Analyse

I am quite departed from a 'rational' reality and the world I am experiencing is inexplicable. Anything I say will make no sense to anyone for I am experiencing a different level of consciousness which is quite terrifying. Life is a perpetual 'bad trip' in which everything is heightened, but to an excruciating, as oppose to a fascinating degree. Here is my painstaking attempt of extracting some of the thoughts which, in their relentless chaos, are rarely within the means of articulation. Much of my mind cannot be spoken. None of what I have managed to abstractly express will make sense to the greater part of humanity, for those objective outsiders are grounded, and in being grounded are blind to the higher meaning invested in all things. 

Everything has meaning.

Everything has reason.

Everything is precious.

Everything must be perfect, in its optimum state, at all times. Harmony can only exist when every element conforms to these conditions.

There are countless consequences to any given situation; thus every circumstance, minute by minute, requires the most deliberate calculation and analysis in order to ensure that the best possible outcome prevails. The best outcome equals precision of meaning, conservation of value and providence of time. Any time not achieving something is waste - pure and selfish waste; and a void in which the torment of my own thoughts becomes intolerable.

I must be prepared for every possibility of every circumstance. If I am not prepared then everything will fall apart. The perpetual sense of urgency is excruciating - if there is one moment during which I am left without distraction from the cacophony inside my skull then I have no hope. The thoughts are worsening. I cannot counteract my thoughts alone.

Everything must be justified in relation to others.

Every action must be determined with respect to its effect on others.

Spending money on myself is only allowed if ultimately to serve the purpose of others.

Sitting is only allowed if enforced, or in a context where social company would necessitate it.

Calorie consumption is only allowed if compulsory.

Independent calorie consumption can only be justified if minus.

I must present the best version of myself at all times in order to be a positive example to others.

I must appear strong.

I must appear optimistic.

I must appear colourful.

This requires excruciating effort to suppress a torturous level of psychological turmoil; and isolation to preserve the welfare of others.

I must protect others from my despair in order that they can find hope.

The true extent of my internal distress would be intolerable for others, and also leave me more alone than ever.

If anyone were to know how I am inside then they would leave me. 

I must cause as little disturbance as possible.

I must be as least burdensome as possible.

I must not disrupt the existential balance.

I must not be seen in the same outfit more than once.

I must not wear the same combination of jewellery more than once. 

Every colour is symbolic.

Every shape is symbolic.

Every form is symbolic.

Every manifestation must also present a sentimental value - meaninglessness is wasteful.

Certain colours have certain moods which I must harness in order to try to influence my own and therefore the wellbeing of others. 

Everything must be an accurate and harmonious reflection of other things. 

Music must be complimentary to circumstance or mood and music must be all the time because silence is space for thoughts. 

Scent is determined by the various conditions of every circumstance.

Everything has reason and requires calculation. 

Substances are most effective on an empty stomach.

I must be as empty as possible at all times in order to gain the best 'escape'.

A cigarette is best when my system is as empty as possible. This entails rationing, and constant calculation of time, with the longest time, and the most physical activity as possible between each cigarette to gain the greatest 'hit' and escape from feeling 'real'. 

All tobacco scraps must be collected in case of running out of money or time. 

Everything must be saved in case.

I must never smell unpleasant in case others are upset. 

Teeth must be cleaned after every cigarette.

Teeth must be cleaned before eating to prepare the palette.

Teeth must be cleaned after eating to expunge any residual calories.

I must use the toilet immediately before every meal in case of needing it after, in which case I would have to request being accompanied to protect me from my own compulsions. Being accompanied would be a burden and I would be ashamed for needing support. 

I must remove any opportunity of hiding food in hair, pockets or sleeves as opportunity for escape is impossible to abstain from. 

I must make every effort to avoid calories without breaking the rules set by others.

I must hide my distress at the meal table as much as possible.

I am always ashamed. I am guilty for being ill. 

Food equals calories. Calories equals weight. Weight equals more of me, who I cannot tolerate.

Consumption is torture and I am ashamed of myself for finding it so.

My bedroom must be perfect at all times and a sanctuary of safety.

Order equals safety.

Cleanliness equals safety.

Comfort equals safety.

Certainty equals safety.

Symmetry equals safety.

Aestheticism equals safety.

Everything must maintain its optimum state at all times in case of being perceived by others. 

Everything must remain as safe as possible at all times in order to alleviate my own anxiety and therefore protect others from the negative impact of my distress.

Rest is wasteful and selfish. 

Any time spent doing nothing is a waste - there are only so many hours to use.

Every minute must be spent achieving.

Any moment of stillness is a moment that could be spent burning calories.

Any moment of idleness is a moment that could be spent being productive - creating, for others.

Sleep is terrifying. 

