Showing posts with label cptsd. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cptsd. Show all posts

Tuesday, 19 December 2023

Cognitive Alchemy (Introduction & Primer)

Part 1: Deprogramming with metaphysics & magick : a how to guide: In my next post I will outline the details of what that process of reprogramming spiritually, purification & protection. How and what that starts to look like in detail, the psychology and metaphysics in a simple dot point format based upon a dot point overlap from both my own personal notes from my personal journals. Sharing it in order to provide a valuable resource that may also help others going through the integrating from MKULTRA & trauma based mind control programming process based on formula I have utilised in my own recovery. I will also outline my personal energy work for cleansing, grounding and healing your energetic sphere of influence, grounding, cantering and balancing your energetic field. This is based around the Wiccan & Ceremonial Magickal pathworking grades of elemental Air, Fire, Water & Earth. in addition to the tree of life and the kabbalah in its purest form, a system that has been inverted and programmed in many survivors. Why I see this is as important for survivors of ritual abuse and trauma based mind control is we have endured the most heinous left hand park, black lodge, black magick rituals that need to be intricately reversed. The most intense spiritual processes cannot or will not touch programming that is done with more modern technologically adept methods, especially those in the mid-late 80s-90s. Prayer and deliverance has its place but alone can often upset powerful generational spirits cemented inside the minds of survivors. By unlocking and relaying and then purging, purifying and cleansing entire system that was cemented by your programming in THE RIGHT WAY, you can achieve the most optimal deliverance, healing and exorcism (and more), that is rendered ineffective or ultimately, uninstalled by the self imposed blocks, and limits, programming has in place, alone. It’s not a path for those who want to walk an easy path. It is going to be hard either way. It will be uncomfortable on each side. This path is not a new age or generic gimmick, and has stood the test of time. It will at all times wherever possible avoid triggering themes like Hebrew words and themes that are lacking clear discernment of what they mean like other ceremonial magickal systems like The Golden Dawn, OTO, A.A. (Meaning everything is in plain English and easy to understand, unless it’s spiritism based prayers where it’s deviated into latinised roots but can be understood & translated back).

Wednesday, 2 August 2023

SEX & DEATH


 
27/2/09 - SEX and DEATH.


 
“ Two greatest obsessions and motivating forces that drive humanity"
 


Liberation
Enchantment
Evocation
Invocation
Divination
Gnosis
 
The truth exists within the symbolic crevices that are ridden throughout the history that my soul has withstood.
 that dark encoaxing misery that used to ride my soul and inject my heart with the most vile and toxic infestation of venom, has been replaced by the warmth of this splendorous embrace that can only match the definition that they call happiness. 
 
But misery would be an ongoing hell if happiness had not shown its face. 
 
I now understand why suffering is needed for anything good to be worth something.
 
For ying and yang presents the fact that all things have this soul which was split in two. Duality. 
 
Shattered with the line that drives the divide of dark and light, black and white, day and night. 
Thus, I have lived a life with my soul in accordance to a broken duality juxtaposed upon itself  in patterns without end. 
 
I'm deeply split. To the core. 




 
Last night I took a final walk and endured that the burden of his ghastly fixation that broke my heart, mind and soul in the most bitter desperation was a fragment of the past which I see as a once rumbling volcano, now lies dormant and repressed.
 but considered for it was the power I sucked from the "love" he ensnared which brought me the insight to dissolve the "reality" which used to attempt to skin me alive and slaughter the blazing fire inside with its mind-numbing hide and buildings made on a foundation of lies. Maybe I can build a city from the ashes.  
 
For our connection that retied and tied and wired strings that were trying not to spill the surging potential that hid within was smashed by the illusion he buried on my skin as he drove the syringe of poison in. 
 
The never-ending spiralling staircase to oblivion was extracted, and replaced with a vision that dissolved the meaningless division into a curious and clear journey that would broaden my scope for wisdom.
 
It is time to grow and evolve. 
 
For an indefinite length of time, my mind had been fed with contaminated lies and the misleading guide that our society provides and slides across humanity's eyes. 
 
I was sick with my disguises.
 
My obvious isolation and disheartened soul blackened with a slab of misinformation was the perfect equation of self-eradication, 
for when one is made to feel like such a disgusting degradation life becomes a purposeless humiliation. 
 
Suppression of all that surged within beating and hounding my heart for a means of release, denial of my insides resulted in apathetic bliss. 
 
I was building on the hope of an outsider's momentous sacrifice. 
 
The majority's quest for an enslaving demise. 
But for the years I spent locked in the dark, I could only feel half of my murmuring heart, I never felt at home being herded with the masses, nor belonging as one.
I always felt something was missing.
 I'm an outsider, who was cast out from the in;
something to circle the sea of what humanity thrives off with an electrifying glee and eccentric conditions. 
On the edge of surrender to the fucking pretender my spiral that could've ended with a lifeless teenage melancholic drama queens suicidal body smashing across the rocks;
swept up by the surging and chaotic currents that lament the rolling and glistening oceanic seas of this divine planet.
for my path was snared in the glassy endurance of a wave that is destined to climb and fall in the rising motion of the labile tides of time under tension,
It carried my lifeless body and as the sway of the rolling waves droned on for what seemed like an eternity of days until my fog-ridden haze was spread with the brightest daze, 
a mixture of chemical-induced craze on top of sweet-tasting riddles that caused my heart to sizzle, 
even when the coldest winter days, 
made that shiver turn into a body-shaking quiver. 
 
That burst of the divine alchemical riddle was an elixir I could never not chase. 
 
For a moment, the dark cold was kept away by his temporary embrace and with each perfectly delivered line my heart was degaussed and the catatonic mask was carefully removed, although in the end I was failed by him again and again. 
In the end, 
I am embraced by my inner animus, and his voice melted into my brain and taught me how to do the things I couldn't before. 
Now I am engulfed by the transfiguration of the chemical equation merging my sense of self from the old into the new, again and again, the journey, unending.
 
I do thank the correlation that provided the key to turn in the lock concealed under that heavily burdened block, the key to perceive.
 
