organization
Not being kind or more involved with someone who has died
Not going to college, or pursuing a wrong suited degree
Not applying yourself to education when it was free
Being responsible for someone's pain, hurt, downfall, or demise

I'd rather be told the bold and even hurtful truth than remain stuck in my own  ignorant delusions.  But sometimes it's our delusions that keep us going ... sometimes it's our positive talk that fuels our fantasies, and our fantasies, when grounded, become some form of our reality.

I would deny no one their fantasies, those of escape, and those of a better future, as long as they are within the bounds of basic human dignity toward others.  I just post stuff like this to help myself think, and be honest, and hopefully you too.

You see, in my own self-inspection I have found that my biggest fear is that other people are thoughtless, self-centered, deceitful narcissistic sociopaths, and so someone saying something like, "I have no regrets."  sends up a huge red flag.

So, I guess, at worst, the takeaway here is that this could be seen as advice to sociopaths/psychopaths, to stop saying that. You're giving yourself away! ... also, while you're at it, stop lying. :)

Ephemera

I truly believe that Life is Eternal... not my life, but life as a thing that happens and continues in the universe.  I guess as much as the universe is an eternal thing, I think that life, as is obvious from our very own existence, is part and parcel of the material thing we call a universe or reality.

If you think of it, you have a bloodline, and existence that goes back through the tree of life.  Every one of your ancestors survived long enough to procreate, all the way back through humans, hominids, mammals, dinosaurs, etc, even back to the first simple forms of life.  You come from a long line of life... and this is your moment, in this small slice of time to continue on in the chain of life, life that is attendant to the material world... and maybe there are forms of consciousness, that we don't associate with life, but who, however, are very much alive.

I have a friend who believes that if something is not eternal, than it is not real.  I however think that there is nothing eternal, and all existence happens in an ever changing round of time and circumstances.  Our time bound existences, that disappear with us, yet always pass on life to the next generation - THAT is real.  Change is eternal.  And what is imaginary is to think that anything lasts forever....without changing in some way or another.

Happy Universe!

Information Vs Experience

As a curious person, who likes to read and learn things, even if they're upsetting or disruptive to my current paradigm, maybe especially if so, I have a lot of information swirling about in my head.

I just have a hard time putting it all together at times (wisdom).  I'm aware of much of the cognitive biases that drive my and other's thinking, and when analyzing a situation (mostly human interactions, in which I am deficient to a small degree, and which if unpredictable, i.e. didn't go as expected/intended, really set my head spinning trying to determine the true causality, in a "What can I learn from this? What is the takeaway?" kind of attitude.

So here's the story:

I've been single for four years since my divorce, which became official December 24th, 2014.
At the time we had three young children, ages 4, 6, and 9.  I was their primary caregiver as a stay at home dad, ever since my first child was born in 2005.  I lost my job and vocation in the fall of 1997, while working as an Electrical Engineer, due to a confluence of stressful events which led to me having a mental breakdown at the age of 34. After my "recovery" I began working construction finishing basements with my brother-in-law.

 I didn't quite know it at the time, but this was the beginning of a faith crisis, which lasted quite a long time, as I tried to rescue Mormonism, then Jesus, then God.  The more I read and explored, the worse the cog-dis became. I was on a fool's errand to try and discover the answers to questions that no one can really know, or to questions that should not be asked if you are trying to maintain your current paradigm.

Long story short, my mental episodes of mania which were predominantly God-Centered and trying to know the mind of God, felt like the holy ghost on steroids.  They included visions, revelations, and visitations, heavy scripture study, recall, and association, and much prayer and "seeking".  These all eventually terminated with me being admitted to the hospital and put out on heavy drugs to quell the neurotransmitters that were lighting up my brain.

Being manic is like a flow state pushed to the ultimate degree, and it involves a highly associative state of thinking, finding relations, connections, and correspondence between so many things. Your whole brain is lit up and working together.  There are many A-ha!, seeming profound moments of realization, discovery coupled with extreme creativity and joy in my endeavors, and an over positive estimation of myself and others.  I become trapped in my world of make believe and wishful thinking to such a degree that I can actually manifest things in reality, voices, visions.  I'm highly emphatic, almost to the point of mind reading. And typically people are put in my path to help in some physical way. It all becomes very mystical... and I don't always make good decisions toward my self interests or protection.  I trust people too much, give them too much credit for being like me - full of integrity and caring (warped theory of mind) - and get taken advantage of by deceitful low-lifes.

