Ineffable Ontological Detanglement .: Introspective Assistance & Mental Analysis Manual
This one is one in eight million. It is an intense flood of emotion at everything, you never see one drop of it. You are flatlined so beyond the limits of schizoid, my schizoid makes no difference for me in terms of level of emotion these things cannot compound. You automatically see straight to the very bottom of everyone, know somebody for a month you understand them to their bottom. It basically leaves you in the middle of a deadened apocalyptic wasteland of everybody's off the wall stupidity to the point that nobody who's certain types of stupid could ever possibly mean any more to you than the streetlights or the garbage cans or an individual rock on an unknown planet on the other side of our galaxy. This is not a sad scowl, no, not at all, nobody is sad for you, nobody is sad for ourselves. It goes straight to ego games why by the age of nine, okay off you go, this is very serious business I can see you are a professional this looks like a very fun life. You do see right to the bottom of people's sad patheticness but you don't really give a shit about it you've got no ego investment to eat it with, the only thing that really resonates with you is people's stupid patheticness. If you figure it out, you can learn to call it and release it and whenever you feel appropriate you can produce a scene from Shakespeare and then immediately drop every aspect of this emotion and return to your flattened baseline. Obviously, it does wonderful things for you as an artist. If you're one of us you pretty much need to find the underground art scene, hopefully you also came with a gift. You know you feel no drive to be famous whatsoever. You just know it would be pretty neat.
Every little thing, every little spark moment that would ever incur emotion, you get the maximum and three times more emotion than the human brain would ever be capable of producing in normal circumstances, it bypasses all conscious, all semi-conscious, all the way to fully bypassing the subconscious. No aspect of your thinking touches this emotion whatsoever, it just flies right into deep compartmentalization, a place underneath the subconscious no other type of mind besides fully customizable compartmentalization can possess, and collects and stays there forever. And so it isn't even really emotion. It's some really biocomputer shit. It is an entirely fucked up hacked operating system. The file type labeled sadness or anger but most certainly not happiness, ctrl+c, ctrl+v ctrl+v, zip, mark as hidden.
"So you could say... Deep down, then, you do feel something." No not really. "On a really really deep level, though, deep inside of you, you do feel it." No, no I don't. "But it's... There. Deep inside of you there is intense levels of emotion." Yeah it's there. Deep inside of me there is intense levels of emotion, I don't feel... Any of it. Never. No matter what happens to me, I know this is when I'm supposed to feel the emotion, I know it feels really great to release this emotion. I'm not inside of this emotion. Even without my sociopath I would not be in this emotion, sociopath doesn't really make any difference they're basically equal they do the same thing when it comes to feeling the emotion in the moments you are expressing the emotion these things cannot compound. I do have a higher option of control, however.
This doesn't mean that I am, like, completely flat and then fully deliberate spark, but, it's pretty much close enough to that. The normal level of interaction, it's similar in some ways, I'm kind of almost feeling emotion at the normal level of interaction, sorta. It's... Pretty much always a deliberate click point, if I don't want to show my emotion it's very unlikely it would come out involuntarily, if it does come out involuntarily it's an incredibly muted little passion moment, at which point I have to roll with it you probably end up getting full passion or else I look a little ridiculous, revealing that what I am doing at all times is deliberately hiding my passion in order to maintain Ben Stein with cool hair. Any time I deliberately emote for expression am I ironically mocking the entire concept of showing any expression? NO. Yes. Sorta. No not really. If you're getting full passion it's basically entirely deliberate. And... The emotion is known, I'm never going to give you false emotion, if I can bring out the passion it's because there is a passion.
By fifty three you are done. Before this point, absolutely fine nothing wrong with your thinking whatsoever, your brain can handle everything just fine right up until the point it clicks into the overload. You immediately fall into a delusional hallucinatory dream world of delirious abstractions. Even if society somehow allowed me to see that I assure you I would never allow you to see that. If you figure out what the condition is and learn, likely with drugs, that what you're supposed to do is release this emotion, you may be able to extract another five or six years out of it.
