jjer94

Yo! I wrote a little article on this topic that you can check out here. Writer's block is inherent to the creative process, but there are ways to work around it. Best of luck!

a merry-go-round back to earth. Just as I re-live that rejection trauma over and over again, I re-live the recovery over and over again. I swear, nothing trumps the resilience of the human spirit. When a part of us is hurting so bad that it wants to die, and we give it some time and love, it will return to a baseline of sorts. That's what happened this afternoon and evening, at least. I told the other roommates about the incident yesterday, and they saw me and heard me. We talked about how we know he's not a bad person for being inconsiderate, but we need to talk to him about what it means to be psychologically safe in a community setting. Hopefully he can be receptive when three other people call him in. The three of us connected, just like in the beginning. Even the female, the one who asked me to not sign back onto the lease, the one I called the "abuser," validated my perspective, supported me, and opened up to me. I was utterly floored when I went into the kitchen and she started engaging with me, asking me questions about my life and sharing that she herself comes up with melodies in her head. Two months in, and she shares that! We were all connecting genuinely. Then, tonight, the other one invited me to go climbing. Invited me! Actually wants to hang out with me! The one who friendzoned me? Said the same thing. Said that I'm "smart, kind, considerate and talented," that we have the potential for a great connection, and she genuinely wants to connect. Now all I need to do is re-define the relationship and be okay with just being friends, which is actually slightly relieving because I saw my own subconscious patterns latching onto her in the older dysfunctional "rescuer" ways. I also didn't mention this because it's slightly overwhelming, but I may have four dates over the next 2-3 weeks. On top of that, I bought a freelance writer online course to begin my journey towards better side income. I launched a Patreon. I'm learning new songs for busking. It's all moving, albeit in an overwhelming way. In times like these, I really buy into parts theory — the idea that our psyches are multi-faceted. We all have different aspects that need different things and come out at different times. Some are more mature and protective than others, while others are shadowed and immature. I see it in myself, and I see it the most in my roommates. Some days, I look at one of them like the devil. The next day, he's an angel. They act really mean one day, then really kindly the next day. One day, she's the abuser, the next day she's a friend and an ally. It's so complex, the way we all interact with each other — how different parts come out at different times. And how we trigger each other because of that. I guess what I'm trying to say is — we are all devils, angels, villains, and victims at the same time. Nobody clicks perfectly with anyone else all the time. We all push each others' hot buttons. And we all do unexpectedly healing things for each other, too. We are all just human. And the more we own our humanness in all of its contradictory insanity, the more compassionate and forgiving we can be towards the humanness of others.

Chapter 1: Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4:

