Hooooly fuck, I have no idea how I'm going to be able to convey everything to a psychiatrist in a reasonable period of time, providing enough information to give them an idea of just what they're dealing with, the severity of it, but also needing to provide enough information so that misunderstandings and misconceptions, an inaccurate perception, won't occur. The latter is very likely to happen due to this being so atypical, complex, and multi-faceted. This runs so deep, you've only seem a glimpse of how far the rabbit hole goes.
I've just been thinking about the overview of my life, everything I've noticed. My extreme level of (self) awareness, all the introspection I've engaged in, analysis and quantification of myself, the immense amount I've read, just delving into specific topics relevant to myself and my interests, what I wanted to understand about the world, extreme personality traits, contradictory, atypical, and fluctuating qualities, the bizarre traits and behaviors/responses I've noticed, absurd unnatural lifestyle, beliefs/worldview and how they came about, my history of self-development, the development of my mind, my mental architecture (how I gather/process information, the habits of the mind), autism memory providing me with so much information at my disposal, destructive lifestyle and how it (may have) effected my development, extreme intervention I've engaged in. An extreme rationalist, fine tuning the habits of the mind to overcome bias, emotion, which skews perception, being low to begin with and then being driven to near zero, aiming for strict adherence to rationality and objectivity, actively developing shamelessness, being brutally honest about myself and everything in my life, particularly after I fell apart and stopped engaging in self-deception (I remember bipolar high roller/1337/LLL stating "Malice is the realest nigga here."). Oh god, you know that scene from American Psycho where he goes over his morning routine? I spent such an insane amount of time, years, it must have been 10s of thousand of pages, countless hours, perfecting and fine tuning every aspect of nutrition/diet, exercise, then nootropics/medication/pharmaceuticals/drugs/supplements. It was a completely hollow life designed to prop up an artificial human being, and so much of it was just countering some of the extreme damage I was doing to myself. It was like a grotesque experiment a mad scientist would run on himself. And at the end I still fell apart and imploded. It was like running just to stay in place and still being swept back by the current. Everything I did only managed to reduce damage, delay the inevitable, and keep me in stasis at best; I'm confident that if I had not successfully intervened at the peak of my depression (Pure tranylcypromine/Parnate power sourced in bulk from a supplier in China and administered intrarectally to bypass the GI tract, eliminating the risk of a hypertensive crisis from excessive tyramine consumption without sufficient MAO-B in the GIT and need for an MAOI/low tyramine diet, along with NSI-189 and heavy lifting sessions (data from rat/mice studies showed greatest amount of neurogenesis occurred during periods of highest physical activity, and I did notice a distinct effect (I'll stop here)), two of the most powerful antidepressants available, was pretty hardcore.) I would be dead by now.
You know it's bad when it feels there's just so much, so much to say and the problems, limitations inherent to communication, that it feels like a...what's the word for when a jam occurs due to too many things trying to move through an entrance (If there is one. It feels like there should be, but nothing comes to mind.)? Might just be jam or congestion, but if feels like there should be something more specific. You don't know where to begin or it just feels hopeless, that there's no point in even trying.
It reminds me of a time Tacho was describing me in a thread on Zoklet and ended with something along the lines of, "How he exists is beyond me." This is what I was thinking towards the end. How the hell do I exist? What the fuck is wrong with me? You really don't end up like this without having something profoundly wrong with you to begin with. Then there are the thoughts of what could have been, what if I'd had actual support after testing as gifted in 1st grade, being placed in a school/class specifically for us, if I hadn't been going to a shitty minority school in south central LA (Teachers were actually pretty good and kids weren't that bad at that age, it was just...inadequate. With the reality of the distribution curves for intelligence, it's just so rare that there won't be enough students to justify the creation of something specifically catering toward them, particularly compared to some of the Silicon Valley school districts.), at least some additional enrichment program or a counselor, if I had had better parents, parents that weren't uneducated immigrants I couldn't relate to, that didn't feel so uninvolved and oblivious, had the guidance and support I needed to navigate life and make the most of everything. I was scoring in the 99 percentiles on the Stanford-9 without studying, without an advanced curriculum/the advantage of a gifted program, and there was
nothing from my parents, no real rewards or encouragement I can remember, help with homework, reading to me or discussions, taking me out to see the world, to develop, encourage and support passions/interests, no tutors or private classes; it wasn't neglect, it was just inadequacy, nowhere near what I could taken in. At the very least they was a style of uninvolvement common among the lower classes many people just don't understand. I'm not the kind of person that feels resentment toward them, they're fortunate to have experienced otherwise, but there also tends to be this inaccurate narrative portrayed about the reality, to excuse this; they weren't working two jobs and exhausted (the lower classes are
