You can diagnose the following any way you want, but I decided not to hike out to my land while I was property sitting in Farmington. I'm not sure I can handle seeing all of my stuff still in the deep freeze, I'm afraid it would seem too much a tomb for the old Alex--just too many emotions for a deep/over thinker...for now.
I told you earlier that I came back to this world as a different man than the day I went into cardiac surgery. My priorities have changed. I gave my life for what I believed in, and part of the deal with not actually dying seems to be with achieving some greater thing. I still plan to develop my property, but being a martyr (walking in the rain, sleeping in the snow, suffering from hunger, only to die, largely unknown) in a world that doesn't give enough of a shit - this time around - is off the Life Menu.
I have a relatively strong mind, but I never allowed it the balance of happiness as a counter weight to the oppressive sadness that ruled me since being, well, a little kid (part of the reason why I don't have kids).
After decades, I truly believed that I was not going to find anything approaching the peace I so needed. Then, strangely, at the apparent end of my life (October) I found peace of mind when I saw that I actually was loved and would be missed, before submitting to the unconsciousness of the needle. I was ready to go...wanted to go. Despite feeling like there was ice pick in my heart every day, the months of September and October were like the retirement I was never going get. And I'm thankful for that.
In my search now as I train for the Epilogue of this life story, I identify with Gandalf the Grey (from Lord of the Rings), who slay his enemy (the Balrog demon) upon the mountainside, and then lay down to die...
So you can call me "Alex the White." Yes, it's just a metaphor (and comes without a white robe, a horse named "Shadowfax," and delusions of heroic grandeur--on my part), but I don't see any analogy that is closer to what I have undergone. I have retained the strange magical power that I developed as a kid--that of transferring my mental pain and depression to the organs of my body, especially my heart, the organ with neurons of it's own; one that FEELS. Hate yourself? Just numb the pain by killing the one thing that reminds you that you are still real and worth something. Now I have to stop that shit, before it takes me down again. I need to control this psychosomatic aspect, because I no longer have 50 years left to work it out--I have been given 10. This is the self-training that I am dealing with. I am not a wishful thinker. I can be wishful, and lord knows I'm a thinker, but I am intensely allergic to relying on faith in some supernatural power or forced happy thoughts, or the stupidest and most useless piece of advice ever: "Just let it go," over true material healing. So, unlike Gandolf, I have to add the caveat, "Healing I have not found yet, and so am not yet clothed in white." I've documented most of the post surgical weirdness that is happening here at my blog, IWALLK. Yet, I can't state strongly enough just how powerful my mind has become over the functioning of my body. The mind is VERY self-deceptive though. By the time I was in my 20's, I hypothesize that my mind had built a parallel network of negative thought patterns that bypassed my consciousness and went straight to destroying my heart. Here's the huge elephant in the room, though... I need to rework my reality model (my belief system) to break the parallel networks. In a bizarre twist, although positive faith is useless to me in a healthcare way, what I might call "negative faith" (wanting things to not work out) works like a charm! God. That's the first word. I was what you might call a true believer. I DO believe in a First Universal Parent. But that's where you would see my system depart heavily from the Judeo-Christian tradition. No old white man swimming in clouds, supported by fat little androgynous cherubim. The idea that there is a literal interpretation of the Bible, I find especially retarded. What I hate, no... despise, now (since surgery), is typical unfairness, reliance on illogical, unscientific conclusions to material issues, washed down with purposeful ignorance. Without trying to air too much dirty laundry, I simply can't stand certain people anymore who are carefully composing their social appearance, while unfairly demeaning others. There are people in my life who within a week of almost dying, and upon my return from quadruple bypass surgery, who - knowing that mental instability, depression, anxiety, etc., can be a very serious side effect, and is common (40% of patients) during rehabilitation - asked me to do physical things that they knew I shouldn't do, and took advantage of my weakened psychological state to manipulate and deceive me. It's always the closest people, btw. Family. They simply didn't take my situation seriously, and abused me for no reason besides their own pride, using my weaknesses to try to take advantage of me. I find that particularly unforgivable. When I was around these people I would get spikes in blood pressure (in one day's