Sleep equals lack of productivity.

Sleep equals lack of activity.

Sleep is a place where the thoughts I have dampened with obsession will catch up with me and leave me in terror.

Sleeping more than 4 hours equals a bad day to follow. 

Honesty is crucial. Any falsehood is injustice.

I must never lie. Better to say nothing than to tell a lie.

Every moment must be filled with as much activity as possible in case there is no time, or no money, or no energy at a later point.

Everything must be considered with regards to the 'just in case' principle. 

Everything of value must be cherished and memorialised. 

Every moment must be captured to remind of its occurrence and its possibility.

I must take pieces of life and people with me to remind me of who I am.  

If a thought or a feeling or an event is not captured or expressed then it will be lost. 

Loss equals suffering.

Solitude is unsafe.

Solitude is where I am alone with my thoughts and I am doomed to succumb to the voices.

I must be constantly active.

Sitting down is not allowed, for no-one is telling me to.

I must be constantly stimulated with evidence of human contact to save me from being alone with my mind, which is a very frightening thing.

Solitude is terrifying.

Human contact is terrifying given that I may negatively impact others.

I must protect others at all times. 

It is when I am alone that I become overwhelmed.

Sometimes only mindless, meaningless tasks are achievable in solitude in the context of the torment of 'bad' thoughts.

I can only focus on one task in company.

In solitude the oppressive detail and pressure of rules is overwhelming and I lose myself.

There are many rules and routines that I cannot put to words because they are so constant and racing and many so obscure that they become incomprehensible. Fighting the thoughts for others is exhausting, but maintaining peace by keeping to the rules is exhausting.

Everything must be done in a specific order.

Components must consist of sets of three.

Three is a trinity.

Three is fulfils the rules of aestheticism.

Three is magic.

Routines must be completed in multiples of five.

Multiples of five are symmetrical figures: round and whole - nought is certain, five is exactly halfway between nought and ten, ten is optimum. Symmetry, or balance are crucial. Everything is calculated.

Calories must be consumed in order of calories in case some tragedy prevents completion of the meal - in which case only the lowest substance would have been consumed. 

Bubbles in hot drinks must be consumed before liquid as air is the lighter substance.

I must always choose the best possible version of everything. 

This requires calculation of every value - time, financial worth, symbolism, quality, quantity.

I must always choose the option lowest in calories for myself.

When giving, the best version must be saved for others.

Everything must be completed fully and executed perfectly. If one thing is not entirely complete or perfect then everything will start to slip. 

If I am not exactly prepared at the start of every day then the whole day will be a disaster.

If my day is not exactly prepared, filled and  accomplished then it has been a waste.

I must be constantly distracted from myself because I cannot bear myself. Every action is an effort to escape my intolerable reality.

Everything is overwhelming. 

The excruciating detail of all things is terrifying and I cannot stop noticing everything. 

Being alone is where I become overwhelmed and my head travels to another place where I don't know where I am.

I cannot cope with reality, with myself - my brain escapes somewhere completely detached from the present moment and I am no longer in my body.

I cannot remember what happened before or what is to come and nothing makes sense.

Everything is surreal and I am not sure what is going on or where I am. 

I am constantly disorientated. 

I am living on a time limit and everything must be done all at once.

Nothing I do is ever enough.

There will always be something I could have done more or better.

I must help everyone suffering.

Everyone else and everything else must come before myself. 

The suffering is growing heavier by the day.

Dust in the Wind

I've been thinking a lot lately. Whether this is a good thing or not is entirely circumstantial - reflection can have its uses in times of difficulty; though in excess, particularly when one has a tendency to slip into a dangerous spiral of introversion and over-analysis it can be an ultimately self-destructive process. The trouble is that the thoughts won't actually stop. Isolation is an unpleasant by-product but also a catalyst in the vicious circle that thinking can become. Perhaps it would be better to be caught up in the rat-race, busying myself with the trivialities which others regard as priorities without time to think or feel. Tragically I've already dipped below the surface. It's an effort not to sink any lower when there doesn't seem anything substantial to hold onto to prevent me from drowning altogether.

There are good things in my life at the moment it has to be said, but then again in my experience 'good' equates to feelings of intense insecurity. I refuse to allow myself to decline into some self-indulgent, misery-ridden prose as in my previous entry but I cannot deny my absolute pessimism. Natural is it not, for one to fear subsequent tragedy after every triumph when thus far it consistently appears to be the formula of events? I am incapable of accepting anything good-natured given the inevitability of subsequent disappointment. 

Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet...

...Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not. 