Besides of course my experience with Jamie Graham, the best example of how it's difficult for me to tell that what I am is an emotional being was when my paternal grandmother died when I was twelve, only eight months after my paternal grandfather had died. No it wasn't as loving and beautiful as you think it was probably more of an "Alright I think I've made my point I'm done." if anything. It didn't seem like I needed to do anything with it, I get it, I understand what happens, at some point I'll probably want to cry but I mean I can do it later I can just carry on and go to school. My band teacher was a little flummoxed, she told me it's okay to go home if I want to I don't need to be here. Likely assuming I have some sort of horrible repression condition. I just said "No I'm fine" and carried on. Thinking no this basically feels exactly the same as any other day. As it was, I was fine, carried on, fine, went home. It did take me too long to find the cry, but, after about a month I found the cry. However I did not realize aspects of this cry remained until I was twenty, looking at the flowers I had bought for my new apartment on 2C-I after furnishing it with the twenty thousand dollars my grandmother had left me that I was not allowed to touch until I was twenty, I bought violets because they were low light flowers, I clued into they were my grandmother's favourite flowers, I clued into a lot of very complicated relationship aspects between myself and my grandmother and my grandfather, a lot of "I love my grandson but I'm fucking sick of children I'm just going to play a game of ironic thinking with him he'll get it when he's an adult. Oh your mother stopped making you go to church did she? That's a shame, you used to be a good boy..." My mother was still an atheist, she just missed the community. She called it learning experience. At this point it was too late to really cry, but, I got a little. Obviously I would never reveal the "feels the same as any other day" line of thinking to the other children as it would create the perfect opposite confirmation in our little opposite war on darkness. They would giggle hysterically at it because I'm a sad sack while I just stare at them and hurr. I'd have no way out of it, there's no way to insert within the minds of these children the correct explanation. It's... Their in happy bubbly psychosis giggling hysterically at anybody would ever be within anything but boring happy bubbly where all the normal is. I'm just... I don't care it's darkness, I like darkness, I can actually find the darkness itself very funny. What's funny is your darkness, you are all within a very very deep hysterical darkness.
This condition natural makes you a dark person, naturally makes you look like a sad person, naturally clues you into the nature of ego games. Luckily it makes everything within your perception a haze of stupid to which you are entirely indifferent to otherwise you would be in a lot of social trouble if you ever spoke your feelings at any of these kids. I learned on the internet to pretty much mellow all of my anger at the idiots all the way into total repression, all the way to disappears, no, all the way to not caring, however I would still get the physiological sensations in my arms when engaging with idiots, I learned it's "You challenge ME?" I figured out how to get rid of it. Most of you can't do it, it says nothing towards your confidence.
I like the depressing darkness I think it's very pretty. It does not take somebody with my condition to like the depressing darkness it's pretty, three quarters of the planet likes the depressing darkness it's pretty. I am laughing at you for thinking this is something serious while you laugh and cry at people like us for thinking it's okay to be sad. If anybody ever tried to bring this up at any of you people you would laugh in our face you're so obviously the winner of this one look at all you sad sacks you're laughing at ME for laughing at you for thinking it's okay to be sad. Aw sad Rob listens to Radiohead that's HILARIOUS, not like me I'm a happy go lucky guy I listen to angry dad rock. Intolerable angry dad rock, angry guitar wanking non musical nothing dad rock stop telling me to listen to this. You did have the correct appropriation of my mother, though "Hi Rob's mom!" *sad angry scowl flash* Your random was lazy. You became my internal mortal enemy for internal comedic purposes in grade ten after your answer to one of the teacher's questions was "Spatula!" because you found Strong Bad on the internet and sexy Avril Lavigne looking perceptual filter bypass chick kept giggling at it. Sexy Avril Lavigne looking perceptual filter bypass chick liked my Amnesiac shirt. It's okay you didn't know it was because he watched Strong Bad, but yes you would be better off with me was part of the internal comedy routine and I meant it. I was an internet nerd I had more information. I think I'll give you like fourth highest high school crush. She didn't like being called Avril Lavigne. Ah you were okay Strong Bad, by late high school you were entering my perception reasonably clean. Keep my internal declaration for internal fun purposes... Ah. Nah. Whatever. You're no Strong Bad, Strong Bad. Stop being Strong Bad Strong Bad. I heard you used to have a personality. Then it became Strong Bad. HAH. Ha...Ha? Haha? "He was funnier before he found Strong Bad and it became his entire personality." Yeah, you knew that was all that needed to be said.
I would get moments of "I don't like you" that were really annoying, they would get a genuine "Alright." If I have caused an "I don't like you" I don't like you either you obviously just met my wrath and that's why you said that. But then they would try to ego eat me all "I know you're cracking under there I know you need me to like you. Let me feel it. Let me feel your sadness. You've lost a person's like." If I wish for a person's like I assure you I get a person's like. In my first year of university I figured I could now use this to attain the popularity I've wanted, but, none of the people around me are worth being popular with, I figured university was my moment. So I went a little agoraphobic instead as I started to drive into my past history wondering why my mind is capable of this it's becoming concerning. Also my system of let people come to me trying to approach others seems too needy kind of broke down. Oh well. I learned some things. Also it was clearly my karma for the betrayal of Dane Marshell when you go looking at the dramatic levels of isolation.