It was a short journey inclined to shock and jolt my insides to a wide-eyed plight, 
The initiation of my darkest night of the soul, 
burning with passion to light the lack of sight covering my eyes. 
 
His warm comforting arms wrapped so perfectly around me that it wasn't hard to seethe with the exhilarating fury that engulfed as he walked away from me. 
But as I tumbled from the rapture of that well-documented capture that was brutal and beautiful enough to paint a fine and divine tunnel that entwined and ventured through even the most infinite divides and ranges that are embedded in one subconscious mind, for he showed my heart how to examine the picture that ones imagination indents in a bewildered whisper, when I learnt how to see an objective perception every motherfucking misconception was redefined and shown how to find the path that follows one's mind. I was hit by the illusion that brought me the path toward a fusion - for I will banish this disillusion!
 
Journey Inside
 


For each wicked laughing demon I hide 
Legions inside mirrors behind
with an intent to deride the underlying thirst that burns so intense, 
like an enchanted forest devoured by a flaming fire, 
Imagine as each shred of once untainted greenery is burnt to a crispy ash without mercy its once lively desire is slashed! 
The potential to quench this rampaging dryness that coats my insides like a heat-fueled desire is limited, 
when I opt to escape what instigates and manipulates its dirt-ridden traits trying to keep my eyes blinded like a good piece of bait. 
For when I run like a coward and try to escape hate I turn the potential for love and throw it away. I am darkness, 
I AM DEATH, I AM HATE. 

I am blessed, I am okay. 
Each dark-driven desire in turn provides the power to ignite into a bright and white light. 
That will crackle with delight and fill me with insight, 
each demon that doesn’t go buried and denied is worth 
the temporary snide for eventually it will share its will to slide down that spiral slide that is a cherished ride full of wisdom that hides power and knowledge, 
for once it was required that each sparking ignite that surged in flight was forced to endure a fight as it struggled to remain 
as a single complete charge that could spin and win 
with the energising whim of two polar extremes that existed within,
providing this powerful completion, that was more coherent 
than a puzzle pieced together,
or ordinary weather. 
Habits were provoked to evoke and the true nature awoke 
as each surge was callously drawn apart from the complete, 
full circular whirring spin.
It was just existing within and like a painful separation, 
all that existed was diced, split down the centre in a single slice! 
Roll the dice, splice, twice!
 
The surging spin had lost the fully charged whim and these disillusioned particles were injected with what we call rejection, a lost and molested abandoned product of separation, 
These molecular charges longed for reunification for the hand that would mould perfectly into yours, a fusing but eternally painful quest to regain the original equation of what adds to draw together as one from the first hint of separation the hole that follows began to evolve and it was then the split mould was given away to unfold in what manifested into day and night, black and white. The dark and the light that divides the essence of this life.
 
So what I'm trying to describe is how opposing forces have been summoned to a sleepless slur that will cause a havoc but invisible stir, 
 
Day brings the light and is followed by night which presents us with dark, is not a surprise that black contrasts with white for death follows life and my ultimate desire is to overrule this water racing against fire by dissolving away oblivious to the seductive sway of beautiful decay. 
 
This never-ending switch turns on and off but never stops,
 until one admits that everything apparent is also split, 
into an opposing glitch that threads the stitch that weaves together the fabricated illusion due to their disillusion, 
for they trick their minds to feel the impact of the programming.
 
Break the duality, the dichotomy is juxtaposed but both can exist as one creating the trinity, as Pythagoras once spoke of, the constructive angles that create the designs of the structures we build the blocks of our foundations in.
Build a way out.
 
humans, mostly, instead of being real and uncovering all that is reeled away out of grasp so they live blissfully in a heap of bullshit and tell themselves this two dimensional construct of a reality paradigm is all there is. 
it's a program engineered to manipulate your senses engineering your consciousness for the power-money-asset-controller pyramid point that control the resources, media, food, energy, information, land, all aspects of governance by design by design. (UN/AGENDA21/NWO)
 
its fact!
 
To be wise enough to override the lies is not for the weak or the cowards who are meek as the false foundations that formulate the lies are the only haven in which one might find that euphoric carefree splendour that laments a fictitious conclusion.
 
This is a trap, the illusion of democracy comes under the illusion of duality and corresponds to the myth of determinism/fate style philosophical modules of thought. 
 
FREE-WILL is what all reasonable humans should exercise, but not without both introspective and self-reflection and Socratic and intellectual discussion. 
 
Thinking from a macro-cosmic view, or a meta-view is also a way to engage in a deeper understanding of reality. 
 


**** NOTE FROM 2023:

 

I write this in 2023 after reading the 2009 journal entry that appears to be one of my first "magick journal" entries above working from "Liber Null & Psychonaut" by Peter Carroll.

 i was 17 years old and still had the foresight to know somehow to keep a magickal journal because i didn't know, i was a born magician/psychic/medium/spiritist.

.

 I had no “conscious” involvement in magickal work until a few years after this, (evidence says otherwise)when i was practicing daily ceremonial magick and since then i keep a strict magick journal that helps me piece together cause and effect. 

I don't understand anyone who claims to be a serious magician and not even log the most basic workings down in a notebook, it baffles to my core. If you can't write then type it but keep it private, why share everything you do?



Thinking from a macro-cosmic view, or a meta-view is also a way to engage in a deeper understanding of reality. 

 

Many people even today, be it in the alternative media, conspiracy, occult, magick, or community do not engage in healthy levels of both intellectual discourse and self-introspection that is without evocative, shouting emotionally jacked up opinions from the rooftop style social media commentary.

I am going back to analyse and reflect on my many years of shadow work and see the weakness and strength of character to build on in my present state. 

 

Say your truth on social media, but keep in mind, that journaling and keeping private notes and records of things is a timeless art that thousands of years worth of sorcerers stored into well-preserved (albeit often mega cryptographed) grimoires. 


