Behind Appearances, Or Behind My Image
May 20, 2014, 11:21 pm
Filed under: Human Potential | Tags: , , ,

Warning: Potentially disturbing content.

I’ve wanted to do this a long time, but I was afraid. I’m sorry, but I’m not an image. I don’t want to participate in the world as an image anymore. If this is off my chest, maybe I can speak more freely, as if I am okay as I am, even in light of the things I’m most ashamed of.

Revealing things on Facebook lately has already helped me to talk to others more openly. I felt so… legitimate, for example, when I saw a gynecologist Monday for some irregular bleeding, cramps and discomfort I was experiencing last week.

I think I have a common condition called endometriosis, which is when some blood or other things are not released with a woman’s period. To me, it’s symbolic of how things I want to say are being held back because I think I’m flawed or inappropriate or unacceptable, which is inevitable if you hide things about yourself.

I’ve walked outside naked twice in “psychotic episodes,” so maybe it’s time I really went “naked.” And freed myself. Here I go.

Behind my image… I have herpes: oral and genital, a bump is down there right now. I’m ashamed to tell that, but oh well. I think I gave genital herpes to someone once when I had sex during an outbreak (I called him one day and he didn’t say anything for a while and then he hung up).

I think I gave oral herpes to a “boyfriend” (I didn’t really like him and I don’t believe in romantic love now). I kissed him when I had a bump on my lip. I got oral herpes because one day I was looking at the bumps around my vagina in a vanity mirror and I (not thinking) touched my lip to bite the skin off my lip with the same hand I had touched my vagina with.

I have an itchy spot on my butt in the crack (that used to scab over). The doctor said it’s nothing, but I think it’s sex-related, even though I’ve never had anal sex.

I have a hair that sticks out under my chin, discovered when I was 18 by the first boyfriend I had.

I have stretch marks on my boobs and my butt.

I don’t shower often (maybe once or twice a week), just because I don’t want to.

I peed my pants during a job interview at The Richmond Free Press in Fall 2006.

I had an abortion when I was 21. I’m not  as ashamed of that as much as some other things here.

I have corns on my toes (as my Facebook cover photos show).

I hid dirty maxi pads under my bed for a while as a kid because I didn’t want my dad to know I started my period.

I haven’t had sex in 10 years, and it’s not because of the herpes.

I don’t like sex, never have, I just thought I should do it to be “normal” and because everyone else said it was so great.

Sometimes I have random thoughts, like I’m alone with that child, so I could hurt that child like a bad person would. Or I’m alone with that man, we could have sex. But I don’t want really want to do those things. It’s just like I see that I could do them and be “bad,” free.

I’m uncomfortable saying that, but maybe it needs to be said. I believe we create the “monsters” we fear by calling people “bad” and outcasting them. Sometimes that line in the sand looks like the line into another world, one with another kind of love: unconditional love.

Sometimes I feel like I hate everyone.

I feel like people are not honest about their real reality behind “appearances.” But I haven’t been honest, either. I’m not sure it would matter if they were because I think we are in a false reality based on “parts” of God denying they are God. We deny the truth, so nothing here can be true no matter what we do when we believe we are meaningless, bad, etc. I feel I am starting to see how I am a part of God, as the book A Course in Miracles says, but I still don’t completely understand.

Today I am wondering, as I often do, whether I’m the only one here and everyone else is God pretending to be average (asleep) people to teach me a lesson: To believe in myself.

I have a theory that the only reason this world continues is because everyone hides the truth. Because everyone hides, no one can see that the “successes” people celebrate don’t bring happiness as appearances (people, television commercials, etc.) suggest.

Married people are unhappy because their worth is defined by them being married in this culture; rich people are unhappy because their worth is defined by their money; good-looking people are unhappy because their worth is defined by their looks; a lot of men are unhappy because their worth is defined by having a good-looking wife here.

No one can be happy being an image who: 1) can’t say what he wants, 2) can’t do what he wants, 3) disregards who he is to survive and make money, like I’ve done (all three things) all my life. By writing this, I’m stepping out on faith for something more than I see all around me.

I keep hearing songs in my head (I am diagnosed with schizophrenia) that I think are trying to tell me reveal this stuff, (in one song Snoop Dogg mentions women with sexually transmitted diseases and another song by Busta Rhymes says “put all your hands where my eyes can see… In God we trust.”

And I hear the song, “He’s got the whole world in His hands…” Earlier I was worrying about losing my social security disability benefits because of things I’m saying here and on Facebook that may make people mad and I heard a line from the song “I Find It Hard to Say (Rebel).” The line was: “Fret not thyself I say against these laws of man.”