"Oh I'm one of those people who met an intense Kit Carruthers hurr in childhood and then declared my ego upon him and wandered away oblivious." Kit Carruthers didn't care then and he cares way the hell less now everyone at that point in my life is now entirely removed whether I liked them or not a little bit even if they're one of the childhood friends who turns out to be one of us it's the only way to do this. You do this to me too. Don't email me and apologize that's even more dangerous. It's Dane Marshell, Bolt Remming and Caylin Shiran. But, yes, since the age of nine at all times all around me was nothing but the frantic unstoppable stupid, nobody was safe from my perception, nobody, not one of you, a handful of you met my perception reasonably clean. I just blur it, it's just the frantic unstoppable stupid I'm used to it.
No mother, this doesn't mean you win, I don't have a problem with repressing my emotions and that's why you see bursts of yelling. I am building a collection of humorous comments in my head at literally every single thing you say but I don't a fuck. I yell at you when you're worth it. The one that really sparked it was... My father and I were discussing somebody who blew it hard on a Daily Show interview and how we would approach it if we were ever interviewed by Stewart or Colbert, we did drift into "that would be fun" fantasy for at least two or three minutes. My mother chimes in with "It is unhealthy for you to fantasize about being on Jon Stewart. You will never make it as a writer because you are a drug addict who needs his parents to pay his rent." that devolved into her crying all "You don't get to yell at me I'm your mother... Why are you so awful to me why are you doing this to me..." The Jon Stewart thing was literally fantasy hypothetical, I was already working on things a little too messiah complex I wouldn't want to put Jon Stewart in any danger. The rent thing, I had left my job in favour of drugs and repressed sadness and my benefits had run dry, I was thinking "My oth-other job doesn't seem to be making me enough to cover the rent, so, okay pay my rent motherfuckers. You wanna be mommy and daddy run their adult son's life, spare key barge and frantic smash all my bongs wipe my last bump of ketamine off the table threaten to use your undercover investigator abilities to track me down if I try to escape hurr, you can be mommy and daddy pay your adult son's rent." I didn't realize it was a complex semi conscious plot and I fell right into their trap, but that-that didn't really change anything. I have been defeated. Hurr. Mother, your behaviour suggests that you have a pretty severe emotional repression problem. "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD" with a sly obvious winner smirk at me asking how old the Greek salad in the fridge is and deep angry eye roll at me for not reading your mind as to the exact flower pot you are speaking of when you told me to move the flower pot... That's not evidence of you releasing your emotions when you feel the need to release your emotions, that is evidence of some other thing. Oh and "WHY do you always bump into my ankles with the shopping cart? You NEVER do this to your father, you've been doing this since you were a child I NEVER see you do this to ANYBODY else. You're passive aggressive..." Think about it. Think about it. You're never going to get it, it's literally impossible for you to ever get it on your own the very fabric of your brain will not allow for it. It's... You're the only person in my life who would ever fall into a centre of the universe daze and start wandering in front of shopping carts. And then just stay there and establish that everybody knows this is your spot, you're the two inches in front of the shopping cart lady. Expect me to slow down for you when you feel like bonus dazing at a shelf or a bird or a balloon. My father is more attuned to your daze I don't give a fuck about your daze. Also you're passive aggressive, I'm not sure if you've noticed but your every communication is designed in a manner that subtly informs outside of you that inside of you is upset that the queen of our universe is not being given every little thing she demands at all times it's so painfully obvious to everyone that you're not minding the queen you look fucking ridiculous and also outside of her is very dark and evil and confusing and it needs to stop.
Oh, father, the "It's so hard with my condition" crying at you was a lie. I actor called the crying from crying at your... "Passive aggressive" subconscious semi-conscious life of psychological torment to bring myself to the "Please leave me alone" cry fest after you happened to bolt awake in horror because you caught me drunkenly releasing emotion, along with the past five times you happened to bolt awake with horror because you caught me drunkenly releasing emotion and often got an explanation of what you were seeing and sometimes a demand to leave me alone. I learned with drugs in my twenties that I require the moments of yelling and crying, not because my condition is so hard, it's the easiest thing in the universe, but because the normal day to day interaction stuff compounds as well. You simultaneously delivered me a life of both intense compartmentalized day to day interaction, always holding in my hatred of moments such as "IF I LEAVE YOU ALONE IN THE CAR ARE YOU JUST GONNA BOLT!?" at your twenty five year old son and "DON'T PATRONIZE ME!" when I dared to imply with my choice of wording that I am dismissive of your demands to place all the way into my conscious semi-conscious subconscious and unconscious that I am the one who is psychotic as well as the non-stop string of either infuriatingly stupid comments or doopy doop hours of rambling nothing that comes out of both of your faces, and a life of knowing you're paranoid psychosis cup to the wall-ing me at all times at all times at all times at all times all the way to carefully studying my every movement and facial expression with deep darkness in your eyes and the potential result of me doing the crazy darkness things I like to do with my drugs in my crazy darkness alone time is the complete and total destruction of myself and everyone I love by the hands of your frantic out of control unstoppable stupid. Yes, cup to the wall, I've twice woken up and walked into the living room and the first thing he says is a laughing attempt to hide his obvious darkness "I heard you talking in your sleep." Through the wall, through a loud fan. Through a loud fan. Oh thank God, thank you for allowing me a way out of that one I actually did wake up and start talking to myself but I know that's one that gets me lobotomized padlock on the door go through my computer and delete everything I've ever done with my life and then kill the cat.