I am also going back to these old journals as an exercise of introspection and self reflection, and because I wasn't properly practicing evocation per-say, I am happy to share my writing because I can now look at it in retrospect as the start of a very long dark night of the soul journey. I can no longer write the poetry of Chronzon, or the tunnels of set, so I ascribe myself the task of auditing them to understand my ordeals through the Qlioppth. 

 

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS WRITTEN FROM 2009, I was a teenager. 

NOT 2023. EDITED IN 2023. 

 

 

QOAW.

Wednesday, 1 September 2021

INTRO: PSYCHOTIC BITCH


 
If you read, you'll judge. SO FUCK OFF.
 
 
22/2/09
 
Incessant, consistent bordering temperamental, unpredictable A BLUR:
If I have to choose a collection of adjectives to describe the onset of this year, those would be my chosen few.
 
CHAOS.
 
Regardless of the rollercoaster worthy joy start + my chin is well above the ground and my heart is still beating heavily. 
 
I DEFY ALL SCIENCE.  
I SHOULDN'T BE ALIVE.
 
If I rewound the tick-tock clock and set it to playback the events of the past seven months, plus add a vile and disruptive little monster who cunningly asks the -7 month ago me whether she'd picture her circumstance to be drawn the way it is at current, I would of honestly told that rude and intrusive little monster that I would be a world away from here. 
 
DEAD
 
Regardless, I'm glad of the insipid destination which I've landed in. 
 
I spent the first 44 days of this year off my head on drugs.
 
EMPLOYED TO SELF-DESTRUCT AT ANY AND ALL COSTS. Even while I study and work. 
 
You want to know the truth though?
 
I feel like I've been reborn. 
 
Despite my "oh-so-obvious" junkie quota being fulfilled, I am more mentally stable than I've been in a very long time. 
 
Lie out my tarot cards and offer me a million dollars to reveal my future and I'll still tell you to fuck off. Fate isn't real. Nothing can be predetermined. 
 
Time is interchangeable and a flexible masterpiece. 
 
Anything is possible, this rollercoaster ride is becoming more wild by the macro-second.
 
The tunnel we're lurching through is poisoned with pitch black inevitability. 
 
I am my own god, don't try and bring me down with a kingdom of deceit.
 
This isn't real
This isn't real
This isn't REAL
This isn't REAL.
 
ASHAMED.
 
Time goes to waste

Ashamed is something that I've scrunched up and thrown away into the past.

****
accidental recovery arose from this period of intentional self annihilation. 

Tuesday, 14 July 2020

Childhood, secrets, silence & secrets of the soul shattered: [Reintegrating soul fragments Day 1]

 Childhood, secrets, silence & secrets of the soul shattered: 

[Reintegrating soul fragments Day 1]

 

Tuesday, 14th July, 2020.

 

 

By now, I have already broken too many promises for goals, and outcomes I set myself, I think this is more of a reflection of my own interaction with the society around me, than my own lack of power to seek out these goals. I have lived a life full of turmoil, obstacles and challenges from the hidden hand, meaning I’m in a perpetual state of “waiting for the next bad thing to come”, but passionate enough to still have this slittge of hope that “maybe this pain will be worthwhile in the end”. 

I have broken so many promises to myself, but I owe it to myself now, to be honest about my life, in order to break free, I must first, release the burden of my souls’ secrets. 

I am in a pioneering phase of integrating childhood dissociation, and I have experimental approaches to “do anything to make it out, at any cost”. ‘

 

In other words: I’m so committed to my healing, to my recovery and to live a life of happiness, harmony and shared joy- that I’ll do anything, try anything, no matter how extreme, to test its veracity for a sense of safety, connection and peace. 

 

It goes beyond the average thrill seeking impulsive thoughtless acts of self-destruction now, or extrinsic people pleasing motivation to feel a sense of belonging, no. 

Now I’m walking rogue, aware, disturbed and staring the beast straight in the eyes.

 

Day after day is another spiritual war, full circle, to the distressed, disgusting and disfiguring days of decades bygone. But these decades long lost in the spiral of time, have etched the electric cattle prod of prolonged, repeated, never-ending pain upon my molecular anatomy. 

 

In other words, my normal, is this daily battle, but once I was blinded to it]s nature, locked in a self-destruction spiral towards suicide. Now, I see through the smoke & mirrors and my souls truth, has been aroused by the endurance of my pushing through the perpetual setbacks. 

 

In recent times, it’s become an act of spiritual warfare, of metaphysical duality, in which, both good and evil, are carved upon me, that no matter what I do, or where I go, the longer I go on, the more I see the shadow for what it is, and the shadow aligns to my own secrets. So when I see that my life events, and the stain of the world, are one in the same, 

 

I have to understand the nature of spiritual warfare, and have faith in my self-acceptance, that my experience, has shaped me, and I have the choice to be abused forever, or to stand up, against the adversity that has followed me sinmce my inception, generational, incarnations of soul stains. and the line between madness and mysticism has bowed, broken and traversed to the point of my safety now comes from the danger and chaos, no matter the potential risk. 

 

It's funny how spiritual purpose can really change the trajectory of a life-path. When I say change it, I mean, it's been radically propelled, primarily from the self-discovery, self-understanding and my own coming into my most authentic self. 

 

It all starts with society, the social norms conditioned into us as children warp the perception we grow to inhabit as adults. Souls; young, old and ancient, all face the perpetual journey of being incarnated here, to complete and fulfil whatever journey is unique, to each and every souled being on this planet. 

 

Since birth, I've been aware of my old-soul gnosis, inexplicable intuition that has ruled my emotions since as far back as my memory can span. As environment, personality, genetics and neurobiology all contribute to the complex make up of humans, each soul has it's own customised journey that it has embarked upon, whether the soul is aware of this or not, doesn’t change the essence of time under tension. I've died, and even my spirit was still earth bound, the physical vessel, is the instrument, to attune to the beauty and mystery of life and the planet, earth, that sustains life. 

 

I have traversed hell, heaven and the many realms In between in less than three decades, and I’ve been buried alive, and crawling through dirt, flame & carnal stains to survive suicide, self-hate, and unending self-blame. Now my soul still holds secrets decades old. 

