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Sunday, December 09, 2007
Posted at 09:31 pm by Phenobarbital
Overdose
Monday, November 26, 2007
:: clears dust off keyboard and eyes :: I know nobody reads here anymore, yet that is not the point of this entry. This entry, in itself, serves as an accomplishment to me. As I have incessantly procrastinated writing, of any sort. I have had a block for so long, which I fully blame on myself. Yet, I'm not here to atone. I have wrote such ridiculously morbid, self-serving entries for too long. I'd like to return to my old roots, but I might assimilate that early part of myself and put forth a new writing style for myself.
Such nostalgia -- thinking back when I was 16 writing about pseudo-humans, obscure dreams, and strange scornful encounters at school. Has four years truly passed? It sure the hell did. I ran across an essay I wrote when I was 16 about Artificial Societies; I poke fun at the imagination that I evoked. Yet, despite my naivety, there were whole truths. I still very much have the xenophobia that I was proud of, I remember how I felt being avoidant of others was a good thing.
Here I am, twenty years old now. Working a full-time job, bills to my Spleen, yet I maintain this tranquility. It hasn't always been that way, the depression that I had when I was 16 lasted years long. Perhaps, even before I was 16. It became more of a psychological, and a physiological thing. It developed a consciousness that masked my own, became a beast laboring for breath, my breath.
I decided I'm not that person anymore; I hold no remorse for it, it's a mere thing of the past. I have experienced all the things that I clearly detested before, which is quite ironic, lol. My passion has, indeed, returned and plan to write more often. Though, it does take days at a time.
Posted at 11:24 pm by Phenobarbital
Overdose
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Forlorn, I am, for such cowardice I hold. It's pathetic for one to hide their own identity from themself. I've developed this thing people call "hobbies," and I also started "going out." Which, for me to say, is quite a surprising thing to say. I've started a new life in this area I moved in, and not mentioning a word of the life I lived prior. I've met remarkable people, though it ends at that.
I've come to the conclusion that I'm no more than a deserter. Which, I once smiled while admitting, now I'm dreading. I've deserted many people before and failed to see the pain in it, now I cringe at my passed deads. Now, I can't stop thinking about those people that I left of my own free will and never once looked back. I'm not even lucky enough to remember their names, yet very vaguely their faces.
Yet, despite such misdeeds, I wasn't completely guilty; I did very much attempt to do "remarkable" things; I remember how I tried to engage the school in politics, force a movement, if you will. The failure was crippling at that time, yet I no longer consider it a failure. Enough of that, the past is gone..
I've think I have awakened, if only in a sense. I was once baffled at the emotions of others and how foolish one can be, and yet I find myself in such situations. How foreign such scenes seem. I, once again, feel the need to flee. Not necessarily in the deserter sense, but to explore. Now that I'm no longer staring outside my window, but rather on the outside.. how refreshing indeed.
Be that as it may, optimism is only limited. While I feel the need to emerge, I become submerged. Lately... I've been fighting off massive sleep attacks, just like the kind from four years ago. Yesterday I slept 12 hours, today I slept well over 16 hours, including occasional naps. I've been often falling asleep and not remember ever going asleep. I, again, had a horrifying sleep paralysis episode today. It started with a dream, I was drowning and hopelessly sinking. I couldn't breathe, I woke up, but didn't realize I was having an episode. My breathing was very constricted, I couldn't seem to pull a decent amount of breath; after maybe a minute, I actually woke up, burst out of my chair and was hyperventilating.. after able to calm down.. I thought about it..
My first vivid dream was that I was drowning, and had the same episode. That is how my hydrophobia came to be. That inital episode happened about four years ago or so, which makes me think that what was is returning. My breathing was constricted today because of the way I fell asleep on my desk, in such horrible posture I could see why. Though, like again, I don't recall falling asleep.
I was diagnosed two years ago, with what I refuse to admit. Call it cowardice, I don't care. Their solution was drugs; being on Ritalin when I was a kid, and Zoloft years later, I don't want to see another drug, ever again. Though, in today's world it's hardly avoidable. There has to be other means, and I will find it. Even if utter ruination comes to rise.
