Don't Be Afraid

I've journaled for many years as a way to blow off steam and possibly find answers. As I've found some satisfaction in ranting, I've not found answers to why I've experienced an unfulfilling life. I guess the reason why I'm blogging is to shed light on what my unfulfilling life looks like and help others who might feel the same way identify what's happening to them.

For me, the overall lack of positive outcomes stems from a couple of disabilities I was born with. Although I've never been diagnosed as being on the spectrum, I exhibit a lot of the symptoms. From broken relationships to just not fitting in due to some strange behaviors, it seems logical. I'm not a full on weirdo, but I cannot maintain relationships as I melt down and drive people away. Sure, I have a few friends, a few of them are good friends, but no romantic possibilities. I'm an above average looking guy. I'm 6'2 and in shape. When I want to look good, I do. I'm turning 50 in less than two months and I still retain my looks. I've been with the best looking women, but they never stick around. Although I tend to attract the really unhealthy women, I'm the one to blame. Unhealthy attracts unhealthy. I've given up on this endeavor as it's just easier to be alone.

A consequence of being on the spectrum is the target it draws on your back. We're all animals. We just know how to turn on a light and can think logically. Other than that, we're either predators or prey. I've been prey. Just like how a shark is attracted to fish that don't conform and are defective, I've attracted the sociopaths, psychopaths, and narcissists. This started in grade school and continues through my working years. And even when someone else isn't telling me how defective I am, I tell myself. Every day I have memories of how I acted in certain situations and I cringe with embarrassment. There is no escape or relief.

The second disability that I've dealt with my entire life is misophonia. I got it bad. There are volumes of sounds that send me into a rage. Eating noises are unbearable. Someone chewing or talking with his or her mouth full. Someone smacking his or her fingers. Hearing someone whistling is really bad. The more crisp and twirly it is, such as how old men whistle, the more insane it makes me. Hearing people overuse the word 'like' triggers it like no tomorrow. Just hearing certain voices, such as a few singers or radio personalities, drive me nuts. Basically, it's hard to be out in public, and it's getting harder every day. Whenever I hear or just see someone making these noises, I often get so angry that I see a red tint. It can take hours or even days to finally ratchet it down a few notches to where I'm not consumed with anger. 

I've tried to mitigate these experiences with external solutions. In my 20's, I was prescribed head meds. I walked into the doctor's office at the medical clinic of the university I attended and told a doctor I'd never met before that I didn't feel good. The decision was made for me as she gave me a script for Prozac. I wasn't looking for an antidepressant, but I filled the script anyway and started taking a medication I knew nothing about. Just like most people, I defaulted to trusting the Healthcare Industrial Complex and didn't understand that pharmaceutical companies look at us as dollar signs, not people who can be helped by their pills. Since then, I've developed bipolar symptoms that I never had when growing up. I now realize that this was the end goal of the pharmaceutical industry. The end goal is to create addicts who cannot get off their medication, no matter if it's helping or making things worse.

Along those lines, I tried to address the flashbacks with unconventional treatment, including dissociatives like ketamine and other hallucinogens. As these substances are legal in the state I reside, it's easy and legal to obtain, even if it is exorbitantly expensive. I went through the first six rounds of ketamine therapy and I thought it fixed me. But after a few weeks I needed to keep going. I spent thousands of dollars in an attempt to re-experience those magical few weeks during my initial foray into ketamine without avail. I also put my body and mind in jeopardy while doing so. Having stopped several months ago, I'm reasonably sure that I avoided those consequences. None of these substances made a long term impact. The only real lasting impact was to my checking account.

The most demoralizing attempt to fix my problems was my excursion into Christianity. I could write thousands of pages about the adventures and misadventures of my experience with religion, but the bottom line is I tried worshiping a god that, frankly, fucked me. Not only that, this god never answered back. I rolled out the red carpet for him. I screamed from the rooftops that I was his biggest fan and to just give me one iota of a hint that my prayers were even heard. Crickets. If there is a god, it's pretty clear that he neither wants a relationship with me nor cares one bit about me. I looked for answers for eleven years before realizing that this is a dry well. I do believe that I was created by something. Is this something a "Loving Father"? I guess if I equate child abuse with love, then sure, he's swell.

The summation of this initial blog of mine is it's ok to realize the realities of life. It's ok to come to terms with being dealt a bad hand. It's fine to be jealous of those who've been dealt a royal flush when I've been dealt a pair of twos. I'm tired of blaming myself for problems that I didn't cause. It's not like I haven't tried. I've done everything I can think of to mitigate these problems and fit in. Nothing has worked. I've maintained a job, pay my own bills, and am not a criminal with a record. I'm not bad person, and I don't hurt others. But I've lived my life thinking that I'm the worst of the worst, another belief that Christianity wants one to believe about himself. I'm no longer going to be afraid of death. I'm no longer going to be afraid of hell. And it's ok to choose when enough is enough. I have some plans to move out of the country so I can retire already and deal with others exclusively on my terms. I'm over playing nice with god's creations. I've paid my fucking dues and it's time to do what I want without wasting one more second solving others' problems. I'm taking a chance to do it. It might not work out. If it turns out that I have to retreat back to the US and resume my miserable job, I will gracefully bow out. I refuse to live a life of codependency, living just to not devastate others. It's my life, and I should have the option to exist or not.

I'm no longer afraid. If you're a nihilist who's living an unheralded life, suffering needlessly, you shouldn't be afraid, either. There is no heaven and hell is on earth. The more you obsess about getting into heaven, the less likely you'll be able to find any joy. The fear of hell puts one in hell. Because I was a Christian for eleven years, I spent eleven years in hell trying to please an uncaring or non-existent god. I don't care if I end up in eternal bliss. I just want out of hell, and I'll get there one way or another.