So as I said, these episodes were usually terminated with a visit to the psych ward for an extended stay.  The drugs usually put me out mentally, feeling very tired, low, and catatonic. They not only bring me down to Earth, they bury me in it. It's such a sudden transition, that the loss of such joy, motivation, and understanding feels like a funeral, where you morn the loss of your higher, better, happier self as simply a delusion. Typically after a hospital visit I am severely depressed, which is only natural after being so high ... the pendulum swings both ways, but in the case of being drugged, it is yanked to the other side.  I realize in this down to earth state, that if what I have experienced was crazy, explainable by neuroanatomy, brain chemistry, and cognitive biases (innate thinking errors that we all share, each to some degree), then religious thinking (belief in God or a higher power, agenticity) is simply mental illness at its core, cognitive error gone awry. I become an atheist, which reasoning then tempers to agnosticism.

So after 22 years together, and my continued struggle to try and find purpose and meaning, and to be happy in a world without god, or at least a world with no cognitive closure on the topic, my then wife had experienced enough of my struggles and asked for a divorce on the grounds that I had left our religion, and my diagnosis of Bipolar Illness (and another matter that is hers to discuss).  She said, "If I had known you were mentally ill before we were married, there's no way in hell that I would have married you."  My mental illness scared the hell out of her, making me in her mind completely unpredictable, and she amplified her fears to "worst case scenarios", without really trying to understand where I was.  She didn't think of me as being in any form of control over the illness, no matter how I stayed on my meds and under a doctor's care, and she quit trusting me, talking to me, wanting to be around me, or associate with me or my ideas ... which only made my depression worse.  I was basically alone in a loveless marriage.  To her credit she hung on a long time, but finally cut the cord, after an episode that occurred while I was on my meds and under a "doctor's" care (APRN). 

It was a case of bad doctoring. After getting a serious rash all over my body while being on Lamictal, The APRN took me off the drug cold turkey and told me to get to emergency care, where they treated me with prednisone, which is known to trigger manic episodes.  That, drugs and doctors, and me staying on them, was her last bastion of hope, and when it crumbled is when she made up her mind to go ahead and divorce me.

She visited me at the hospital on the day I was to be discharged, with my sister, and told me she was divorcing me and that I was going to live with my sister Jenny.  I had just awoken from sleep and being drugged, and was barely normal again.  So I shrugged and said okay.

I was given a bed in a corner of an unfinished basement, and boxes to keep my personal items. Eventually Jenny moved me in with my mother due to my presence causing problems in her relationship. Her husband didn't want me there, due to my mental illness and their kids, and too, just the bother of having another person living there and taking up space in their fridge, driveway, etc.

After my mother died I had a job and was able to buy Julie out of my home (I bought it before I met her), which in hindsight was a mistake, based on nostalgia and an inability to move on, maybe even hoping that someday Julie would come back and we could repair all the damage and be happy together again ... talk about delusions and wishful thinking!

So I've been living alone for the past two years, in the home where I raised my kids and loved my wife.  I see the kids on the weekends. But I am mostly alone, most of the time.  I work as a technical writer for a good company, so I can pay the lights and mortgage and child support.

I've tried to date, and have even tried to be happy with the likely reality that no one would knowingly get involved with someone with a mental illness, as my ex was kind enough to tell me.  I can't expect anyone to choose me knowing about my disorder, even when it is well managed, as it is now.  Living alone actually taught me a lot about self reliance and self care, self love.

In my dating, informing someone of my diagnosis has been the beginning of the end.  As my ex said, I don't think any woman in their right mind would knowingly get involved with someone who is bipolar. Life is hard enough already, why add to the drama? So after a few painful rejections upon being honest in the relationship at what I felt was the right time to disclose, I resolved myself that I was destined to be alone, and that I needed to make my peace with that. 