I've developed a system at the both of you people, yes I have. It's incredibly complex. I've been paranoid psychosis-ing at the both of you paranoid psychotics since the age of seven. It started getting incredibly complex at the age of ten. Yeah, you know what you started doing when I was seven, yeah you know what you said just before I was ten. We all know what you initiated when I was six. It goes to stunningly brilliant subconscious semi-conscious games places. I have you entirely cut off from ever drawing any aspect of myself from any of my communications to an incredibly deep level just sub what I plan on eating for dinner tonight. However volunteering the information of what I am eating for dinner tonight falls within the system, it's one of the more simple aspects of the system. And I know you're both self confirming psychoanalyzers to the deepest of possible any little thing so it has to go all the way, it's a lot more complicated than simply not revealing anything. I have your every thought entirely pegged and I know how to draw all the information I need to keep you in check in a manner even the most brilliant of psychoanalyzer could never detect for a second. I'll give you the details in my essays, it's intense. There are aspects of it even I cannot fully grasp, I lose them within the moment afterwards of trying to figure out what exactly it is I just did.
I can give psychologists a hint, about one twelfth or one fifteenth of you may know what happened. I picked up on a subconscious trigger fully consciously at the age of seven. Always doing normal child things I am a normal regular child I'm never looking away as if only pondering, never looking away as if only pondering never never looking away as if only pondering it's fucking serious I am always looking like a normal person doing normal things. I'm never doing anything that looks remotely interesting if I am it is to be kept a secret. Hear the evil footsteps coming I happen to find myself in a moment of thought for three seconds turn the television on I am a normal child I am not a psychotic child. It was, playing with my toys, I looked away to ponder something unrelated to my toys, I caught a subtle look in my mother out of the corner of my eye suggesting deep horror at this force of pure evil. I didn't know what it was, I didn't know why, all I knew is that I need to keep this contained or the consequences could be dire. I entered semi-consciously that my parents are a force of evil who wish to destroy me, I have no idea why, eventually it slipped into my subconscious and I basically maintained normal, at times even internally to me everything is normal, that's how hard I'm maintaining normal. However I always knew, at all times, primarily to me they are a thing to be kept contained, my love for them means far less to me than keeping them contained.
I never wanted to do this, I never wanted to do any of these things to you. I wanted to love you, I never wanted to see you do all of the things you do, you left me no choice. Had you just, like, taken the option to NOT do any of the things you did you would never need to be exposed as the people who did the things they did. I don't understand people like you, I'll never get it.
I'm going to try my hardest to salvage my father's integrity, however I have nothing for my mother. His entire twenty some years of battling the union, fucking unions, god damned fucking unions, as soon as the company that bought the company he was currently working for wished to get rid of the union, that's not legal in Canada, but they wanted to, they kept trying to, he did a hard NOPE and resigned his incredibly valuable position. He meant to world travel in his early twenties with some friends, I'll drop more details in the essays it's trippy, he happened to find himself in Cambodia during the rise of the Khmer Rouge, got to see the killing fields from a helicopter, got rammed in a refugee camp where he developed many stories, most notably having to beat a man to death with a rock because he went crazy in order to save the others and having to dig undigested food out of dead people's stomachs so the rest of the camp could eat. When he worked in the prisons before becoming an undercover investigator where he picked up the "Drugs 'r bad" perceptual filter, one of the prisoners asked him "HAY. How's your wife and my kid!?" and he said "Wife's good, kid's retarded." For you I had to do a pretty fucking serious I never wanted you to destroy yourself I never wanted to hate you cry, I felt no drive to look at you or our life together as I did it but it was most certainly not a superficial release of emotion, I have not cried like that since Jamie.
Them destroying themselves upon me. With my mother... The entire time I was thinking "Ahhh flabambiflambaifluck... Go ahead and flimpampflup yourself you flambambaharpaflambiclap." With my father I was more troubled. "Stop. STOP. Stop destroying yourself. You were meant to be somebody respectable." Your own saviour reflexes destroyed you. You never should have accidentally impregnated that nineteen year old retard and pretended it was love at first sight.