a merry-go-round from hell. This was one of the most agonizing weekends of my life. It started with being friendzoned by a girl that magnetizes me. I forgot how horrible that feels. I had that with literally every single girl I had a crush on in high school and college. I should be paid to be a professional vagina evader at this point. So that was a powder keg to my nervous system, and I couldn't really sleep that night. The next day, I prepared to go busking, only to find that my car was broken into. Fortunately for me, I didn't hide any money in the glove box, because the glove box contents were strewn about the passenger's seat. I got in my car, and three minutes into driving, I braked a few feet away from a car crash that totally obliterated the front of this car that ran a red light. The dude came out of the car relatively unscathed, but his face was all bloody. I had to keep driving, because I was holding up a line of cars behind me. When I arrived at the main street, I set up my new busking equipment that I bought a few days ago, and for 3.5 hours of playing with a looper pedal, I made a third of what I normally make for less than three hours of playing without a looper pedal. Feeling discouraged, I dragged my way home like a bag of bones, exhausted yet completely wired with financial fear. I couldn't fall asleep till around midnight, and my body woke me up at two in the morning. I was in stasis for several hours. My brain felt (and feels) atrophied from the adrenaline. I stayed up for a total of twenty-two hours that day. I had a men's work group process for most of the day until dinnertime. I went with one of my roommates. It was very similar to the Sacred Sons group process I did at their retreat. Someone's in the middle of the circle, re-enacting an old wound to create an opposite experience, often using someone else to roleplay their mother or father. This time, I focused on my feeling that nobody really cares about me or wants to hang out with me or invite me to anything; that I'm insignificant, worthless, unseen, unheard, all of that. I used someone to roleplay my dad, and within minutes I was on the floor in a puddle of screams and tears. Maybe I'll make a separate post about that. But I mention the wound because a gallon of salt was about to be poured on it. After the group process, I felt the dignity to bring up an issue to my roommate about inclusivity. I didn't really feel acknowledged or included when his other friends were around. The rest of my roommates and a couple other people had the same complaint. But instead of considering that with five other mirrors saying the same thing maybe there's something he could own and flex to accommodate, he instead dumped it all back onto me. He said it's 100 percent my issue, and I should be more initiating. There's an element of truth to my issue with initiation, and I've been making a conscious effort to deal with it. But I also have invited him to things on several occasions, and he's turned them down every single time. Then he said that I give off the energy of "no one wants to hang out with me," and he doesn't want to hang out with that. Translation: I don't want to hang out with you. He said this a couple hours after I was screaming and writhing on the floor with the belief that nobody actually wants to hang out with me. Later in the evening when I was all alone in my car, I had a mental breakdown. I screamed, cried till I had no tears, kept crying, flailed like a fish, and said "fuck you" to the Universe more times than I can count. And then, out of desperation, I called my brother, and he was the most validating and supportive he's ever been. Thank heavens for him, and for my mom, who also was extremely supportive today. But I have nobody here, now. One roommate told me they don't want me to sign back on, another one flakes on me, and the other one doesn't want to hang out with me. This living situation has miserably collapsed — me along with it. Today, I've been crying more from the loss of connection. On top of that is the fact that I moved here only two months ago, the shooting, my financial stress, the dating shit, and the lack of community, direction, and quite frankly, hope. I am utterly crushed. Exhausted. Devastated. Reliving the trauma of friend groups ditching me, over and over and over again, like some sort of merry-go-round from hell. It's like I have a fucking post-it note on my forehead that says, "Ostracize me." On a logical level, I know that rejection means that it's just not meant to be and that incompatibility is a reality. I just feel so discouraged. Where are the people with whom I have genuine compatibility? I know I'm worthy of nourishing relationships with people who actually care. And I no longer want to waste my time with people who genuinely don't want to spend time with me.