 

 

I can tell you that I've walked the line between life and death hundreds of times, many, unconscious, even for moments, trapped, my soul suspended in time, watching my body from above. It starts as dissociation, which is a natural survival skill adapted in situations my infant-childhood body found herself trapped in. 

 

With each passing birthday, my soul, coupled a self-perpetuating downhill spiral of my own bio-psychosocial makeup, caused ever increasing feelings of sadness, sickness, loneliness, defectiveness, self-desolation, depression, despair and an overwhelming dread that paralysed me into fits of anxiety. I spent most of my childhood in a state of perpetual nausea, disengaged from the world around me, with brief moments of fleeting joy, that were always followed with something that would devour any sense of impending happiness and beat me down with the feeling that something was very wrong in the world, everything and everyone seemed to be alien to me, I hoped, that behind closed doors, that others were like me, and my secrets were not as solitary, or secretive. 

 

Duality is the nature of the universe, right? But the extremes are the exception. The themes of my life extremes, always felt, in the most savage capacity.

My soul and heart have been born, to roar with fire, passionate and extreme measures, becoming my go-to game. 

 

Age seven, how can a child understand, that what she experiences, isn't the norm?  When the norm is so filthy, rotten and deceptive, that the child turns on herself, rejects herself and everything representing herself, in order to split away, and float without aim, to be okay.

 

Dissociative identity disorder and its many fragmented parts that linger between trauma and split moments of transient life, never a constant, only blending into dissected compartments of mind, divided time, split soul now seeks the wholeness stripped by soul-loss.

 

It is here I find a sense of release, or relief, from these slumbering echoes that keep their resonant burning heat, electric cattle prod penetrating, dissecting, displacing. 

 

I had nowhere to go, but beyond, away. 

 

Instead, I looked outside, to find myself, in others. As I had no self or a cohesive sense of self, for inner guidance, I had to seek meaning outside. To be something, worthy, or nothing, just anything beyond the torment in my earlier life. 

 

I have always looked for the good in other people, and I've had to cling to that goodness that I find, which is another coping mechanism I picked up when I was drowning in feelings of deep dread, topped with the delightfully self-degrading but complimentary, pervasive feelings of: disgust, depression, desolation and despair.

 

Childhood wasn't easy. I never want to downplay other people who had pleasant experiences, but I cannot see how any child growing up when I did, could be anything but, royally fucked up, by the level of the unseen, hidden world, that some of us lived day after day. 

 

But I never understood what was happening at the time, it wasn’t until I was 6 or 7 I noticed other girls were “pretty, clean” and I was “dirty, disfigured, dumb, messy, ugly”. 

 

Childhood wasn’t just unclean due to one event. It was everything, every corner of my life was saturated by no choice, no ablity to control what was happening, no matter how much I tried, the magnitude of what happened meant dissociation was my best-friend, and the characters I created in my mind, were who I went out to survive in the world, for decades, this was all I knew.

I made my parts come to life on paper, to create anything, anyone, who was going to be accepted by other people. 

 

I've mastered the actress skill to a level, by the time I was hitting puberty, the endless switches and seamless personalities I'd embody, were the only thing that propelled me forward, fragmented, life lived in glitches and thousands of rainbow characters, who were all "better" than whatever "my real self" was. In the daily roles I would endure, adapt, evolve, and eventually, living a complete lie, strangers, living in my body, memory, or ability to slip my consciousness away from my mind, splitting off into the aether, was the only thing that was possible. 

 

I looked to others, but lacking anything positive, I would cling to anything, desperate and hungry for love, the moment any authentic piece of my soul would slip into action; the people in the world around me rejected and denied her. In fact, I was told, I was bad, evil, naughty and selfish. I was also told I was smart, beautiful and had the world at my fingers. The perpetual double bind only caused my soul to depart, and for years, I lived a very convincing lie.

 

The issue we face is, that nothing was ever safe to blossom, or grow organically. From as young as birth my brain was being pried and tweaked, my soul, heart and spirit; shattered, built up with lies, special-treats & false dichotomies (lose-lose). 

 

I would say by age 3, I had evacuated my soul from body, only transient phases of return, which would always confirm the dreadful day after day, which meant I split my consciousness away over and over again. 

 

I was in grade 1 the last time I saw her,  6 years too long, carnal knowledge is the most heinous soul splitting technique, I felt no hope, no future, no self-awareness, no sense of safety, nothing but this dread, that drowned out anything that was transient, and relatively "normal" childhood experiences. Making them seem, after years of this, redundant, so I became more adept at wearing my characters to find a sense of connection with the people around me. 

Childhood, secrets, silence & secrets of the soul shattered: 

[Reintegrating soul fragments Day 1]

 

Tuesday, 14th July, 2020.

 

 

By now, I have already broken too many promises for goals, and outcomes I set myself, I think this is more of a reflection of my own interaction with the society around me, than my own lack of power to seek out these goals. I have lived a life full of turmoil, obstacles and challenges from the hidden hand, meaning I’m in a perpetual state of “waiting for the next bad thing to come”, but passionate enough to still have this slittge of hope that “maybe this pain will be worthwhile in the end”. 

I have broken so many promises to myself, but I owe it to myself now, to be honest about my life, in order to break free, I must first, release the burden of my souls’ secrets. 

I am in a pioneering phase of integrating childhood dissociation, and I have experimental approaches to “do anything to make it out, at any cost”. ‘

 

In other words: I’m so committed to my healing, my recovery, attempting to live a life of happiness, harmony and shared joy- that I’ll do anything, try anything, no matter how extreme, to test its veracity for a sense of safety, connection and peace. 

 

It goes beyond the average thrill seeking impulsive thoughtless acts of self-destruction now, or extrinsic people pleasing motivation to feel a sense of belonging, no. 

Now I’m walking rogue, aware, disturbed and staring the beast straight in the eyes.

 

Day after day is another spiritual war, full circle, to the distressed, disgusting and disfiguring days of decades bygone. But these decades long lost in the spiral of time, have etched the electric cattle prod of prolonged, repeated, never-ending pain upon my molecular anatomy. 

