Read me the Signs. Tell me my Fortune

If you’re someone who is not into spirituality or supernatural belief then this blog is probably not for you. If you’re someone who is so grounded into reality and you only believe in what you see in front of you then this blog is not for you.

I’ve been getting signs for the last ten years now. Rephrasing; I may have been receiving signs my entire life, but I didn’t start paying attention to them until ten years ago.

Back when I was at my worst and mentally hit rock bottom is when I started to really notice them. The signs kept coming to me in different ways, but I always felt this sort of “resonance” (for lack of a better word) from them. At the time they would always tell me that things were going to get better. That I wouldn’t be stuck in the same sucky situation I was in at the time.

These signs were persistent. Try to imagine having pop up ads or spam mail taking up space in your brain. That’s how persistent they were. I thought I was going crazy. I was already depressed and living in a sucky reality. I thought believing in something out of this world wasn’t very helpful. I go to therapy and everything seemed quiet for almost a month. And then they kept coming back. At that point I was like, “Screw this! You want me to follow? Fine, I’ll follow!”

I figured that if I did that then maybe it would finally stop and I could go back to living in reality in the best way that I could. Somewhere along the way I had been convinced that it wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me. That it’s something bigger than anything else, trying to guide me. I remember back then that I was at my happiest. I was at my strongest. Remember the little analogy I made of dealing with anxieties to fighting monsters. Well that’s where I was slaying them one after another. Built up a serious undefeated streak. Like….Goldberg in WCW/WWE (past Goldberg) or Asuka in NXT. Or Ronda Rousey in the UFC (before the KO from Holly Holms, of course). Plus I really was leading a depression free life for close to two years. So not only was I at my strongest, but I was at my happiest.

But the Universe didn’t prepare me for everything. Eventually I got knocked down. I crashed and hit the ground hard. I kept taking one hard hit after another. I was defeated. And I felt like the person that I was, the better version of myself, had been stolen from me. The Universe then fell silent for a really long time and I was forced to go at everything blindly. What caused all this to happen? More like, what didn’t cause it to happen? I could write about what might have been the cause for at least ten more entries if I felt like it. But I don’t want to focus on what happened, what I cannot undo.

Sometime back late March (at best guess) I start getting signs again. I’m supposed to just “stay with it”. During this time I was struggling with suicidal thoughts in Boone. Obviously nobody wants me to die, human or otherwise. I’d have thought that I should be instantly back to my old self again, but more “powered up” somehow.

My mom and my cousins say that I’m the strong one. But I honestly don’t feel it. One serious downside to these signs is the mysterious nature behind them that leaves me with more questions when I’m already confused as is. And I’m not the same person that I was before all this. I feel like I’m always “blocked” by something. I think more than likely I’m the one “blocking” myself from everything. I’ve built these walls around me to guard myself from anything that I had viewed as a possible threat to me, which seems to be like everything.

I am still getting the signs. I am so deep into this that I cannot ignore them. I cannot pretend like they haven’t played a part in my life, in bringing back the good that did outweigh the bad. I’m the person I am now because I followed them when I had nothing else to go on. I am the person I am now precisely because of who I was. People don’t just change, they continue on from that point.

I think the message that I’m supposed to be getting is meant to trigger a change in my cognition. Since moving to Boone I thought I had lost the person that I was and all the strength and wisdom I had accumulated at the point. I thought I had “lost my powers”. But the truth is that I never lost anything. It’s all still inside me. It’s just waiting to be tapped into. It wants to wake up. It wants expression. It wants sweet release.

I am so done with being my own worst enemy. I hate on others for either getting in my way, questioning everything I do, undermining me, weighing me down, but in reality I might just be projecting from my own doubts and weaknesses.

If I’m able to release all that’s in me and use it to succeed, awesome. If that’s not it and I’m supposed to just start over from scratch again, I will do it. Either way there is nowhere else to go except forward.