hardening artist. I wish I could say that these past two months have been glorious. That I've risen from the ashes of the shooting, made new friends, started new practices, found monetary success in my craft, and found the flow. There's been some of that, sure. A month ago, I went to Convergence 5 in person and had some mind-blowing healing out in the desert...only to return to the same issues back here in CO. I may write a separate post on that. I've been on a couple of dates, one of which was abysmal, the other of which was more ambiguous but enjoyable nonetheless. I have another one lined up for Sunday. I've made some acquaintances and have been fairly socially active. I even went busking last week and made $125 in less than three hours of playing on the main street. That was pretty cool. I've also been to a couple of open mics with the same sort of reception — I got some high compliments. But I still feel pretty miserable. For one, I was having issues with one of the roommates, the only female of the house. My other two roommates were having similar issues, and their friends even warned them about her. With all of the issues in the house, she is the common denominator. She's not a bad person, she has some capacity for self-reflection, and she has a lot of redeeming qualities; there's just a lot of weird dynamics that hurt. At one of the house meetings, one of the roommates said he wanted her to move out, the other one in a two-faced way defended her, while I also wanted her to move out. But she wouldn't budge. She asked me to move out at the end of the lease. She said that she can't connect with me in the way that she connects with the other two. I felt an equal sense of relief and anguish. Relief that I don't have to live with this person. Anguish that someone with qualities similar to my dad rejected me...and that the other two roommates are signing back onto the lease, even given all of the issues. It feels like betrayal. Like I spent all this time and effort to build a genuine connection with the other two roommates, only for them to side with the "abuser." And I BET the moment that I move out, they will flake, and I will not hear from them again. Just how that's been the case with pretty much every person I've hung out with out here. Just how it was in childhood, with literally every single friend group that I tried to join. Once a floater, always a floater? I know logically this is not necessarily the case, but it feels like nobody actually cares about me — like no one would actually reach out to me to ask how I'm doing. I almost fucking died two months ago, I've been trying so hard to make new friends, I'm financially drowning, I moved halfway across the country knowing one person who has since flaked on me — and the two roommates are just acting as if everything's hunky-dory. The female gave one of them the lease to sign, right in my face, as if to rub it in. So there's that. Then there's the issue with money. Everything here is so ridiculously expensive. Living as an artist feels near impossible. I have to wear a million different hats, and any sort of support costs too much money, and I spend half my day worrying about how I'm going to make my financial quota for the month. It's wearing on my body. I can't think straight. I can't create as effectively. I'm breaking out again. I'm having anxiety attacks and trouble sleeping. Not to mention that both Instacart and Doordash have become so oversaturated that it's almost more economical for me to learn new skills in my room than deliver poison to people and tear up my car in the process. (I think there's hope in both freelance writing and Twitch streaming as side income. More on that in another post, probably.) I feel so alone in all of this, even with a therapist. And the saddest part to me is, I have to pay someone to have an unconditional secure attachment. I don't even know if he would want to hang out with me if there were no money involved. That's what I want, ultimately. For once in my life to be able to lean on someone without feeling that nagging sense that I owe them. For them to do it out of the sheer desire of wanting to help me. Of seeing my value. Of appreciating me as the human that I am. But other than in my last intimate relationship, I have yet to experience that in my life. Everything's just been covert fucking contracts and having to prove my worth to be part of something, only to be forgotten shortly thereafter. I feel like I'm candle wax, melting to the fire of the systems. I can only hold out for so long before I'm a hot puddle on the floor. And nobody wants to hang out with a puddle of wax — they want to clean it up and dispose of it. The systems don't value artists and philosophers. They want me to submit to them and join the rat race just so I can "earn" the right to have food and shelter. What kind of a sick fucking world is this? I have to pay money to have basic shelter? And if I don't, I'm on the streets? As if by not being simply human I don't deserve basic shelter? And the things that I provide are somehow less valuable than that of an investor who for a living literally shuffles money around for companies that exploit people and rape the planet? The rage... I refuse to submit. I refuse to sell out. I don't care if I die trying. And at this point, it feels like nobody else would, either.

Of course, this probably won't work for everyone, but I figure I'd share this because no one else has yet. https://www.medicalmedium.com/ Mr. Ghost spirit guy — the strange dude who constantly peddles his books while marketing to chronically ill middle-aged women. It's really easy to disregard him because of his hubris and the way he talks, but I've found that his perspective is still worthwhile to study. I've done every diet under the sun — vegetarian, vegan, paleo, keto, carnivore, primal raw meat — you name it. And the medical medium approach has been the only one where I've actually seen healing over the long haul. Especially with the celery juice and heavy metal detox smoothie. Wow-wee, those two pack a punch. I didn't follow him for a long time because he seemed too much like snake oil, yet his approach is really straightforward: fruits and veggies. He claims that all vinegar pickles the liver, the focus on "gut health" is misleading, autoimmune diseases are actually viral in nature, and that lectins/oxalates/antinutrients are not actually antinutrients. You can listen to some of his old radio shows here:

This... It's fascinating to watch him because of his narcissism and lack of self-awareness. It's also fascinating to watch sv3rige for the same reasons. Intriguing points earlier on the stage red backlash.

@Ethan1 Wow, you bring up some really good points here, especially the one about emasculated men. Good work on the diagram. @aurum Thank you ?? I'm with you on all of that.