I discovered marijuana at the age of 53, and used it in my solitude, in moments of both hope (joy) and sadness (despair), and it really helped me evaluate things from a dissociative, unattached, somewhat unemotional standpoint, where my judgement was honest, but kind, and I was able to evaluate my thoughts, and view the negative things in a light that they were useful and informative.

Now, I am mostly happy, and positive.  I have abandoned the drive to know god and have made my peace with the high probability that there is none, and that I will cease to be when I die.  It has caused me to cherish life.  I blossomed when I left my faith, both intellectually and emotionally, and with the freedom to read and explore anything, I truly discovered who and what I am, and feel the freedom to explore any topic. I enjoy my alone time.  I enjoy my autonomy to be and do, and think as I see fit without having to surrender to external judgement, guilt, shame ... all the tactics used by religion (and people) to "keep you in line" while they pillage your pockets, or otherwise USE you.

But, I know as an ape, I have a fundamental need for relationships, and a primary need for romantic love and companionship. I need oxytocin! I want someone to share my life with.  This drive has caused me to start dating again, and after a recent date, I think I have discovered my error, and it has to do with discretion, and telling people things before they're ready to judge them fairly.  It basically boils down to show, don't tell.

I am mentally stable.  I have survived my long drawn out faith crisis, and I am "right" with god, no matter if he turns out to be real in any way.  I survived my divorce, the death of my parents, the "loss"  of my career (I'm working as a technical writer for an Engineering company). I am a motivated, kind, loving, passionate, trustworthy, truthful, hard working, resourceful, creative, intelligent, and happy person.  My goal is to always be highly functional and engaged with my life, with my kids, with my job, and with my friends and family.  I am okay now, and I owe a lot of it to the assistance of marijuana.

So bottom line, don't tell them about your condition, or about the drug you choose to treat it that is so disparaged.  Ever!  This is my personal cross to bear. As long as it does not affect them, and I am happy and functional within the normal bounds of human experience, what the hell should they care?  They will only use it as a label to judge me. And my experience has shown that most human judgement is lacking and in error.

That's what I learned from my last first and last date.  Discretion, and how you speak about and label yourself to others.  Actions speak louder than words, and words before actions are often misjudged. Give them a chance to take a test drive, kick the tires, and experience you in life before you tell them about your mistakes, hardships, and challenges.  I move way too fast, and disclose far too much for people to handle... especially when talking about my episodes.

After my date, and the rejection, which really took me for a surprise...  I really expected to hit it off ... I called and discussed the aftermath with my friend Tony, and also my Sister in Law (to get a female perspective).

Oh my wise friends, may I learn to follow in their path of discretion, both about your and other's personal matters, in this world flooded with judgement, and most of it poor, or inadequate, to completely uninformed ... like condemning cannabis when you've never tried it. The internet has led us all  to believe that we can share ourselves openly, proclaim our truth, be transparent, and we will be accepted, and even loved for being authentic and true to who we are ....  That might be true in the setting of a broad audience, BUT, the feedback you are getting is heavily biased.  People don't typically share negative things, especially if they are harsh.  So the only people who are going to comment on your sharing are the ones who want to display that they are loving and kind to the "underdog exposing his or her belly".  Others will see it as weakness, personal failing, and a crucial flaw in your character ... false attribution error.  Many people do not understand mental illness, and think its just a matter of bad thinking that is within the person's ability to control.  So it's your fault, you suck, you're being a wimp, etc.... but they would never say that on-line.

So it may be "true" online, that you can open up and talk about your issues and challenges, in a self positive vulnerable way. Everyone is posing so hard to present themselves in a way that gets likes and approval, and most people do not approve of negative things, so what you get is a very false picture of other people's lives, issues, and situations.  It is incomplete.  It is not the whole story. They hold back the bad stuff. They're discrete. This is how the human ape plays the game. Show your best side, always.

In real life, people are individuals, with prejudices and judgement based on their DNA and individual experience within their culture and within their unique upbringing .... sins of the farmers and all that rot. It also depends on their level of education and intelligence, their experiences, and how open they are to  new experiences and to change their mind, adopt new ways of thinking, and also how they have interpreted past experiences, which is typically with their selves extracted, in cases of culpability or contribution when things go awry, and over estimating their influence and involvement when there is much winning...i.e confirmation bias and false attribution error, etc.  I did it!  I was instrumental! Nay, I was fundamental!