These relevant songs are one reason I start to think I must be the only one here, that this is my dream. Plus, it’s how I make sense of the fact that no one else says anything about how fake everything is here: celebrating things that people feel societal pressure to do, like get married as if it’s really in their hearts.

That’s one reason I feel I have to do what I’m doing. If reincarnation is real, I’m trying to make sure I don’t return here. I don’t want to come back and figure out that everything is fake again ALL BY MYSELF, except for help from books like A Course in Miracles (and Lauryn Hill).

I feel like I’m by myself here. I think that’s why I keep hearing this Paramore song, “Don’t go cryin’ to your mama cuz you’re on your own in the real world…”

“Many men, many, many, many, many men wish death upon me. I don’t cry no more. I don’t look to the sky no more”: I hear this 50 Cent song in my head, which I think refers to the death of my ego. This is another thing that makes me think I’m the only one here, and others (other parts of God) are waiting for me to kill my ego, so we can go home, to heaven.

“Your brothers were not happy because you were not here,” a voice told me the night I walked on Chippenham Highway naked and barefoot and got frostbite. I thought it meant I was supposed to get hit by a car and go to heaven with my brothers there. But now I think it meant I withhold so much of myself, like what I want to say. It’s like I’m not here. Lackluster: A world without me (Marla Luster).

Another thing that makes me think this is my dream: That night I went out naked this man stopped to help me and he ended up touching my vagina. He tried to force me into the car. I was yelling for help and trying to get away from him, but I couldn’t. I told him, “You’re my brother, I love you,” and he stopped, stared at me, and called 911. A voice told me before I left out naked, “rape.”

I was thinking of it before the voice said it because after the last time I walked outside naked people told me I could’ve been raped. I didn’t believe them because I thought God was asking me to let go of this world in every psychotic episode I had. That included letting go of hiding things (like a naked body) from people out of fear.

[I revised this a lot from the original. Last updated 1:22 a.m. 5/21/14.]


A Storyless Place
May 6, 2014, 3:58 am
Filed under: Human Potential | Tags: , , ,

Another blogger I like questioned something I said in the post The Real Wizard of Oz:

“I think everyone gets everything he needs to be who he is meant to be, whether it’s a musical or being expelled from school.”

What about serial killers and others despised in our culture, like child molesters–are they who they’re meant to be? What place do they have?

Writer of the blog MindfuLust asked me this  in the comments of that post. I asked myself almost the exact question as I thought about what I wrote, but more so in terms of, why doesn’t a higher power help them? Maybe a higher power is helping from within all of us, but it is misunderstood because we interpret what we feel with conditioned minds.

Everything has a place in a broader story. And everything (and everyone) also has it’s own story. Everyone’s story, like fictional stories, have the goal of changing the mind of the main character. The main character is you. Society tends to make us feel like only a precious few are main characters. People who mess up are “bad” and that’s the end of their role in someone else’s story. But that’s not how real stories work.

Wicked, the musical I wrote about in the questioned post, does what society never does. It tells the whole story of a “bad” guy. The story reveals that the “wicked” witch is not “bad.” Society can’t endure such stories. When only appearances matter, not whole stories, opposites are needed to define each other, and are only meaning we have. The only sense we make of things is whether they are “good” or “bad.” We do not look deeper.

People who break the law probably have some desire to be “above the law,” or exist beyond the boundaries set by society. If you see a movie, you’ll probably see this desire to be “above the law” only in the “bad” guy. I believe you will find similar desires in the average person because it relates to our purpose here: to transcend the world we’ve made to control us, to make us “civilized.”

I imagine this misinterpreted longing for freedom drives someone to kill, someone to rape, someone to turn to a child to be seen as acceptable in his/her sexual desires. Killing, raping etc. are all means of escaping society’s limits. Killing someone is gaining an experience normally withheld from the average citizen. To rape is to gain something that is flaunted and yet is just beyond one’s grasp (at least with sought-after women, who are like trophies for “successful” men).

These acts are aimed at gaining something society both celebrates and makes exclusive to “winners”, such as a woman’s body, or a person’s life (which can be restricted with imprisonment or execution), or sexual enjoyment/freedom.

I know about the freedom felt by those who step outside the lines. In my first psychotic episode I felt alive following a higher law than the everyday laws and rules that restricted me. I drove from Richmond, VA to New Jersey to escape someone who was chasing me (really no one was chasing me). I drove over the speed limit, I passed cars driving on the wrong side of the road, I peed my pants while pumping gas at a gas station.