@tuckerwphotography @DocWatts @trenton @Preety_India Thank you all for such thoughtful, intelligent responses. I'm learning new things from all of y'all. I do plan to get some therapy for this, as this kind of event could definitely stick in my body for a while. Even today, my body/brain is imagining the scene again, with the gunshots behind me.

@Parththakkar12 Table Mesa.

welcome to Boulder, motherfucker. Well...that was a warm welcome.

My thoughts on all of this — 1. I think this supports Leo's perspective on the importance of governmental infrastructure, including emergency response teams. If it weren't for police intervention, a lot more people would have probably died. I mean, that's kind of a no-brainer, but it still needs to be said because we often take governmental infrastructure for granted. Or, due to negativity bias, we only focus on the flaws of government and build a case from there for reducing government altogether. Government sucks a lot of the time, but it's a technology that we can update and improve. I agree with Leo that it's not something to reduce or take away. 2. The question I ask in this situation is: How did the societal systems create this shooter? This guy was not created in a vacuum. He must have been so desperate to be seen and heard that shooting up a store was the only way he could unconsciously conceive of getting that need met. Probably heavily traumatized, poor home environment, poor socioeconomic status, stir crazy from the Covid lockdown, fucked over somehow. 3. I think a lot of us are reaching our breaking point, mental-health-wise, when it comes to the Covid lockdown. Our fundamental need for social connection has been so truncated that we're all starting to get a bit antsy and desperate. 4. I think gun control is more of a gateway to other issues. Of course, I think mental health screenings and the safe storage of guns are crucial measures when it comes to gun ownership. I just think that gun control is less of an issue here than mental health. Given all of the above, a lot of us are lacking physical exercise, social connection, and quite frankly, a sense of purpose. We all have trauma in our nervous systems that we don't know what to do with...which is why I think personal development, alternative therapies, spiritual practice, and personal responsibility are crucial for the general public to be exposed to.

journey complete. I made it. I made it to Somewhere.

?. Maybe it's just me, but I notice a lot of spiritual bypassing around these sorts of ideas in spiritual communities. "Selfish" has this negative connotation to it — that anything that's deemed selfish is therefore bad and must be either transcended or controlled. That if you desire sex, porn, or anything considered "shallow," you're unspiritual in some sort of way. The kernel of truth in that perspective is that desiring "shallow" things could be considered a sign of spiritual immaturity, and that yes, eventually they evolve into needs and desires that are more harmonious with the greater whole. The downside of that perspective is that it's a great excuse to shame yourself and shadow all of your "shallow" desires. Just because something is immature doesn't mean it's shame-worthy. It just means it's more out of alignment. The immature first grader can't skip grades, so best not to tell him to go for a PhD. And it's best for the first grader to not shame himself for not being able to do the coursework for a PhD. Like Leo has said in the past, sometimes it's better to backtrack, work on the basic human stuff, fulfill the "shallow" desires in as healthy ways as possible, and build a psychological foundation before pursuing self-transcendence stuff.