The Price I’ve Paid.

One of the joys of being a neurotic depressing hermit like myself is the beauty of drowning myself in my own thoughts which means having to inevitably over think and analyze every little thing. I say that with as much fake enthusiasm as I can possibly muster. How do I further illustrate the beauty of overthinking? Imagine being stuck in the middle of desert and you are passing the time by counting every little grain of sand you come across. That’s what it’s like for me. “Analysis Paralysis”, that’s what I like to call it.

I hate it. It doesn’t help being a writer because I’m constantly second guessing myself and every idea that comes to mind. I get a light bulb which signals an idea. Then comes the usual song and dance that occurs whether I keep an idea to myself or when I make the mistake of sharing it with others…

“Oh that idea has already been done!”
“Refer to this author’s piece of work!”
“Your characters are too cookie cutter!”
“But that’s not realistic! Even for a fantasy story!”

Oh wait, here is anew one that has been on repeat lately.

“Are you trying to write the next Harry Potter or Game of Thrones? Best give up while you can.” That was from one of my roommates whom I’m pretty sure was only projecting his own limitations onto me. Easy to believe considering he has as much imagination and personality as a baked potato. Which I’m also sure reflects hisIQ level.

And here comes the kicker…

“Hey man! I’m just trying to help!”

That’s when I just want to punch someone in the face and say, “For the love of God, stop trying to help me.” Not too many people know about this story that I’m working on and I prefer to keep it that way. The ones that I’ve told haven’t tried pushing themselves onto me where as others have done exactly that. Plus I only share ideas in small dose. How small? Grains of sand small. Even with people who are writers like myself.

It’s lonely having to do this on my own. But it’s not that much different from the loneliness I’ve felt for the majority of my life. I used to have imaginary conversations and adventures all the time when I was younger. That was when my creativity was flourishing and at it’s strongest. I feel like I’ve lost vital parts of my true self when I agreed to compromise for the sake of others and tried to be more mature, more practical, and to live in the real world with real people.

I made a horrible mistake by choosing to major in journalism. I had the chance to switch my major to creative writing and I missed it. Even though I knew I wasn’t happy with the communications department and that getting out of it meant that I’d be happy. But no, I told myself that it wasn’t the mature thing to do, that I didn’t give it a fair enough chance. I am not meant to be like those other aspiring journalists. My mind is wired in a way that’s too different from them. I’ve tried to be open with the people in my classes, but in the end there’s nothing we have in common. We breathe in oxygen and eat food for survival. Comparison stops there. Plus I feel like I’m always under attack with the professors in that department. Even when I do the assignments in the most pragmatic way possible it’s never good enough or they don’t understand anything. Like I’ve written something in a completely alien language. Plus I swear to God whenever I do speak everyone always has this stupid deer in headlights look about them. Again, I’m filled with the need to punch them in the face. It’s not just at the communication department. It’s everywhere I go and every person that I meet. Then I have to hold my tongue back from saying what I really want to say…

-I’m sorry that I don’t do drugs.
-I’m sorry that I don’t drink like a frat boy.
-I’m sorry that I’m not into sports.
-I’m sorry that I play video games, watch movies, or do whatever that makes me a “hipster” in your eyes.
-I’m sorry for breathing the same air as you.
-I’m sorry that I don’t want to be like you.

Now I’m just ranting….

The point I am trying to make is…

The price I paid for trying to be mature, practical, and “normal” has cost me dearly. I feel like I’ve only been betraying myself. Nothing should come at that cost especially when your own happiness goes with it. I am not a normal person. I will never be a normal person no matter where I go or how much older I get. It’s time I make peace with that.

I believe that if I can make peace with that I will be happier, I will be more creative, and I can be freed from inhibitions placed onto me by others and from my own insecurities.

Audioslave said it best in song, “To be yourself is all that you can do”. God rest the soul of Chris Cornell, by the way.