So, right now I sit at the Hyatt on my third and last night of a luxurious stay. My body sinks with a tired feeling. I don’t like the idea of sleep, but I don’t like the idea of staying awake. The consequences of all my actions run high, and I’m afraid to take accountability.
My story, in short: I left my parents place. I left Qdoba (though I’m still technically employed). I left my friend, Paul, because I couldn’t trust him and he’s getting into some weird shit. I left my shell of a sexuality (i.e. I have homosexual tendencies). I left a lot of things.
My direction, in short: I need to arrive at my own place. I need to arrive at my own business and be firmly detached from Qdoba. I need friends I can trust. I need my expanded sexuality in the open. I need a lot of things.
But I’m afraid. Thus, the reason I return to this blog. My tired, sagging, heavy feeling must be trumped by a firm commitment to this blog. I reread my early posts, before all the horrible things happened, and I had an energy in my face, a huge smile, and a desire to share the silly things that happened.
I loved myself when I was doing these tasks. I had a firm conviction that anything and everything was possible. That I could do what I wanted to do, and would have only great things happen to me.
The negative consequences, in the end were so little. I had so much fun doing this. I experienced so much growth. I got over so many B.S. hurdles from not ‘feeling like it’.
So what if someone reading this calls me a pervert? So what if I got fired from a job for behaving pervertedly? So what if I ruined my relationship with the guy who recommended me there? So what if I got kicked out of a store for scaring a customer off when I was ‘running pick-up? So what if I went to jail for yelling in the middle of the night when my sister-in-law had to work? So what if Joe Snell would use the words ‘blood’, ‘nigger’, and ‘AIDS’ 73 times in a row, scaring me into an unfair 2-year-long racism that wouldn’t be cured until this year? So what if the attitudes from this–after I stopped writing–landed me in a mental hospital with a diagnosis of ‘bipolar disorder’?
Because I would later learn these things:
- My pervertedness came from repressed homosexuality.
- My getting fired came from lack of gratitude (I can back this statement up if anyone wishes to challenge me on this.)
- The jail came from an attitude that made unnecessary violence an option.
- The racism came from not knowing the question, ‘What do I -ing want to create here”–plus not having the communication strategy to give him a sense of peace and positive direction.
- The impetus that drove me to the hospital was non-forgiveness and an unfilled need for love.
I would also gain these things:
- Raw, self-image-backed pick-up that works–without conscious effort
- Respect and professionalism at my current jobs/awareness of how businesses work
- Consideration of others–create more value in a way that supports others
- Appreciation of black culture–my innocence of racism came from ignorance; if I can be innocent of racism now, after that experience, I can guide a lot more people out of what Martin Luther King Jr. calls a ‘disease’.
- Skill with krav maga–which I desired to take only after my experience with Joe Snell in jail.
- A way to fill myself with love that doesn’t rely on others–i.e. the Bible, God, Jesus, myself.
You don’t know much about the mental hospital incident. I should have written about it here–now my memory’s not as fresh as I want it to be.
I’ll see if I can give you a bright recollection of:
- Fighting off Linda feeling my chest at 3am in the morning–or my roommate laughing on the other bed saying how he saw me fighting her off in my sleepy stupor.
- Or of Josh coming into the room laughing, gossipping with me about how she took her shirt off, sprinting down the hall.
- Or of Josh, my roommate, who claimed to be Jesus Christ, and how he inspired me to read the Bible.
- Or of the girl who studied actively to become a defense attorney, but became droopey after lithium and couldn’t stay awake to study.
- Or of the old man who shit himself in the hallway after taking lithium or whatever, then slipped and fell in it. (YOU WANTED ME TO TAKE LITHIUM, DOC. FUCK YOU.)
Anyway, I’ll create a chapter for that at somepoint. It’s worth writing about.
Now allow me to further deviate into my experience with Joe Snell–i.e. when I went to jail from a fight with my brother.
I still remember when I transferred from the group cell to a solitary cell. I looked at him through the bars–the slam still echoing the ceramic multi-room from the red-haired lady cop closing it–keys rattling as she looked it up. He lied on his back, on a blue mat like the other 3 jailees, with his head looking back at me. The friendly guy close to the bars next to me and to the right of the cell (when you look in from the outside) had warned me not to switch cells–they ‘wouldn’t let you take your blanket’.
I stood outside with my blanket, the cortisol and adrenaline thick in my blood from when I was in that cell. It’s now ‘draining’ as I stood in safety. I had stood with my body as upright as it could be, in a position of alpha-ness and dominance with my face glued to the bars for an 3 hours straight. I craved help from an officer to switch cells.
Now that the red-haired officer opened the doors and released me based on my request for my own sell, I felt a sense of safety flood my body. Being outside of that cell, such relief I felt. But, I looked through the bars, at those “Who’s messing with me!” interjecting, energy-forward eyes. I told him, with a sob and choke in my voice, “You’re still a good person.” I had tears in my eyes as the red-haired cop escorted me from the cell through the hall to outside. From there, she asked me which guy ruffled my feathers so much. I told her ‘Joe Snell’. She said, ‘Alright, I’ll talk to him later.’