Been lurking this thread and laughing my nonexistent ass off As a recovering nice guy, I figure I ought to share my experience with all of this. Lots of insightful people on here. I think @Emerald's perspective is the most integrative one on the thread. Relationship dynamics are incredibly nuanced — they're a tricky interplay between psychology, spirituality, biology, culture, and other systems. Everyone's at a different place, with different beliefs, different wounding patterns, etc., so different sets of advice will land differently for different people. Like a hyper-masculine dude would take well to listen to Emerald's advice about getting in touch with his feminine side — learning how to feel feelings with self-compassion and self-acceptance, even the ones that hurt. Learning how to express those feelings safely. Learning how to hold space for a woman's feelings without needing to fix or control them. I, on the other hand, have spent most of my life feeling my feelings and holding space. I was the highly sensitive boy who cried every other day, who had friends-that-were-girls who friendzoned me, was constantly bullied by hyper-masculine men...so I learned to repress my masculine energy pretty early on. I am very familiar with holding space for all emotions, for myself and others. I do believe that intimacy (into-me-see) is about having the feminine safety to be able to healthily share any emotion ("I feel _____") and have it be accepted. But I am a stereotypical socially anxious beta male. I don't need to learn how to get in touch with my divine feminine — it's the divine masculine that I struggle to embody. It's the decisiveness, discipline, grit, leadership, reliability, drive, protectiveness, and focus that I crave to embody now more than ever. And I can't forget the biological element of this — that hormonally speaking, men are (generally) more wired to embody these qualities. I don't shun my inner nice guy anymore, though. I believe that nothing grows in shame — to try to "kill" the nice guy or be something other than what I am is counterproductive. It's the paradox of acceptance — accept the fact that you are what you are right now, and then you can change. You'll want to change naturally — to grow and express your genetic potential. While a lot of my fawning nice guy dynamics can be immature and manipulative, I can hold compassion for myself that I've had to be this way to survive the environment I've lived up to this point. I can also appreciate the niceness that is genuine, as well as my ability to be highly empathetic and considerate. The issue I find is that while there's a ton of role models of women who express their divine feminine, there are very few role models of men who express their divine masculine. Beyond Deida's Way of the Superior Man, Robert Bly's Iron John is a decent, poetic map for recovering nice guys. There's also Glover's No More Mr. Nice Guy and his men's circles around the country. I also recently discovered Sacred Sons, which seems like an awesome place to develop divine masculine. And who can forget Harville Hendrix and John Gray. Now, and especially in the pandemic, we men are more lone wolves than ever. I think that's another huge factor. We've been taught this neoliberal nonsense of the rugged individualistic man that has never been in the history of humanity how men have behaved. No man is an island. Some of the best healing, I've found, comes from group work with other men. One of the best ways to kill polarity is to treat a woman like one of your bro friends instead of as your partner. Best to meet those bro needs with other bros. Anyway, my two cents.

complex PTSD. After more than a decade in the dark, I finally found a term that describes the set of psychological symptoms I've had my whole life. Complex PTSD. I recently read Pete Walker's book with the same title. I wish I had known about this years ago, as it would have spared me from a lot of self-hatred. Or maybe not. Maybe I would have used the material to justify how broken I am — because we see the world as we are. We can't help it. Our nervous systems play a huge role in how safe we feel, and how safe we feel plays a huge role in what we think about ourselves and the world. Betrayal was the name of the game in my childhood. People who confusingly said they had my back would bully me and then give me a hard time if I protested. Friends ditched me on a whim. I was physically sheltered and emotionally starved. I didn't know what to do with myself other than leave human affairs, lock myself in my room, leave my body, and lock myself in my head. Unlocking the door to my body has been extremely painful. Pete Walker talks about how those with depressive or dissociative symptomologies are in a state of chronic freeze (a.k.a. a chronic state of dorsal vagal). It's basically a perpetual state of the body half-deciding to shut down and die. I feel it right now. You could call it depression, low energy, low motivation — but on a physiological level, it just feels like my body wants to die. Meditation in this state is fruitful, which is why I think I was drawn to transcendent spirituality in the first place. Also music. These activities are self-soothing a perpetual state of emotional abandonment. (Spirituality from this perspective = "If no human can love me, maybe God can love me.") Some days are better than others. But when the body runs the show in this regard, life feels a bit like a cage. But I know that these depressive waves come and go, and I can ride them lovingly. When I feel capable, I can chip away at my trauma bit by bit on the limbic level by using breathwork. And when I'm not, like right now, I can rest assured knowing that growth is inevitable — that my consciousness will naturally propel me to make more aligned choices. I think the the intense amount of letdowns and ghosting from this housing search is contributing majorly to this freeze state as well. Welp, too frozen to write anymore.