much less likely to work long hours), there's just this massive gap in intelligence and knowledge, traits that lead to long-term poverty; most people don't fucking read, they don't thoroughly discuss and plan out parenthood, read books on optimal pregnancy and child rearing, engage in anywhere near the same attempt at enrichment activities, the multitude of activities you might see educated middle/upper class Whites provide their children, or the involvement to drive academic success from East Asian parents. If this is what I was scoring in those circumstances, what the hell could have been my full potential?! Received some treatment for or avoided whatever may have been causing some of my problems (anxiety was major), if I hadn't gone to that godawful middle school where I hated the environment so much, found it so confusing, that I completely lost interest in school and just withdrew, whether I just needed a better environment and more stimulation than the world could provide (I've noticed that during some fooling around at Occupy events, when I got arrested twice, I actually felt calmer and more normal than ever before, despite normally having an extreme persistent level of baseline anxiety, particularly outside and around people, the more people and sensory information there was, actually struck up conversations with people and socialized, which normally I would literally
never do.), if I had been challenged and engaged, found my peers, people I could relate to, if I hadn't completely closed myself off emotionally and isolated myself to an extreme degree, engaged in constant rumination afterward, how I may have developed differently if I had felt differently and given people a chance, if someone had managed to get through to me (
No one ever managed to, no student or teacher, despite their attempts, how many girls expressed interest that I responded to by shunning and completely ignoring them every single time. Not out of typical reasons like mistrust, paranoia, anxiety; fuck, a lifetime of thoughts, the magnitude that occur when you spent your entire life inside your head. I'm not sure if anyone could have done it. Maybe the right technique, a strong enough effort, rare/unique enough person I could identify with. Well, it didn't happen and no one owed me anything, there was no savior like there would be in a work of fiction.), break open my heart, if I had wanted to go to a good college and aimed for it, despite the flaws, knowing that the idea of the "college experience" was a joke to me, that I'm sure the vast majority of the classes and people wouldn't have interested me, just so I could have had the chance to possibly find a handful of people I could relate to, form relationships with. At that time, for whatever reason, my autistic traits were
much more prominent; I did not understand the incredible amount of damage I was doing to myself, the importance and value of human relationships; I saw people as something to be analyzed like you would a separate species, but later realized that on an intimate level I did not understand people at all, or feel the connection to them you're normally supposed to, and I did not understand how to navigate and live life as a human being. Unlike most autists I understood people perfectly, their behavior wasn't a mystery to me, I just didn't like them, it felt that there were fundamental inadequacies, I had abstracted, deconstructed, and analyzed everything to oblivion, saw the flaws in everything and fixated on them, until I didn't want anything to do with them or society. Fuck, I could state the behaviors/predispositions I noticed, cite studies, the biology/neurology/genetics underpinning them, evolutionary/psychological theories, similar for the environment and its effect on me, the behaviors I engaged in, what I lacked/missed out on.
I genuinely was not curious about other people and their activities, I only wanted to be alone. I wasn't concerned about adhering to conventional morality and thought that family didn't deserve special treatment due to not having had a choice in who they were, because if we had been strangers I would never have associated with them, because they felt inadequate and mundane, uninteresting and insignificant. I remember being against love, any involvement with women, and even attempting to abstain from masturbation during puberty because I felt it was animalistic, I didn't like the biological drive and emotions, the irrationality, skewing my behavior, I saw how shallow most relationships were, what drove their initiation. I didn't even want to have emotions because I felt they were a barrier to full mastery over myself. Who the fuck does that, who decides that, in their early teens? That they want to live this way and detach themselves from everyone, refuse to barely speak to anyone unless necessary, even their own family? Who leaves their family without a word and genuinely doesn't feel anything for them, any guilt or regret, or even think about them, until they finally break down and go into a major depressive episode, which may simply have the effects of ruminating thoughts, guilt and increased empathy, stemming from a natural biological trigger arising from evolutionary pressure? How do you go a decade like this without feeling loneliness or wanting to change? What the hell does this do to your development? Literally missing out on every major life event that requires other people, absolutely devoid of meaningful human relationships and experience, of warmth.
This does not occur without having something profoundly wrong with you to begin with, without developing abnormally, coming away without massive damage.
https://www.reddit.com/r/Psychonaut/...epression_and/"This
can't be what life is supposed to feel like, the human race would never have survived."