I felt so relieved, so liberated when I remembered that the world was ending (I thought) and that I had to rely on my gut, not the law, to save my baby. (Really I wasn’t pregnant with God’s baby, the second coming of Christ, as I thought.) No one else knew what was happening, so I only had myself. I was so clear on what to do at times because I was unrestricted by worldly concerns. I brushed aside shame, fear, and my seeming societal insignificance.

In my episodes, I was not one of many sheep to keep in line. I was “Chosen,” a voice said. “The One,” the voice said. Finally, I was the main character. Later I felt ashamed of what the voices said, as I continued hearing them. But during my episode, my moment of liberation, the voices meant it was up to me to save the world.

For once, I didn’t have to disregard myself, as I did everyday working a job unrelated to do with my strongest function: making sense of things. It’s like my strong function became perverted in psychotic episodes. Maybe that’s what happens to serial killers, rapists and child molesters. They’re main characters fighting for the starring role society says is not theirs.

Here’s what we hear of mental illness, the “crazy” part only: the voices and behaviors with no exploration of the “bad” guy, the alien. “Pregnant,” I heard a voice say again and again, years after my first episode. “You’ve been robbed.” I heard a voice say. “Bamboozled.” it said.

I yelled back, “Leave me alone!” I mimicked them in a dumbo voice sometimes. I felt they were saying I was doing something wrong. I was doing what was taught.

I was rejecting my natural self. I was pregnant. With my unconditioned self. I’m still pregnant. I see with society’s eyes. I see someone as better if she is prettier. But I ask for help. I ask for this thing I’ve looked up in the dictionary repeatedly. I ask for integrity. And I keep getting help. I see a white person driving an expensive car and I no longer see him as more successful, happier, more knowledgeable about how to live.

I know now that the most elusive thing–people’s full stories behind appearances–would reveal that the happy endings society sells, such as being rich, only look good from the outside. Living as an image isn’t success. Awakening to your true self is. I was so angry seeing everyone smiling while following the expectation that they hide”shameful” things. I thought I was crazy long before I heard a voice because I felt I couldn’t do it. “Bamboozled.”

The next time you consider asking, “What about the serial killers (as I also asked myself)?” look again at your view. Is it your own? Or is it conditioned by a storyless place? “You’ve been robbed.”

Last revised 11:06 a.m. 5/7/2014

Another Reality
May 3, 2014, 6:25 pm
Filed under: Human Potential, Mental Illness | Tags:

I liked this story because I thought it related to the agreed-upon outer reality versus the reality that can be discovered within. Once I asked God for another reality, thinking it was impossible. The agreed-upon reality all around me felt very restricting for me, like lots of agreed-upon realities must have felt in the past. I couldn’t see that it was made up and not real and that all I had to do was see with untrained eyes. I am writing and rewriting something about it.

For now, here is the story I liked that I read in “The Journey in Consciousness” posted on the blog o-meditation.com:

There is an ancient story in Buddhist scriptures…

A very rich man accumulated much wealth – accumulated so much gold that there was no place to hoard it any more. But suddenly something happened. One morning he woke up and saw that all his gold had turned into dust. You can think he must have gone mad.

Somebody helped him towards Buddha – Buddha was staying in the town – and the man went there. And Buddha said ‘You do one thing. Take all your gold into the market-place, and if somebody recognises it as gold, bring that man to me.’

But he said ‘How is it going to help me?’

Buddha said ‘It is going to help you. Go.’

So he took all his gold – thousands of bullock-carts of dust, because now it was all dust. The whole market was full of his bullock-carts. And people were coming and asking ‘What nonsense is this? Why are you carrying so much dust to the market-place? For what?’

But the man kept quiet.

Then a woman came. Her name was Kisagautami. And she said to this man ‘So much gold?

From where could you get so much gold?’

He asked the woman ‘Can you see the gold here?’

She said ‘Oh yes. These thousand bullock-carts are full of gold.’

He took hold of the woman and asked her what secret she had. ‘How can she see? Because nobody… not even I can see that there is any gold; it is all dust.’

He took the woman to Buddha, and Buddha said ‘You have found the right woman – she will teach you the art. It is only a question of seeing. The world is as you see it. It can be hell, it can be heaven. Gold can be dust, and dust can be gold. It is a question of how you look at it. This is the right woman. You become a disciple of Kisagautami. She will teach you. And the day you know how to see rightly, the whole world turns into gold. That is the secret of alchemy.’

That Kisagautami was a rare woman of those days. And the man learnt through her the art of turning the whole world into gold.