scariest realisation of them all...
The truth occured to me, and I have been blocking it from my mind for the past few weeks.
My sophomore year of high school, I continued the nasty trend that defined my early life of reacting negatively and violently and hedonistically. I ballooned up, adding 35-40 pounds in barely over a semester of high school. I then, however, proceeded to turn fascist on myself. It was a new era. All pain and joy were subliminated; I had only one goal. It was unhealthy, but I never have been one for consistency, or health, so it's obvious why no one was able to do anything, including myself. I had to crash. But it took well over a year of burning myself out in order to crash. At the time, I somehow convinced myself that self-sacrific and pseudo-fascism could undo years of hedonism; the fact is, as was pointed out to me last night, that Fascism is NOT the opposite of Hedonism. And, as I further realised and pointed out to myself: I was using pseudo-fascism as a variant of hedonism (i.e. I was becoming addicted to pain; pain was the new joy). True, the outward rewards paid off; better grades, better time management, thinner and seemingly happier (endorphins); etc. But I was preparing for the descent the whole time.
I've always been one to plan, and frankly, I never planned for life beyond the age of 17. The age of 17, for any human being, remains the idyllic calm before the storms of early adulthood. And that, dear readers, is a sentiment that is true, but has been written like only someone still living through angst could write.
After the crash, nihilism and hedonism were in vogue. Big time. At the time, I could seemingly afford to coast along on past successes. I rested on my laurels, until I realised the other night, that they've fallen through on me again. I'm just as fat and lazy and horrid and wretched as I was my sophomore year of high school. As I pointed out last week: This is indeed, another sophomoric slump. Trouble is, at the time, either out of the vigor of youth, or out of some crazy energy within, I was able to react and pull myself (negatively) out of it and into another mess. A mess that I've never recovered from. I understand it now though; I know why I love history and language so much.
I guess, what I Realised, is that I used to thrive off manic energy. And now, now that I'm again fat and lazy, the medication serves as a buffer to render mania pointless. I suppose gradualism is the only way out of this, but I've never done anything gradually. I don't know the meaning of that word. Excess has always been my defining characteristic. In fact, only because I had worn myself so thin did I not continue to lose weight. I still believe that I could have lost even more weight if I had wanted to. But, medicated as I am now, I do not know the point. I'm also morbidly worried about another descent.
My era of complacency, my Brezhnev era, is waning. I just wish I knew what was next. I cleaned my room today, and had a fight with Jesika. If nothing else, the room cleaning is a sign of changes to come. I just hope I remember that one last tradition, that last vestige, which has remained throughout all my system changes. Probably not. But I'm still hopeful.
I hate medication.
My sophomore year of high school, I continued the nasty trend that defined my early life of reacting negatively and violently and hedonistically. I ballooned up, adding 35-40 pounds in barely over a semester of high school. I then, however, proceeded to turn fascist on myself. It was a new era. All pain and joy were subliminated; I had only one goal. It was unhealthy, but I never have been one for consistency, or health, so it's obvious why no one was able to do anything, including myself. I had to crash. But it took well over a year of burning myself out in order to crash. At the time, I somehow convinced myself that self-sacrific and pseudo-fascism could undo years of hedonism; the fact is, as was pointed out to me last night, that Fascism is NOT the opposite of Hedonism. And, as I further realised and pointed out to myself: I was using pseudo-fascism as a variant of hedonism (i.e. I was becoming addicted to pain; pain was the new joy). True, the outward rewards paid off; better grades, better time management, thinner and seemingly happier (endorphins); etc. But I was preparing for the descent the whole time.
I've always been one to plan, and frankly, I never planned for life beyond the age of 17. The age of 17, for any human being, remains the idyllic calm before the storms of early adulthood. And that, dear readers, is a sentiment that is true, but has been written like only someone still living through angst could write.
After the crash, nihilism and hedonism were in vogue. Big time. At the time, I could seemingly afford to coast along on past successes. I rested on my laurels, until I realised the other night, that they've fallen through on me again. I'm just as fat and lazy and horrid and wretched as I was my sophomore year of high school. As I pointed out last week: This is indeed, another sophomoric slump. Trouble is, at the time, either out of the vigor of youth, or out of some crazy energy within, I was able to react and pull myself (negatively) out of it and into another mess. A mess that I've never recovered from. I understand it now though; I know why I love history and language so much.
I guess, what I Realised, is that I used to thrive off manic energy. And now, now that I'm again fat and lazy, the medication serves as a buffer to render mania pointless. I suppose gradualism is the only way out of this, but I've never done anything gradually. I don't know the meaning of that word. Excess has always been my defining characteristic. In fact, only because I had worn myself so thin did I not continue to lose weight. I still believe that I could have lost even more weight if I had wanted to. But, medicated as I am now, I do not know the point. I'm also morbidly worried about another descent.
My era of complacency, my Brezhnev era, is waning. I just wish I knew what was next. I cleaned my room today, and had a fight with Jesika. If nothing else, the room cleaning is a sign of changes to come. I just hope I remember that one last tradition, that last vestige, which has remained throughout all my system changes. Probably not. But I'm still hopeful.
I hate medication.