I was not experiencing conscious reality the way normal people do, I did not have a normal sense of empathy and connection to others, something within the social regions of my brain must have been profoundly abnormal, malfunctioning, misshapen, absent? Caught in one of the most vicious cycles imaginable, a perfect storm leading to an utter psychological trainwreck. I
destroyed myself.
Aaaand then, suddenly, one day it all hits you, it all breaks (comes tumbling down, tumbling down, tumbling) down, and you realize how unhappy you are, that you're never going to happy like this. You realize what a mistake you've made, the years of your life you'll never get back, the overwhelming guilt and regret, the damage you've done, innate flaws that were there to begin with, for which there may be no cure, question whether you'll ever (re)gain any semblance of normality, whether happiness would even be enough, whether, analogous to the Allegory of the Cave, you've permanently ruined the world for yourself, will never see things the same again, be able to be satisfied by them, everything seems overwhelming and insurmountable, you begin to question whether you even want to be a part of this world, with its ugliness, with your inability to see any path for meaning and fulfillment in life, questioning what it amounts to, the nature of consciousness, metaphysical uncertainty,the potential horrors the future can contain, are within the realm of possibility that we already know of, whether there's anything to be feared from death and if it's preferable to facing this horror for only...uncertainty.
It is not normal to be fixated on these issues, to feel this way, in what are supposed to be the prime years of your life. Jokingly I would refer to my condition as terminal autism. I've also described it as cancer of the soul, feeling like you've skipped being a teenager and went straight to being an old man, having a foreboding sense that death is near, feeling like your in the final stages of your life rather than the beginning, that you're dying inside, that it's become literally painful to simply be alive, you imagine that this is what the beginning stages of terminal illness feels like, feeling like one day you're simply going to wake up and begin coughing up puddles of blood.
And this is only an overview.
Thank god I have etizolam and have decided to stay on it until I get some Nardil. I need the most powerful antidepressants available, and I've driven myself to the point where by themselves they still wouldn't be enough to allow this to continue. Imagine if one day something changes and you understand exactly what went wrong at every point, the veil drops and you are the eyes that can see themselves, what was never meant to be seen, and yet here you are, trapped in this grotesque monstrosity, the most absurd of absurdities, powerless to change the past and ever regain what you've lost, not knowing what can be salvaged. Through some shift, either by chance, some natural progression of your body, some physiological change, or inadvertently from the myriad of interventions, substances and techniques, you've taken to an extreme, the overwhelming amount of theories as to the etiology and abnormalities making it uncertain just what occurred, for the first time in your life you identify the distinct of feeling loneliness, of longing for others, a desire for relationships, people in your lives, to learn about them, everything that you genuinely could not see before due to what must have some profound form of autism or likeness of it. Somehow you've managed to do what almost no one could, but you are now in the worst position possible. Everything that's occurred, everything in your mind, the conditioning, habits, perceptions that have been cemented through the countless repetitions occurring under an autistic lifestyle of being trapped within yourself, the constant rumination, the rigidity of (patterns of) thought, of ideology and responses; when the veil of human emotion drops and your detachment has reached the level where you are unable to see things other than the way you know they really are. The damage that must have occurred, the complete lack of experience, being unrelatable, with this past, an empty life; you're so far behind everyone else and the kind of people that may be the only ones you would want in your life forever unattainable. You have driven yourself to nothing, there are no friends, acquaintances, family, relatives, coworkers, and this is not using strict definitions, no one you lost touch with and could reconnect to; there is simply no one there. The most profound sense of disillusionment, alienation, and isolation. Kafka on steroids.
...There is an idea of who I am, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though my mask of sanity shattered long ago and I stopped being able to hide my cold gaze, the utter lack of humanity within my eyes, and you can sense through every movement that there is something profoundly wrong, with me, if you dare or are simply oblivious you can even shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours, confirm the reality of something so seemingly aberrant and disturbing, and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are completely incomparable, you miss the most horrifying truth of all: I simply am not there. It is hard for me to make sense on any given level. Myself is fabricated, an aberration. I am a noncontingent human being. My personality is sketchy and unformed, my heartlessness goes deep and is persistent. My conscience, my pity, my hopes disappeared a long time ago if they ever did exist. There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it, I have now surpassed. I still, though, hold on to one single bleak truth: no one is safe, nothing is redeemed. Yet I am blameless. Each model of human behavior must be assumed to have some validity. Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do? My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this—and I have countless times, in just about every act I’ve committed—and coming face-to-face with these truths, there is no catharsis. I gain no deeper knowledge about myself, no new understanding can be extracted from my telling. There has been no reason for me to tell you any of this. This confession has meant nothing….