Posted at 09:20 pm by Phenobarbital
Overdose
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
I think that I’ve lost the ability to wake on my own. Why does it feel that I’m unconsciously resisting? Somewhere, behind my sight, there’s Something. I have slept myself away, I’m a Nobody of who I was. I force a wake through base instincts. I won’t eat two or so hours before I go to bed; this way I have no choice, but to awake from an aching stomach.
I have begun seeing how paranoid I am, possibly unconsciously neurotic. I’m being driven by an instinctive need of being alone. I do not hold fear for others, despite my avoidance, but rather of myself. The sound of it is illogical, yet it makes complete sense to me. My time is spent reading or smothering myself with music. I thought, maybe, I was tired and figured I could “get it out of my system,” by sleeping, of course. Sixteen hours and I held no enthusiasm to wake.
A terrorism follows my sleep that I’m unable to shake. I have sleep paralysis way too unnervingly often; thus, I have developed an acute fear of sleeping. I am marred when I wake, left with an ever-lingering tired headache. I wish to find peace, maybe not even that, perhaps less panic when I have an episode. Each time I try, just the reality of it all induces utter panic. I have found myself passing out a lot, nothing dangerous as of yet. Though, I have no intention of waiting on it to spark myself to seek out help.
My sense of reality is as deluded as my feeling of consciousness. I feel that, unconsciously, I have either massive Identity Diffusion causing dementia amongst my unconscious self, or a different persona. My personality is rather cascaded with notable antonymous characteristics existing in simultaneity. By the looks, it seems impossible, yet not only to myself, but to others I am proof of that. Or perhaps, Identity diffusion gave a stillbirth to a personality; or a collective of my previous attempts at Identity.
If this is so -- if I do have two personas, one being conscious, the other unconscious -- and I having lost the ability to wake up the same as I was as I fell asleep, perhaps then they are switching roles/creating a disfigured personality altogether? This either means that I need to strengthen my self-awareness or that I am truly and slowly reaching insanity. If anything, a necessary insanity. C. Jung talked of “the shadow,” then would my unconscious self be so?
Behind my sight, Something has set into motion; I could be a) unknowingly & unconsciously-volunteering, b) am too consciously naïve of my self to notice. I have seen the inconsistencies in my personality, none of them remotely add up. This could be all that my ‘self’ is imploding from my own personal neglect. Something is here, it is either delusion or illusion; I have yet to welcome it. 
Posted at 12:23 am by Phenobarbital
Overdose
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
I dreamt my tongue was partially severed; the bleeding was disturbing, felt slightly pleasant knowing that my subconscious no longer censors my dreams, the graphic of it all, that is. I began choking and vomiting all the same. A dream of amaranthine helplessness. I didn't have to figure out how to stop the bleeding, I knew it wasn't going to stop. If only I would stop gagging, I might have looked presentably normal.
This dream wouldn't have affected me so profoundly, if the feeling of bleeding didn't feel alarmingly real. The forbearance of it all was even creepy. I almost enjoyed feeling utterly helpless without personal fear disallowing such a logical emotion, seemingly anyway. I was being drowned away by a very sharp cold sweat.
There was a slight comic relief when I dialed 911 and the operator had me vocally tell her my address. Despite how surreal the elements became, the way I became so sentimental began freaking me out. I had to have fallen to the floor or something; I woke up in a truly horrid way. I was having an episode of sleep paralysis, I knew I was awake I could feel the position I was sleeping in, that's not what was bothering me.
The problem was, and I instinctively started panicing, I was drooling, but I didn't realize it. I had thought I was still bleeding, my heart skipped a beat.. I don't know how long it took for me to finally open my eyes, it seemed too long. I was in a dangerous state of alert, I almost started hyperventilating.
Such an experience, I would not wish on anyone. What dream weavers would hew my sense of reality? Is there an alternative to sleep? It's 1:21 and I have caffeine.. 
Posted at 11:10 pm by Phenobarbital
Overdose
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