 

In other words, my normal, is this daily battle, but once I was blinded to it]s nature, locked in a self-destruction spiral towards suicide. Now, I see through the smoke & mirrors and my souls truth, has been aroused by the endurance of my pushing through the perpetual setbacks. 

 

In recent times, it’s become an act of spiritual warfare, of metaphysical duality, in which, both good and evil, are carved upon me, that no matter what I do, or where I go, the longer I go on, the more I see the shadow for what it is, and the shadow aligns to my own secrets. So when I see that my life events, and the stain of the world, are one in the same, 

 

I have had to learn how understand the nature of spiritual warfare, and have faith in my self-acceptance, that my experience, has shaped me, and I have the choice to be abused forever, or to stand up, against the adversity that has followed me since my inception, generational, incarnations of soul stains. and the line between madness and mysticism has bowed, broken.

 

 and traversed to the point of my safety now comes from the danger and chaos, no matter the potential risk. 

 

It's funny how spiritual purpose can really change the trajectory of a life-path. When I say change it, I mean, it's been radically propelled, primarily from the self-discovery, self-understanding and my own coming into my most authentic self. 

 

It all starts with society, the social norms conditioned into us as children warp the perception we grow to inhabit as adults. Souls; young, old and ancient, all face the perpetual journey of being incarnated here, to complete and fulfil whatever journey is unique, to each and every souled being on this planet. 

 

Since birth, I've been aware of my old-soul gnosis, inexplicable intuition that has ruled my emotions since as far back as my memory can span. As environment, personality, genetics and neurobiology all contribute to the complex make up of humans, each soul has it's own customised journey that it has embarked upon, whether the soul is aware of this or not, doesn’t change the essence of time under tension. I've died, and even my spirit was still earth bound, the physical vessel, is the instrument, to attune to the beauty and mystery of life and the planet, earth, that sustains life. 

 

I have traversed hell, heaven and the many realms In between in less than three decades, and I’ve been buried alive, and crawling through dirt, flame & carnal stains to survive suicide, self-hate, and unending self-blame. Now my soul still holds secrets decades old. 

 

 

I can tell you that I've walked the line between life and death hundreds of times, many, unconscious, even for moments, trapped, my soul suspended in time, watching my body from above. It starts as dissociation, which is a natural survival skill adapted in situations my infant-childhood body found herself trapped in. 

 

With each passing birthday, my soul, coupled a self-perpetuating downhill spiral of my own bio-psychosocial makeup, caused ever increasing feelings of sadness, sickness, loneliness, defectiveness, self-desolation, depression, despair and an overwhelming dread that paralysed me into fits of anxiety. I spent most of my childhood in a state of perpetual nausea, disengaged from the world around me, with brief moments of fleeting joy, that were always followed with something that would devour any sense of impending happiness and beat me down with the feeling that something was very wrong in the world, everything and everyone seemed to be alien to me, I hoped, that behind closed doors, that others were like me, and my secrets were not as solitary, or secretive. 

 

Duality is the nature of the universe, right? But the extremes are the exception. The themes of my life extremes, always felt, in the most savage capacity.

My soul and heart have been born, to roar with fire, passionate and extreme measures, becoming my go-to game. 

 

Age seven, how can a child understand, that what she experiences, isn't the norm?  When the norm is so filthy, rotten and deceptive, that the child turns on herself, rejects herself and everything representing herself, in order to split away, and float without aim, to be okay.

 

Dissociative identity disorder and its many fragmented parts that linger between trauma and split moments of transient life, never a constant, only blending into dissected compartments of mind, divided time, split soul now seeks the wholeness stripped by soul-loss.

 

It is here I find a sense of release, or relief, from these slumbering echoes that keep their resonant burning heat, electric cattle prod penetrating, dissecting, displacing. 

 

I had nowhere to go, but beyond, away. 

 

Instead, I looked outside, to find myself, in others. As I had no self or a cohesive sense of self, for inner guidance, I had to seek meaning outside. To be something, worthy, or nothing, just anything beyond the torment in my earlier life. 

 

I have always looked for the good in other people, and I've had to cling to that goodness that I find, which is another coping mechanism I picked up when I was drowning in feelings of deep dread, topped with the delightfully self-degrading but complimentary, pervasive feelings of: disgust, depression, desolation and despair.

 

Childhood wasn't easy. I never want to downplay other people who had pleasant experiences, but I cannot see how any child growing up when I did, could be anything but, royally fucked up, by the level of the unseen, hidden world, that some of us lived day after day. 

 

But I never understood what was happening at the time, it wasn’t until I was 6 or 7 I noticed other girls were “pretty, clean” and I was “dirty, disfigured, dumb, messy, ugly”. 

 

Childhood wasn’t just unclean due to one event. It was everything, every corner of my life was saturated by no choice, no ablity to control what was happening, no matter how much I tried, the magnitude of what happened meant dissociation was my best-friend, and the characters I created in my mind, were who I went out to survive in the world, for decades, this was all I knew.

I made my parts come to life on paper, to create anything, anyone, who was going to be accepted by other people. 

 

I've mastered the actress skill to a level, by the time I was hitting puberty, the endless switches and seamless personalities I'd embody, were the only thing that propelled me forward, fragmented, life lived in glitches and thousands of rainbow characters, who were all "better" than whatever "my real self" was. In the daily roles I would endure, adapt, evolve, and eventually, living a complete lie, strangers, living in my body, memory, or ability to slip my consciousness away from my mind, splitting off into the aether, was the only thing that was possible. 

 

I looked to others, but lacking anything positive, I would cling to anything, desperate and hungry for love, the moment any authentic piece of my soul would slip into action; the people in the world around me rejected and denied her. In fact, I was told, I was bad, evil, naughty and selfish. I was also told I was smart, beautiful and had the world at my fingers. The perpetual double bind only caused my soul to depart, and for years, I lived a very convincing lie.