a puddle of UGHHHGHHHH... This past month — Imagine a kindergartner, overly excited about the coming school year, not sure exactly what's in store. Preparation falls into his lap — he chooses the first backpack at the store (a My Little Brony limited edition), a pack of traditional #2 pencils, and a glittery folder that he labels "Home Folder." On the first day, shoes tied and pant drawstring taut, he enthusiastically marches to the end of the driveway to be picked up by the bus. A few steps on the cracked part, and he trips and scrapes his knee. Battle scars, he thinks as he bravely picks himself up with nary a tear to shed. A few steps later, a bird poops on his left shoulder. Battle poop, he thinks as he bravely uses the leaf on a lawn plant to brush off as much of it as he can. He finally makes it to the end of the driveway, perhaps a little less enthusiastic but brimming with hope nonetheless. Five minutes pass. The bus is supposed to pick him up at 7:23. It's currently 7:20. Oh boi oh boi oh boi... He thinks as he does a little river dance. Another five minutes pass. He doesn't think too much of it, as he's learned that people are late sometimes. Another five minutes. He grows worried. Did he miss the bus, or has the bus missed him? Another five. Another. Another. With sulky demeanor and drooping shoulders, the kindergartner makes his way back inside and tells his parents. His parents call the school. The school says that the bus doesn't pass by their house anymore — that he had to be at a different place at a different time. The kindergartner collapses on the floor and melts into a puddle of UGHHHGHHHH.... — That's been my past month in a nutshell. The lease fell through under the strangest of circumstances, and now I'm trying to form another group. People ghosting me left and right, others desperately wanting me to join their house with a flooded basement. In one moment I'm encouraged, and then another moment, I melt into a puddle of UGHHHGHHHH because a house we're looking at gets rented by another group. All of this has taken a toll on my nervous system. I am an utterly exhausted, anxious, depressed mess. Who knew housing could be so complicated? And unpredictable?? And expensive???!!! Jeez Louise. A month ago, here I thought that the process was like green juice poop. But now it feels like one of those constipated deer-pellet poops where you eat too much low-fiber food and have adrenaline flooding your system and you haven't drunk any water all day. My intuitive compass is out of whack. I don't know what feels right anymore. This is not a great place to be — especially after a breakup in the middle of nowhere at the beginning of March, the most uneventful month of the year. I could use some literal and metaphorical green juice right now.

green juice poop. I did it. I. Did it. I'm taking the leap. I'm finally taking a Journey to Somewhere! It happened organically and effortlessly, like a poop after drinking green juice. Oddly enough, I wasn't that surprised. That's what happens after you drink green juice. That's what happens after you live in an emotional pressure cooker for two months straight with zero emotional support, few distractions, and grief as torrential as Niagra Falls. I felt like I had no choice but to follow my heart. My heart said — go to the place your heart has been calling you towards for years now. A place where the beer flows like wine...where beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano... I'm talking about a not-so-little place called...Colorado. I found a communal living situation and a 1.5-year lease out there. I have a feeling this will either turn out to be totally amazing or totally horrible with not much in between. Worst comes to worst, I can always go somewhere else. But my intuition is saying "hell yes," so I trust that whatever happens out there will inspire me to grow further into my authentic self. The move is tentatively happening on February 3. Until then, I will say my goodbyes and prepare for the journey ahead.

sexploitation, part 3. —From Neil Strauss, The Truth

@Preety_India I know EXACTLY how that goes, Preety. Nearly every single night for the past month, I've sobbed in my closet. Rock bottoms suck so bad. Feels like you'll be trapped in the pain forever. You won't, but that doesn't disregard the agony of feeling trapped in it. Rock bottoms are forceful. No escape. The only way out is through. I know that little kid in you who's scared out of her mind, who wants to just leave because it's too painful. I have a little kid like that, too. She doesn't want you to act on her impulses. She just wants love, respect, and attention. She needs tending to. She needs to be heard. In the meantime, just know that we're all rooting for you. ?