readings on my bp cuff, the numbers never fell below 160/116). I was sweating, coughing (which really sucked with a wired up sternum!). I was emotionally rubbed raw, so when I would try to defend myself, all that I could muster was yelling and becoming very angry. Of course this just proved their point that I am unstable. Why? Because I was fucking unstable! Then, I became the "bad" guy. Pretty good strategy for driving me insane. And they know (because I told them) that I will stew on negative comments about me for days. That's a nice weapon to have when you don't possess a conscious or a merciful desire to love other people. Just drop a little bomb that's goes off slowly over a week. After twenty weeks, I have worked much of this through and it is a big difference from those early days in the fall. Being left alone helps amazingly. But for Christ's sake, loving family members don't do those things to each other! But, you'd never know if you were observing my family. Remember, this shit is five decades of mind fucking. I learned many years ago, that friends are much more loving and reliable - in general - than jaded, petty, manipulative, jealous, and greedy family members. I pray that you don't agree. (Because it means this hasn't been your experience.) Be really nice if I didn't have to spend the rest of my time here on earth looking over my shoulder for the most recognizable faces--defending against my own flesh and blood! Unbelievably, on my first day of counseling, the unrelated, unethical (at least, and probably illegal) behavior of one relative in particular ruined the session vicariously--again, because of something completely unrelated to my own behavior. I needed to protect this person who was abusing me. If I was a lesser man, I would have just let them go after this person. It's all just another mind fuck. I will look into resuming counseling, when I feel more secure about my own interpretations. I NEED therapy, but I have to know the parameters. By the way, this outrageous inability to even get through a counseling session because of someone else's behavior, is indicative of a moral crime. It is a crime perpetuated, because of a kind of spiritual immaturity that borders on psychopathy. This person has the opposite problem that I do. Overconfidence. Narcism. So Alex the White, the White Wallker, the man who will someday be clothed in eternal raiments, has a few more battles to win against the Orcs--known and unknown. And, since I have not much else to do with my remaining decade, and not a hell of a lot to lose. I WILL WIN--but only if it is fair. When, another person takes over writing about my life, a true and magnificent story will be finally completed and will stand long, I think. Remember when Gandalf the White is trapped with Pippin the Hobbit and they are pretty sure they're going to die? I pretend he is sitting with me, and I am still 10 years old. I look up ask him if this will be the end? "End?" he looks down at me with a kindness and assurance in his eyes. "No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it..." Yes, I've wallked in drizzling rain of my own tears for too long. When I leave for the sparkling waters of the next Place, the whole world may hear of it. If I didn't think this last part of the story was going to be the best part, I wouldn't even write at all.
"When Gandalf was reincarnated after dying in the act of slaying the Balrog known as Durin's Bane, he was naked. His white robes were a gift from Galadriel, the Guardian of Lothlórien. "Healing I found, and I was clothed in white.'" [Quora]
So you can call me "Alex the White." Yes, it's just a metaphor (and comes without a white robe, a horse named "Shadowfax," and delusions of heroic grandeur--on my part), but I don't see any analogy that is closer to what I have undergone. I have retained the strange magical power that I developed as a kid--that of transferring my mental pain and depression to the organs of my body, especially my heart, the organ with neurons of it's own; one that FEELS. Hate yourself? Just numb the pain by killing the one thing that reminds you that you are still real and worth something. Now I have to stop that shit, before it takes me down again. I need to control this psychosomatic aspect, because I no longer have 50 years left to work it out--I have been given 10. This is the self-training that I am dealing with. I am not a wishful thinker. I can be wishful, and lord knows I'm a thinker, but I am intensely allergic to relying on faith in some supernatural power or forced happy thoughts, or the stupidest and most useless piece of advice ever: "Just let it go," over true material healing. So, unlike Gandolf, I have to add the caveat, "Healing I have not found yet, and so am not yet clothed in white." I've documented most of the post surgical weirdness that is happening here at my blog, IWALLK. Yet, I can't state strongly enough just how powerful my mind has become over the functioning of my body. The mind is VERY self-deceptive though. By the time I was in my 20's, I hypothesize that my mind had built a parallel network of negative thought patterns that bypassed my