 

The issue we face is, that nothing was ever safe to blossom, or grow organically. From as young as birth my brain was being pried and tweaked, my soul, heart and spirit; shattered, built up with lies, special-treats & false dichotomies (lose-lose). 

 

I would say by age 3, I had evacuated my soul from body, only transient phases of return, which would always confirm the dreadful day after day, which meant I split my consciousness away over and over again. 

 

I was in grade 1 the last time I saw her,  6 years too long, carnal knowledge is the most heinous soul splitting technique, I felt no hope, no future, no self-awareness, no sense of safety, nothing but this dread, that drowned out anything that was transient, and relatively "normal" childhood experiences. Making them seem, after years of this, redundant, so I became more adept at wearing my characters to find a sense of connection with the people around me.

Wednesday, 4 July 2018

How a child's innocence is corrupted by the wickedness of pedophilia


2017, Flooding with memories dissociation and fragmentation:

She understood by that age her parents intention was to wean her out of the habit of cowering on her parents’ bedroom floor whenever the creatures would crawl from the shadows and out of the walls. 
 
They didn’t know her only refuge was when they played with her, or read her stories, or gave her affection. She loved when they would answer her questions. But two babies came along. The eldest child was quickly shunned, for their second and third sons were much easier to raise. 
 
They were peaceful babies, without any night-terrors or yelling into the early morning for their parents attention. They never screamed, rarely had tantrums, and abided by rules. Her parents invested all their energy, on their sons, who they felt were less damaged, their hypersensitive daughter could sense they had love for her siblings that they couldn’t give to her, and over her school years, as her behaviour became more bizarre, their disfigured daughter was forgotten, swept under the rug. 
 
Not only did she feel alone at home, but she was shunned by her peers and they called her ‘weird”. She would wander the playground alone, looking for someone who didn’t slice a knife through her chest when she asked them if she could play with them that day, another no, and she was afraid tears would roll down her face; “crybaby, crybaby, what a baby!” and leer, the boys in her class would tease her, so she hid her face in disgrace. The out of bounds toilets and library a refuge, an escape. 
Books were her friend, her final solution. She remembers a girl calling her a “grub”, for dropping a spoonful of yoghurt down her school jacket. 
This deemed her unworthy of being allowed to play with these girls. Again. Alone. It was painful, and she cried all lunch, and could not get past it. 
 
On her school worksheets she would call herself “Emily”, and her teachers called her parents to ask why their daughter didn’t write her real name. Her parents perplexed at why their child was deviating from what they had taught her at home. The inner shame endured before age 5 was to blame for her inner pain. 
Never wanting to write it down on pieces of paper or books. She hated her name, because she felt she was to blame for hands creeping into areas where it gave her shame so virulent, it would make her retch and heavy. Her heart was heavy, full of trepidation and fear. 
 
She would lie, mislead, and could not comprehend the instructions given.  So she’d spend class head in hands, sobbing in her books because she felt stupid, for being unable to craft a woollen pom-pom, or finger-knit, or do cross-stitch. She would be unable to even loop a needle through a thread, and apparently this made her stupid, ill-equipped and unfit for normality. Rejected by society, she retreated in rebellion and secrecy. Breaking rules was always something that made her happy, because she gave up following them as she couldn’t get it right. It just seemed easier for everyone if she lived up to her “stupid” “bad” “naughty” “dirty” girl mentality. 
She was really good at stealing at school, and made it a habit to take books from her teachers, once she hit second grade she learnt to remove the barcode from library books and sneak them into her library bag to smuggle home. Slowly collecting a collaboration of free things, her self-esteem had grown for each successful gain.
 She would steal from kids bags who had been mean, and when the teacher confronted the class about it she would sit there silent, refusing to confess, letting other kids get the blame. Why should she suffer when they caused her pain? She would never be accused, because she had never been known to be one of the disruptive ones. She slipped by quietly in the back ground, until grade 4. 
This was the beginning of a life of being outside, looking in, trying to disguise her true self and fit in with the rest of the kids. She never managed to get a grip, on her place in her peer group. 
Kids can be cruel, but their words stung like hell. She had no sense of self to comfort her when she was laying in the dark, at night alone. All she knew was to imagine zooming out, imaging zooming above her house, above her neighbourhood, city, state, country and earth. 
Into the universe she rose, trying to escape the evil on earth. She understood weather, clouds, planets, and the human body. She loved her computer when she got it, and learnt how to play sim city from scratch aged 7. She read books every night, and loved learning new facts. But she couldn’t get the knack of being like the rest of the pack. 
 
Her first year of school, they said she was stupid because she couldn’t hold her pencil like the rest of the students. She learnt to read age 3, but never had the chance in school to read books for longer than 10 minutes, what happened at school, she will never actually know.  She only liked reading, and when she had friends. 
 
Sometimes her friends would ignore her for weeks on end and she would have to pretend she didn’t wander the playground without a companion. 
 
She only remembers menial craft, sewing, barn-dancing, and repetitive songs in the quadrangle, boy girl dancing, and two straight lines holding hands. She also remembers inappropriate sexual conversations with the boy she sat next too, and her sleepovers with female friends always turned into orgies. 
Scrapbooking helped me integrate through flooding 

She thought it was normal, it was only after these parties, when her friends disappeared, she became overwhelmed with shame, and blamed herself for their departure. 

Carnal knowledge was her only friend, the only companion from beginning to end. 
 
Where is the peace, where is the security? 

The carefree bliss of childhood? 


Sunday, 28 May 2017

Duality

"Sometimes it feels like there are two contrasting polarities expanding within me. '

One illuminates; the other destroys. 
They are in constant opposition, waging war in my mind, soul, and heart."
Borderline
to Babalon

Friday, 12 May 2017

Borderline to Babalon

 “There are days I wake up, the weight of the world resting on my shoulders. 
I can never remember the carefree bliss of childhood. 
Innocence was not a companion of mine. 
Instead, I was bound by the lacerations of rage, trauma, suffering and mental anguish. 
I would be lying if I said that I didn’t still seethe inside because I am not one of those pure and pristine girls with the perfect straight hair and the flawless and unblemished facade.”