So basically what I'm saying is that a filter is needed, and it is best not to tell people things, especially mental illness things, and things that are so easily misconstrued and full of fear. Mental illness is the most pariah-ed category ever - outcast, persona non grata, leper, reject, untouchable, undesirable.

To me, my bipolar illness was a long drawn out faith crisis.  It is an episode in my life that is over now. I have learned so much about the things I did not know about myself, my brain, my hsp and LLI, my traumatic infancy where I was lactose intolerant and malnourished and crying for the first 1-2 years of life, and how that makes me a bit neurotic and over analytical, and really upped my survival instinct (which is basically what god and religion boil down to).  And I've learned how to quell my mind when it spins too hard. How to meditate, and practice self care, and monitor my thoughts from a loving but honest position. I have learned to deal with my need for cognitive closure, with thought distortions, and with self care and self talk (CBT). I am enough alone, and don't really need anyone to complete me, nor is it my responsibility to make anyone else happy or complete - that's their job.  All I can do is do me, to the best of my abilities.  I am no longer a pleaser. I am no longer swayed by others to act or behave in ways to "get along", or to meet expectations. I do not seek approval from others who know nothing about me, nor do they need to.

Ultimately, I am alone... and nobody needs to take care of me, or care about what I think, but me. I do not need to inform others, or share my thoughts about things that only serve to upset them.  I have faced the cold hard facts, the mean and nasty ones, and have come away okay. I can survive rejection. Not everyone needs to like me, and I don't need to be perfect to be acceptable, both to myself and others. Many people do not want to walk my intellectual path, or read the books I've read that will certainly challenge their paradigms, and I should not put it on them. I was recently told by my wiser self, "Don't impose your self on others.", which I think also translates to, "You have the right to remain silent.

I have the right to privacy.

I have the right to remain silent... as I post this to a public blog. LOL

When I am on a future date I need to remember that I am on trial, and anything I say can be used against me, especially when dating jilted and jaded women who've been through hell in past relationships.  I think it's different for women, and it's a miracle any of them are brave enough to even get out there again.

So, for roughly $8, which amounted to a Salad and a Bowl of Tomato Soup, I learned a very valuable lesson.  I should not announce that I am an open book, and I should keep my mouth shut about my personal past, and especially about the wringer it put me through.

Evil Doers

I went to an LDS missionary farewell this weekend for one of the sons of a good friend. Honestly, it was fun to hear and experience all the LDS lingo and culture again. As a former Mormon with 40 years in the church, an LDS mission, Elder's quorum president, and High Councilor, I speak LDS quite fluently. The meeting was the typical LDS approach as of lately, where the Missionary no longer owns the meeting, but is just one speaker in the line-up, with a youth speaker and a High Council speaker.

The only thing that bothered me in the meeting was during the closing prayer, where an older gentlemen launched into a little diatribe about the evil people in the world who would seek to weaken this country and the constitution, and make this nation a fallen and unrighteous nation. Upon his launch into this, I opened my eyes, raised my head, and stared him square in the face. I was front row, he was merely a few feet away. I hoped he'd open his eyes so I could playfully mouth the words "No No No!" while shaking my head, but he never did. So I sat there staring at this man as he spewed a little hatred in his prayer until the words Amen. The prayer was over long before that in my mind. At a certain point my heart hurt and my adrenal glands kicked up a little adrenaline sauce. I had a mild desire to walk up to the pulpit and open his eyes, maybe by a slap in the face, or by hitting him over the head with a stale baguette, which would be very hard to come by in the situation, but I'd settle for a hymn book. When I hear what I would term a religious zealot pray or worry about the "evil people in the world", it makes me wonder who these people are in their minds ... Atheists? Liberals? Democrats? Gays? Hookers? Motorcycle Gangs? The Illuminati? Government? I would have loved to go ask him who he meant, but I'm sure his brain would take this as an affront, and I'd instantly be one of them evil doers in his mind. I left it alone. Would he think me, an agnostic liberal, an Evil Person who deserves god's wrath and destruction, as he had prayed and wished for? Indeed, there are some bad human players at this game called life. It just bothers me to blanket whole groups of people, in an Us vs Them mentality, with such a vague categorization of "Evil People" ... We all do this Us vs Them thing to some degree ... It's certainly an ape thing to associate a whole group of people as one thing or another, which severely discounts the individual in the group or category. My experience has shown that there are good (and evil) people from all walks... but on the bright side of "categorization", it is useful to narrow down your estimation and esteem of a person by what they ascribe to. For example, although they may well be a good and decent person, when someone tells you they think the Earth is flat, you can rest assured they; are an idiot, have severe reasoning flaws, are mentally ill, or all of the above. I think the same thing about people who are religious zealots, they have a mental illness.