So goes Heaney's poem 'Blackberry Picking', a verse singing of bittersweet childhood memories. Nature dictates that everything born must ultimately die - are you telling me that this evolutionary practice should not be perceived as a reason for distress? It's not even physical death itself that bothers me. It's the in-between: the mortality of pleasure versus the permanence of suffering; the transience of hope versus the prevalence of fear; the short-lived nature of joy versus the misery which faithfully follows. Believe me, I resent myself immensely for being able to think in such a way, for in light of my inclination to take everything to the extreme, if I can I must; if I cannot I will not at all. In essence therefore, my default mentality is one that sees too much, knows too much - beholder of the dire and excruciatingly profound I cannot stop contemplating all this pain. Sometimes it gets to the point that I absorb so much grief that there is physically no vacancy for consideration of positivity in the heavy-laden vessel within my skull, nor in that throbbing organ burdened with such severity at times its wrecked convulsions may shake the surrounding cathedral of bone. It takes great skill to forget or at least ignore; I am yet to accomplish it. 

Time, experience and admittedly the wisdom of my highly quotable mother tell me that repeating the same actions will only produce the same results, and it would be foolish to consider otherwise. Therefore, I know it, I truly do: I need to change my thinking. How does one go about such an uncomfortable project? How can I let go of what has been and gone? How can I detach myself from the anguish of the present? And how can I overcome such an intense apprehension of the future?

I hate the things that have happened to me and those I love. I've been hurt, and gravely hurt by misfortune and abuse - yet I take the anger and sorrow unto myself as oppose to my oppressors, or the unkind forces responsible. The horror of the traumas I have suffered can come in unexpected seismic waves inducing nausea and panic; though, forgiving any impression of self-pity I may have inadvertently just made, it has to be said that it's the suffering of others that has caused greater devastation. It truly sickens me to think of the indescribable distress which I have witnessed and which may well continue to persist indefinitely. Violation.

I neither understand the justice of the present, for the reasons most recently expressed. It seems never-ending. The present is, quite plainly, a product of what has been - so if unalterable inflictions have occurred in the past, then their contemporary embodiment is unlikely to be anything different. Where is the peripetia? At which point do circumstances change and joy suddenly and miraculously arise? What transitional landmark is there to indicate the difference between our histories and the immediate and do we have any power whatsoever in-between to secure a comfortable reality? The enigma of it all is utterly terrifying to me, in particular the sense that we are so lost and helpless within it all.

If I do not feel in control of creating the present there is no way I could ever deserve a feeling of security toward the future. In advance none need be disturbed if this narrative were to take on a rather morbid tone - my musings are burrowing deeper and deeper into the dark recesses of my mind and readers are under no obligation to pursue the winding course of this rapidly unravelling thread. Simply, I cannot foresee a distant future for myself sometimes. There has been so much that has already happened, and I can't quite comprehend what's next, where I go from here. I've done too much too young, more than most would experience in their lifetime - surely this roller-coaster of trauma and pain, (but also episodes of extraordinary joy to a point of delirium) cannot continue for years and years to come? No human on earth could endure it. The most logical conclusion to be drawn from this therefore would be that an end would be imminent. Unless the intense cluster of drama settles to a tolerable plateau and I am somehow able to move on from the past and simply live on. This only confounds my terror of what is to come, for I simply cannot imagine how 'living' in the context of everything that has happened is a possibility. I'm not sure I'd want it to be. I don't want to live with what has happened. It's too much to bear. Perhaps that is why I struggle to live at all. 

As per usual (ie: always) I have taken this far, far too far. This is why I scare myself. I don't feel the same as everyone else.  Superciliousness is the last of my intentions as I attempt to explain the inexplicable so forgive any inadvertent suggestion of such; but I feel like I know and feel too much to function like any other person. Survival doesn't seem compatible with this 'other' psychological dimension I seem to be cursed with - and I do hope that I have adequately portrayed the message that this curious intellectualism or agonizingly-analytical mindset (or whatever term to use to describe my thought processes) is rarely a blessing from the perspective of the individual experiencing it. None of this will make any sense, I am perfectly aware of it, because there is no doubt that my audience will not be companions in this dimension... But it's as though my otherworldly sentiments are holding me back from ever, ever getting better. 

It's high time to obliterate this level of consciousness with copious quantities of nicotine. I have over-thought and I'll continue to over-think unless I accept the reality that I have the mind that I do and unless brain transplants for the psychologically unstable become a regular component of clinical practice anytime soon - an opportunity that, though I would love to accept given the torment I am under reminds me a bit too much of the mental 'conditioning' through torture used in Burgess' 'A Clockwork Orange' and therefore would have numerous moral qualms toward - there is little I can do about my situation. Of course it's a shame that it's only socially-acceptable substance use which will ground me, but nothing else can lower the volume on my brain's incessant introspections as plum-flavoured tobacco and blackberry rizlas.