Borderline to Babalon

Monday, 13 July 2015

Flashbacks

As a child I would wish for the shadows shrouded by darkness to swallow my corpse.

I hoped if I lay still enough 
For long enough 
I would disappear 
Or cease 
Slip away into the void 
Vanish
Simply cease existence 
Fade into darkness. 

No hay Banda, silencio.

Devoured by the cloaked rhythm and silent whispers of nocturnal prowess. 

Lights ruptured the panic attacks and dissassocation attacks I would endure at night as I grew older.

Light solidified the demons circling my mind and made them real.

Proving this wasn’t all in my head, this was in fact a very real experience. But I was determined to flee my body at all costs. 

If I was caught up in an episode, pacing beneath moonlight as a war waged inside my mind, dread and fear and an array of complete panic and raw anxiety throbbing through my soul. The light would bring my awareness back into semilucidity.

But the truth was always too hard to stomach.
The constast and switch to abrubt light would bring me back to reality. 

Dazed. In a stupor. In a trance. Sleepwalking. But awake. Disassociating, often I would wander the streets in my pajamas barefoot, and be seen by neighbours who called my parents who were oblivious to my nightly roadside adventures. This started when I was around ten years old.

Light transports me to being split open and having my insides pried apart. Since I was unable to form words. The lightbulb has haunted me.

My legs spread. 

The lightbulb. 

That unrelenting flash bestowed by the lightbulb? 

If you stare at the lightbulb long enough it will make an imprint in your vision, and then if you blink really quickly you can make the lightbulb move around the room.

The light was blinding. It stained and stung my vision. But It resonated. 
That flashing halo was a welcome distraction to the unrelenting prying between legs spread, painstaking and through examination and violation of a toddlers genitalia is not exactly a normal practice little girls should endure. But I thought I was evil for feeling a perverse sense of pleasure from those silent and bewildering examinations. I liked the attention. Maybe. But in my heart and beyond it made my soul feel filthy and sticky. It was a chunky maggot of sick and guilt to swallow but I couldn’t resist because the pleasure was immense. It felt good and I was too young to know it was wrong so I complied. Maybe I wanted to. Or Maybe I didn’t know better. In retrospect the subsequent degradation following a ruptured hymen and the abuse of sexual pleasure by a trusted adult almost a decade before the onset of puberty was a violation of a basic human right. 

Such a minor violation of my orifice has fucked me up profoundly into my adult life. 

But how does a child know any better ? The child is trusting. Gullible. And susceptible to predatory adults who want to fondle the genitals of the cute, pure and untainted, innocent, sexually oblivious toddler. The toddler is confused because obviously this can feel pleasurable. But the toddler knows instinctively there is something full of revulsion and fear beneath these transient moments of pleasure. It made the bile burn the back of my throat. Sick with perversion and pleasure and pain..It felt so good but so wrong. It hurt. It felt pleasant. It was confusing. But now I see I was exploited. Used. By a trusted adult who was delegated by my parents to protect me. Not fondle me.

Why *anyone* can find pleasure in such a predatory and demoralizing act is beyond my comprehension. This question will plague my psyche for the remainder of days.

To take advantage of an innocent creature. 
To corrupt it into a world of sex and violence long before puberty hits? Why? It’s illogical. How selfish must one be to even begin to entertain such nauseating notions, let alone to actually inflict them. 
Child sex offenders and paedophiles are the epitome of damaged and defunct humans. The gene must be eradicated. 
Child sexual abuse is truly an evil deed for one human to commit upon another. To exploit a biologically immature and unprepared minor is horrific. How can you? How could you?

I could never bring myself to inflict an unwanted sex act on another adult. Let alone a child who is curious but vulnerable and ultimately INNOCENT. How do these people think? How does it even get to the stage of occupying a sexual urge for something that is not sexually mature? It makes no sense scientifically. Children exploring sexuality with other children of their own age is one thing. When an adult uses a child for sexual gratification, this is truly an atrocious act of exploitation and a hideous abuse of power. 

It hurt to use the bathroom for many years, the stinging of urinating was akin to a nefarious tentacle wound from a venomous sea creature. Bath time and shower time became dreaded events bestowed by fear of undressing. 

I thought it was normal for a four year old to never let herself be seen without clothes. For a seven year old to lock the door when she showered and scream and sob loudly and hysterically if anyone accidentally opened the door as I showered. Or even tried. 

I guess it was normal for me. My genitals always hurt. They itched. They burnt. I would cry in agony from the pain. Trying to hide it. Nauseous and sick and full of self hate and regret. Never reminding myself of its origin. I was long gone by this time.

Instead of using a toilet normally I would hold on and avoid using the toilet for days and days. I would tell myself intricate stories to urinate. 
The pain of urinating was too immense for full awareness. I’d rather my bladder burst. Or die. 

When it was dark it went away. Sometimes. Sometimes it just made the sick secret carried like a stone in my stomach easier to swallow. 

When it was dark, at least we could fabricate a comfortable illusion. Fantasize, imagine another world desperate to avoid the painful and confusing truth instilled by sexual abuse. 

Thus the inclination towards darkness. My love of night and shadows.

Wednesday, 25 March 2015

Soul shaking suicidal ideation & survival of it through spiritual mindfulness

 Sometimes I am in so much emotional pain I contemplate throwing myself off a bridge, or under a train, but I don’t because reincarnation. And suicide would let everyone who has hurt me win. They would roll their eyes and let an exasperated sigh: “it’s about time she gave in, it was bound to happen sooner or later”. 

I don’t want to start over at level 0. I don’t want to endure the confusing torment of childhood again. The amount of agony I have endured in this lifetime would render any ‘normal’ person obsolete. I am sure of it. 

There are days where it all accumulates, and I am unable to stop the unrelenting sobs of hysteria from bubbling forth, so I give in and I succumb to the ache. I let the pain swallow me whole, and subsequently a lifetime of repressed hurt and memories spew forth. It is amazing how much pain one person can harbour within the cavity of their chest. It still astounds me how much trauma I can endure without giving up. All I bear is a wound so insurmountable it would be unfathomable to the average mind to even comprehend. It is immeasurable and irrexpressible. 