Oh man. What was cool was that I met a guy in jail who I picked up from the side of the road. He had left the car in a fit when he and a girl got in a fight. I pulled over to the side of the road and offered him a ride. Interesting who you meet and where. When he was proposing all these business deals with weed and selling trailers and chickens and whatnot, I wish I would’ve respected his entrepreneurial drive, instead of dissing the ‘weed’ aspect of it.
Anyway, red-haired lady cop unlocks a small cell from me. She pulls it back and says, ‘Here ya go.’ There’s a piss puddle on the left of the room. I don’t care. This is the coolest, safest, happiest place I’ve ever been in in. There’s a blue mat on the floor ahead of me. I put my knees down and lie on there, put the blanket over me, and melt. I’m at peace. A sense of gratitude and love and joy for what is in the world envelopes me. There are good people. People will come to help when I need it. There are times when I can’t help myself. When I need others. They will show up. And I can trust them.
As I feel a wave of relaxation and peace and certainty, a woman next to me talks about her ex-husband, her children and whatnot. How they went through things. How she wants a man. I remember the feeling of healthy exhaustion. Of my body irresistibly smelting into a smooth slumber. I just muttered stock replies as I tried to keep adding value–until I said ‘I’m about to pass out.’ She said, ‘Alright, you go ahead, get your sleep.’ I fell asleep and woke up to an insipid, yellow-plaster white porridge for breakfast. They announced I would be leaving soon. This whole thing would be over. I had felt pain from being locked in jail over the weekend. (I could’ve been out if I would’ve been locked up on a Monday instead of a Thursday.) But the day was Monday. They sat me in a room, went through some tests, and before I know it, I was released to the world, Morrowind-style in a big open place. I had no orientation for where I was going. But a call to my dad revealed a gray Tundra in the middle of a foreign land.
Whoa boy, did they miss me. When I got home, I opened a fridge full of food. It was stuffed, and my memory picks up only a blur. But I do remember the awe I felt at how much food, and of what kind was in that fridge. I know sandwiches were made, and I felt stuffed and secure in the presence of my parents. My mom hugged me almost crying–she worked as a prison guard, so she knew what it could be like. My dad joined the hug.
My brother came by that day, too, and asked if I was alright. He laughed, saying he should’ve been the one who went to jail that night. (He’s right! My throat hurt from being gripped into the throat and pressed into the wall by my brother who benches 250 like it’s nothing.)
Anyway, with all this written about, I want to restart this journal. This is the most fun thing I’ve ever done. My self-confidence and power and respectability just soared through the roof.
- Fuck all these people who label me as a sexual deviant, when they could have learned and used NLP tactics to point me in the right direction.
- Fuck the system that let behaviors like what Joe Snell had spread racism like a disease. (It is a disease! I had zero idea that racism existed before that experience. I now know that it’s spread–more often from black people than from white.)
- Fuck the system that let well-meaning people become ‘doctors’–that use drugs instead of the awesome power of the human body, self-image, and habit to change their lives.
The level of joy, the level of self-respect and unstoppability I received outweighs ALL of this. And, even more, what happened just expanded my comfort zone further!
And now that I know about gratitude and rejuvenation, I can do this on a level unheard of. I’ll take this to new heights. I’ll speak to the biggest people. I’ll perform the greatest feats in business. I’ll establish healthy business habits. I’ll make a name for myself, in a way where I am myself and no one else (i.e. with business, pick-up, you name it.). I’ll start sticking up for myself more and giving myself the best pick-me-ups when I’m down.
In other words, I’m going to do epic shit. That’s what I said in the second post of this blog. Now, I’m going to carry on this tradition. I’m going to follow through with it, because this has been some of the most interesting shit I’ve ever thought of and done. I’ve experienced such joy and bliss and lightness and seen dazzling lights as I soared above the clutches of the superego. Most people are so caught in their daily routines, squeezed and gripped by societal norms that they can’t imagine another way. They might as well be shackled, because if I behave in a certain way, they can’t move past a certain limit–and I’m safe from their reach.
So, let’s get started.
I want self-structure, and expanded comfort zone, and all the money needed to fill whatever need I can have.
So, I’m going to fulfill an (albeit updated) experiment I attempted to do a while ago. Here goes.
“If I make 30 decisions in the next hour–and ask the leverage questions once every 3 waking hours, then I will feel pleasure and more more relaxed and make $10,000 in the next 7 days.”
- Ask, “What are all the decisions I need to make to have $10,000 by 4/11/16?” and write them down in the form of questions. — Alternatively, just answer questions from ‘Day Scripter 4000’ [note: I no longer no what this is! lol :)]
- Decide and write down the answers to these questions right next to the questions.
- Ask “How is not using the best and highest use of my time and energy more painful than using the best and highest use of my time and energy?”
- Feel gratitude for when I’ve used my time and energy best and highestly
- Create a vision of the best and highest use of time as done
For #3-5, do them at these hours when awake and available: 00:00 to 03:00, 03:00 to 06:00, 06:00 to 09:00, 09:00 to 12:00, 12:00 to 15:00, 15:00 to 18:00, 18:00 to 21:00, and 21:00 to 00:00
Report back on this by 11:00pm tonight.