sexploitation, part 2. —From Neil Strauss, The Truth

Shameless plug

sexploitation. —Neil Strauss, The Truth

2020: the empire strikes back year. Welp, here we are in 2021. Another year; another benchmark to shame ourselves into buying a gym membership for a month. So 2020 was a shitstorm. The pandemic really did a number on all of us, some more than others. And I don't want to sugarcoat by saying how great of a spiritual opportunity this was to let go of what doesn't serve us anymore and blahbity blahbity blah... Most of us aren't even at that point yet. I'd say most of us are at the point of saying "mercy." I'm there, to be honest. This has been a year of deep psychological excavation; of coming up against huge financial, relational, and emotional hurdles; of testing how well I can fare when I have almost zero emotional resources — when it feels like the darkness won. It's The Empire Strikes Back year. It's not just COVID for me. I have a couple acquaintances who are into astrology, and they say that these next few years of my life (27-31) are "Saturn's return," which signifies a major transition into adulthood. Friends will be lost, moves will be made, and generally speaking, a major transformation is under way. I resonate with that because based on the events of this past year, it's already happening. On the first day of 2020, I moved into the Artist's Den and tried living alone for a second time. The place had a back yard, a kitchen, a dining room, a living room, a foyer, furnace heating, and other amenities that were luxurious to me. I could play guitar at three in the morning with no noise complaints, walk around butt naked, and have access to the kitchen whenever I wanted. But when my girlfriend at the time wasn't there, I was lonely as fuck. I realized through direct experience that no amount of luxury can compensate for nourishing human connections with wholesome people. Speaking of wholesome people, the dance with my ex was chaotic. We both had our stuff, projected onto each other, triggered each other constantly — yet we kept coming back to each other to try to do "the work" in a break-up/reunion cycle. She quarantined with me and my family after I canceled the lease on the Artist's Den in March, which resulted in the most turbulent, exciting, miserable, and amazing months of the year. I give her a lot of credit for going through that with me. As tumultuous as it was sometimes, I learned so much about myself in that relationship. I also feel truly honored to have had a soul connection with such a lovely, wise, beautiful and kind human being. She touched my heart in ways I didn't anticipate. The restaurants in my area were still open, so I did a lot of gigging in the summer, improving my chops a ton. Fall and winter has been in the parents' basement, caretaking a sobbing inner child with my inner strength. After the (presumably) final break-up last month, I had one session with my therapist before she found out that her husband was diagnosed with terminal cancer and had to cancel our future sessions. I haven't seen her since. In the midst of all of this, I've lost touch with several people who I used to call "friends." So... a breakup, losing friends, a therapist leaving, being around a family that doesn't understand the grieving process, being shamed for being depressed and mopey... It's been rough. Outdated ways of relating to people have come to the surface to be released, with grief as unrelenting as a river current. Dreams about fame and success that I thought were my own were merely narcissistic childhood mirages. I've become so disillusioned with horse-whip self-help. I am so sick and tired of being picked on or called "selfish" for going after what genuinely feels safe and nourishing to me. And I'm starting to own and caretake my shadow — the lazy, passionate, exploratory, brash, horny asshole. So while it is rough, it's not all bad. Through this hardship, I've learned about surrender and real self-love. Not just the question I posed last year — "What would someone who loves themselves do?" But a better question in my opinion: "What do I need in this moment to feel safe?" Because we can only make more empowered choices when we feel safe enough to do so. We can only change once we — all the parts of ourselves, including our shadow — feel safe, accepted, seen, heard, validated. My new year's resolution is not to get bigger muscles, a better job, or one hour of daily meditation. It's to commit to inner safety.

Orphan with a family. I wander through the aimless streets looking for some sign that the human race is not some collective fear machine and all I find are methodically implanted cogs within a hyper-vigilant nervous system. I wander through relationships looking for the ephemeral sparks that point to an oasis and all I find are convincing mirages within a deserted soul. I wander through the land of self-help tropes looking for some elusive enlightenment that will ease the pain and all I find are angry talking heads that tell me I'm not enough. I wander through family outings looking into the vacant stares of same blood and all I find are reflections of the emptiness within. I am a husk without substance, an orphan with a family — speaking but not heard, visible but not seen. I have nobody, and nobody has me.