No action nor word can convey this unrelenting ache permeating my soul. I have searched the depths of this despair for meaning, swum to the surface seeking resolution within this raw agony. Nothing. I have swallowed a concoction of mind altering elixirs to render me whole, or comatose. Still no solution. Only further into this void I was drowned..

All I found was a path to unrelenting passion and purpose, which forces me to persist despite all adversity the universe throws at me. All this opposition I have endured has only moulded my determination, and sharpened my willpower- now I am driven to succeed at any cost, failure is not an option. It is do or die. 

At moments like these I know exactly why the suicide rate for this illness is so high,sometimes it feels like there is no place in this world for me, that I am destined to be an outsider living on the fringes of society for the remainder of my life,that I will endure this haunting isolation until the universe implodes on itself. 

I am so intensely sensitive and fragile that the tiniest trigger will render me immobilized by my own worst fears manifesting before me. In these dark moments, I honestly believe that death would be the only resolution for my pain. But it is within this suicidal agony that I find hope,because I hold onto the hope that I am not alone in this battle,I know there are others on this planet who share the same pain. I know I am not isolated in this experience. That same will to die, burdened by this acute hypersensitivity, perpetual feeling of solitude and misunderstanding. 

Why must we all fight this never-ending battle alone any longer? I seek to commune the souls of those who suffer like I do, and transform their agony into purpose. 

In this moment I resolve to live, to pave the way for survival for my kind of soul. I will reinvent the archetype of this disorder,and transmutate us from helpless victims into powerful warriors. My will is to help other sensitive souls thrive in a world carved by mechanical soulnessness and malicious superficiality. A world that is invalidating to the very essence of our core. My will is to help those who suffer. I know the depths of this pain so well, these angst is familiar to me, and that familiarity induces a nauseating climax within my chest. Reminding me that it has spanned across lifetimes. But I endure it all and traverse shards of glistening malice, for the hope of reaching out and helping someone else who feels just as alone, sitting on the edge of death in times of despair. No one should ever have to feel this way, no one. This is a pain so intense it surpasses depression, it pales against anxiety and it makes solitude seem warm and comfortable in comparison. I know it, oh so well. I will outlive it, to help you.

One day it will be worth it, saving a life that was otherwise engulfed by the angst of existence, providing companionship to someone on the precipice of life and death. Giving hope to someone who has lost all will to live. 

These moments where I can extend my limitless empathy and utilize it, because I have the capacity to feel the pain I see in others,to show them how to find meaning within the ache, will be the day I have succeeded in adhering to my will. For we are all carved with a unique configuration that aligns us on a path in this life, and those who feel devoid of purpose only need the guiding hand of another to validate their experience and lead them towards refining their true potential and essence. I seek to quench their suffering in anyway I can. I seek to be for others what has always been absent from my life. I seek to validate, to build up and to reassure those who feel like aliens in this world; the sensitive souls,the wounded empaths, the battered and broken beings with too much love to give, who were born into this three dimensional prison of devoid of soul. 

I love you all, and I am here for you. I ride out another night of soul shaking sobs and existential despair for you. I stay alive one more day to slay this mechanical matrix for you. To override the control system. To reprogram this reality that seeks to annihilate our authenticity. I stay here for you, to recreate the paradigm that would rather render us obsolete. I have a will and I will die adhering to it. For if I give up, and succumb to death,then I am not only letting myself down, but I am letting down thousands of likeminded souls who I could of assisted.

Do what thou wilt thou shall be whole of the law, thou has no law but to do thy will. Love is the law, love under will.


Monday, 7 July 2014

An ode to Emily / Innocence lost

 My soul hemorrhaged. The final shatter into oblivion. Dichotomous melodies of split contusions; roam across a shattering of molecular infusions. 

The delicate shards of diabolic triads, lacerating core, annihilate. 

an impartial wasteland of causal regret, 

the interwoven, multilayered fabric of reality has been driven into my being across the totality of my earthly incarnation. 

Molested. I fucking despise that word with every cell in my body, 

but the sexual abuse I endured shattered this toddlers soul. 

Result? Fragmented soul.

Traumatic interludes,raw passion, pure pain. Ache, magnet to rape and danger. 

Chaos. Chaos. Hell. Pain. Ache, inescapable rot of soul. 

My solution? 

Alchemical vandalism, 

to plunge into the abyss without hesitation, to traverse the perimeter since birth, and to finally drown in the plunge, which induces an elaborate clusterfuck within.

Never stopping. 

I have been overboard, and now, here upon the surface, megapixled ephiphays can be evoked amongst serene metaphors, disguised as life lessons. 

My mind never stops. 

It never stops thinking. 

My heart trembles, subjugated by the lair of restless internal roaming. 

The eternal ache. 

No medication. 

Hello reality. I am home. 

No anti depressant. Not since early last week. 

This is me unmedicated. 

I am not depressed, merely unstable. Impulsive. 

Or is this who I am without the chemical lobotomy. 

My brain is on fire. 

I don’t see a doctor until tomorrow morning, and I am determined to get through it with willpower alone. 

Death is not an option. 

Not anymore. Reassemble the fragments. Into a whole. 

Save me. 
Inner me. 

The pain is interwoven in the crevices of my genetic blueprint. I am diluted with a volatile sensitivity. 

I am embodied with the burden of a bleeding heart. Complexity envelopes my soul, who I am is this multifaceted, ultra dynamic chameleon, who am I ? 

A masquerade laments. 

Childhood induced.

The memories must cease, or be endured, red brick bile scathing shame. 

Mechanisms embedded in dollhouses of succulent lust, maggots of corrupted purity splitting through sacred flesh. 

A childs purity. 

Annihilated. 

I will save myself. 

To death with spindles of crinkle cut fingers sliding up virgin thighs. 

Crawling, 

I feel him crawling like a plague of venomous locusts, swarming inside me.

 A lifetime of ruin. One mans hands.