Hell, I was a Mormon zealot. My mental illness WAS Mormonism. I didn't see it as such at the time, but in retrospect, given my current mentality - boy howdy!!!




P.S. I've been struggling with sciatic nerve issues in my lower back and down my left leg for six months now. I voiced this to my brother at the farewell party. After things died down, he and my friend agreed to give me a blessing. I was curious if it would have any effect, given that the placebo effect works, even when you know it's a placebo ... At this point I'll try anything. The reason I bring this up is that I wanted their wives to stand in too, since according to Mormon Doctrine, the women hold their priesthood through the husband, I explained ... but I got a quick NO about this.

Technically, I also still hold the LDS priesthood, am as worthy as any other Mormon to officiate in it, and so, I, with my son who is a deacon, consecrated a bottle of Patchuli Oil to be used for the blessing. I am also an official Minister of Dudeism... This was nixed as well. Can't blame a dude for trying... however, before the annointing of the oil prayer was given I took out my oil and dabbed it in my head (and under my ears). Their stickling to the rules reminded me of how the Jews are/were about rules and laws and things only being able to be done a certain way ... Jesus was a rule breaker in their eyes.

After my friend gave me a beautiful blessing he then asked about what I was doing, and then showed me six or so daily excersizes that I could perform and told me it would take about 6 weeks... Now that! is what will most likely fix this... but I believe in blessings, oils, rituals, and most of all placebos ;)

Alone and Feeling Used

I've heard it said, that you should "Never show your true happiness in front of a sad person.", but I think someone would only think this is true if they're passive-aggressive, or some sort of sociopath.

If you and your circus side-show really mattered to a person in your presence, and that person mattered to you, you would naturally "tune-in" with them, and so I don't think you'd be so clueless as to be overly, or inappropriately happy in their presence. Sociopaths lack empathy and real connection with others you know.

And I think they, that sad sack person, would tune in with you. Happiness is contagious, just like sadness.  If I were having a tug of war, I'd let happiness win every time ... even though sadness is stronger sometimes and needs to be recognized and dealt with, happiness has more players on its team and wins more trophies. And they, this person blessed to be in your happy presence, might learn a thing or two from watching you, and seeing how you deal with disappointment, rejection, failure, and loss ... We all experience these things. If we're being honest, we all suck eggs every once and while. The universe slaps everyone, on a regular basis.

As for strangers in the crowd, or those strangers-barely-knowns that breathe, work, and walk among you? Stuff them! They don't know you, and you are not beholden to them for their current state, be that physical, financial, nor of mood or mental. Don't curtail your joy, just because someone might take offense. Of all the foolish thinking. Isn't this giving "sad people" your power? Never show your happiness around a sad person!? Really? And just how in the hell am I supposed to know who is really sad since many people are so good at hiding that?

Most people are pros at hiding their feelings, and their inner demons, especially in public. Most of the time when someone offs themselves, it's at the complete surprise of those who knew them ... and if we're that good at hiding our true thoughts and emotions from the people we know, just imagine how good we are at hiding our innermost selves from strangers. Am I expected to be a mind reader? No! No, I think this little aphorism squelches happiness. I won't be afraid to be happy if I'm really happy, and maybe the sad person can catch some kind of contact high. And if not, maybe in my glee I'll trip or spill something, and then they can enjoy their brain's delectable serving of Schadenfreude - the pleasure experienced at the mishaps or failings of others, especially those you envy or dislike. I can be the fool in their mind, and that label helps them explain it. "He's too stupid not to be happy!", they'll say in their minds. "Of course he's happy; he's a fool". Well guess who the joke is really on, Crappy Pants?!