consciousness and went straight to destroying my heart. Here's the huge elephant in the room, though... I need to rework my reality model (my belief system) to break the parallel networks. In a bizarre twist, although positive faith is useless to me in a healthcare way, what I might call "negative faith" (wanting things to not work out) works like a charm! God. That's the first word. I was what you might call a true believer. I DO believe in a First Universal Parent. But that's where you would see my system depart heavily from the Judeo-Christian tradition. No old white man swimming in clouds, supported by fat little androgynous cherubim. The idea that there is a literal interpretation of the Bible, I find especially retarded. What I hate, no... despise, now (since surgery), is typical unfairness, reliance on illogical, unscientific conclusions to material issues, washed down with purposeful ignorance. Without trying to air too much dirty laundry, I simply can't stand certain people anymore who are carefully composing their social appearance, while unfairly demeaning others. There are people in my life who within a week of almost dying, and upon my return from quadruple bypass surgery, who - knowing that mental instability, depression, anxiety, etc., can be a very serious side effect, and is common (40% of patients) during rehabilitation - asked me to do physical things that they knew I shouldn't do, and took advantage of my weakened psychological state to manipulate and deceive me. It's always the closest people, btw. Family. They simply didn't take my situation seriously, and abused me for no reason besides their own pride, using my weaknesses to try to take advantage of me. I find that particularly unforgivable. When I was around these people I would get spikes in blood pressure (in one day's readings on my bp cuff, the numbers never fell below 160/116). I was sweating, coughing (which really sucked with a wired up sternum!). I was emotionally rubbed raw, so when I would try to defend myself, all that I could muster was yelling and becoming very angry. Of course this just proved their point that I am unstable. Why? Because I was fucking unstable! Then, I became the "bad" guy. Pretty good strategy for driving me insane. And they know (because I told them) that I will stew on negative comments about me for days. That's a nice weapon to have when you don't possess a conscious or a merciful desire to love other people. Just drop a little bomb that's goes off slowly over a week. After twenty weeks, I have worked much of this through and it is a big difference from those early days in the fall. Being left alone helps amazingly. But for Christ's sake, loving family members don't do those things to each other! But, you'd never know if you were observing my family. Remember, this shit is five decades of mind fucking. I learned many years ago, that friends are much more loving and reliable - in general - than jaded, petty, manipulative, jealous, and greedy family members. I pray that you don't agree. (Because it means this hasn't been your experience.) Be really nice if I didn't have to spend the rest of my time here on earth looking over my shoulder for the most recognizable faces--defending against my own flesh and blood! Unbelievably, on my first day of counseling, the unrelated, unethical (at least, and probably illegal) behavior of one relative in particular ruined the session vicariously--again, because of something completely unrelated to my own behavior. I needed to protect this person who was abusing me. If I was a lesser man, I would have just let them go after this person. It's all just another mind fuck. I will look into resuming counseling, when I feel more secure about my own interpretations. I NEED therapy, but I have to know the parameters. By the way, this outrageous inability to even get through a counseling session because of someone else's behavior, is indicative of a moral crime. It is a crime perpetuated, because of a kind of spiritual immaturity that borders on psychopathy. This person has the opposite problem that I do. Overconfidence. Narcism. So Alex the White, the White Wallker, the man who will someday be clothed in eternal raiments, has a few more battles to win against the Orcs--known and unknown. And, since I have not much else to do with my remaining decade, and not a hell of a lot to lose. I WILL WIN--but only if it is fair. When, another person takes over writing about my life, a true and magnificent story will be finally completed and will stand long, I think. Remember when Gandalf the White is trapped with Pippin the Hobbit and they are pretty sure they're going to die? I pretend he is sitting with me, and I am still 10 years old. I look up ask him if this will be the end? "End?" he looks down at me with a kindness and assurance in his eyes. "No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it..." Yes, I've wallked in drizzling rain of my own tears for too long. When I leave for the sparkling waters of the next Place, the whole world may hear of it. If I didn't think this last part of the story was going to be the best part, I wouldn't even write at all.