I think this thought is especially damaging to empaths, who already are so in touch and affected by other's thoughts and moods, that it often feels like they get stuck in a vibe that is not their frequency when around others. And sentiments like this one, teach people that they are entitled to other people giving a shit about them ... No, that's your job, and no one else's.

Of course I may be speaking as an orphan in the moment, because of course a Parent's job is to care for and about their children... but even that, we call it a job, a responsibility, a duty you are beholden and behooved to perform.



Yeah, what about all the people, who couldn't really give a fuck about me? What about all those 7.7 Billion people? Should I expect people who don't know me, (and who really knows me but me, right?) to be interested in my mood, or anything about me or my life. For god's sake, NO! Nope, I am cutting the strings of false expectations, and setting my boundaries. I have given too much of myself to past relationships, %100. And then when they left, and/or used me, I felt so betrayed. I felt so devalued. I had allowed myself to be used by giving everything they wanted and more. After some time, it became not good enough (the new normal). I was never enough to fill them with EVERYTHING they needed.

You cannot be everything to anybody. All you can do is be you. Nobody will ever love you as much as you love you, or understand you as you do. Do you ever feel that way? Is this a test for Narcissim? lol!  But think about it... In order to truly love a thing, you need to understand it, even the unflattering stuff. And the more you understand it, the more your profession of love means. And who really knows you as well as you know you? So therefore, who should love you more, you, or someone else? Of course, you should love you more. There is no shame in this. This is what it means to be well balanced. You need to find the center of your gravity. And your gravity is the core of you, not around others.

No, I'm not giving myself, my core, away completely ever again. I'm saving some for me next time. I'm also setting boundaries about how much, and when I will help people without the same in return - I'm climbing on board the reciprocity wagon, full speed ahead.

I am all alone in the world at present, and it's been a really hard thing to do. It's taught me the importance of self care, and the confidence that I can do it all alone. It's been hard, yes, but at least I have my cat....walking in front of the screen while I'm trying to type this... She's a nice cat, but I'll bet even she would stop coming around if I stopped feeding her. I am open to the idea that I am FEELING all alone, because I have been living alone in the house I built for my family, since our divorce, and since my mother died. I may be feeling more alone than I actually am. I have friends that come over sometimes. I visit my nephew and have some really good conversations and times with him, and absolutely love his son Drake (My great nephew). I have my kids who come over on the weekends. Dad has pretty much established an open door policy every weekend, without compulsion. So yeah, I'd probably lose my cat if I stopped feeding her. Seems everything has a price, and meow mix is freakin $13.50 for a small bag!

Is that what I need to do, so as not to be alone, feed people? Should I start inviting my friends out to dinner on me? Do I need to pay for friends? They, and my family, have enough friends and family and other obligations without even beginning to include me. I know my kids would stop coming around if life at Dad's became boring or no longer the shang-ra- la it currently is. So, everything seems right now that if I want it, I need to pay for it. Every little fucking thing has a price, even companionship.

Speaking of little fucking things, Tracy is behaving quite weird, not answering my calls, and being very terse in texts. I wonder if she's happy with that status-quo. I think she is. She freaked really hard about not being in control in our relationship, and I think she's a control freak. I think she feels in control of the situation now, keeping me outside the fence. I think I need to leave her %100 ... after I get my trailer back. I've just had to face the fact that we human apes are a tit for tat species. Well, I'm tired of giving tat, and I need more tit! Reciprocity goes both ways man. I need unconditional love from another human being, and I need that love also in the form of physical touch. I know that may sound a bit kinky, but I mean hugs, and hand holding, and caressing and rubbing. Basically grooming and attention from a fellow chimp. It's a shame we (or I guess I should say, People like me) can only have this intimacy delivered from the opposite sex, and then that exclusively. Maybe I should go off and live with the bonobos. 😐

Well, the cat is sitting between my arms as I try to type this, with her big fat head in the way, so I guess it's time to go and hug my cat ... and feed her.

Take care of yourself, because when it really comes down to it, that's your job, and sometimes your job alone.