The Peak of Being Fed Up
When I was in the university, pre-final or sophomore level, I had a tendency to overwhelm myself with too many tasks and worry myself for not getting them done. Oftentimes, I would feel helpless, unwanted, unseen, and lost. I had tremendous troubles with my emotional and mental state. I used to write, study, run, learn multiple shit, read books, watch movies, series, and vlogs, research about other countries' histories, wars, standards of living and the like, and try to find "ways to make money online" of wich I was greately unsuccessful on that one.
I became frustrated. I became mad at myself for not coming up with concrete results. I began to isolate myself. Sometimes, I would drink 4 - 5 cups of strong coffees per day, and my body would vibrate after each an every drink. I would feel my entire body trembling like walls preparing to collapse during an earthquake and feeling my neck and forehead sweating.
But that didn’t stop me from consuming that amount of coffee per day because I was stubborn and saw it as an adventure. Other times, I would go buy a cigarette (Marlborough), lit it, and smoke it secretly when my roommate wasn't present. I would puff the cigarette through the window with a cup of coffee in my left hand staring at the opposite building where girls live in, usually I'd spot one girl studying, talking over the phone, eating, singing, dressing or undressing in her room and then I'd saw her enclosing the curtain after seeing me staring at her.
All that coffee consumption and smoking shit made me feel like I'm taking action for dealing with my issues--which most of them were petty ones. I'd then go and undo what I was often doing, craving to get myself hurt and wishing to disappear from everyone and not be found. Sometimes, death had an appealing side to me. It was that moment that I knew I was getting comfortable, and I resented being comfortable because it made me feel like a loser as I was doing no shit.
I began to develop a bad taste in the schoolwork and its system. I asked myself why I was even there and what I was doing there exactly. I went against my studying routine. I stopped studying and told myself, "Fuck! Whatever happens, let it happen." I became strange to myself. I didn't know who I was and what I had became.
I watched myself going down in misery like a sinking Titanic. I enjoyed it, though, since I've told you that I hated comfort. I invited pain from my past to choke me. I invited the reality of my fucked up, vague and loose relationship with my mother to hurt me. I assigned myself in the Department of Awareness to study and confront my emotions. I became aware of how awful and how full of shit I was and face the bitter truth that I wasn't the person I thought I was. I invited all those things to me while I was alone in the room in the midnight in the complete darkness with lights switched off. They gently arrived and surrounded me, it was too late to apologize or explain, and then they began to whip my ass off and torture me.
It wasn’t fun at all for the first few midnights, I was in some real special kind of hell. I was given a VIP ticket for more painful experiences and faced my bullshit. I started to regret joining this department, but sadly, there was no going back at that time. I had to suffer from it. And I was unquestionably bound to suffer.
After 9 or 11 series midnights of awareness and confrontation of my scattered and unsociable emotions, I felt almost no pain and fear in gazing at my bullshit emotions. I faced them straight because I was extremely, hazardously, maximally, and ultra fed up. I got the fuck up and scream an aggressive "fuuuck!" in the room alone at night. It’s like I was entering a phase of being somewhat crazy. I embraced that stage. It was where I belong. I felt welcomed and formed a healthy companionship with it.
Without wasting any of my time, I ceased from getting attached to material stuff. I realized the reason behind that attachment. What was it? I was unconsciously seeking some sense of recognition, attention, praise, love, respect, and all that dumb fucking crazy combination.
How can you chase material shit when you want respect, love, and praise? Well, that’s simple, when you acquire material possessions, people--especially dumb people like you and who (unconsciously) wish to be dumb like you--they grant you some form of respect, love, and eventually praise you as some kind of God. Why? Because they view you as a winner, a successful human being, a role model, a star, messiah, and their deputy God. I didn’t realize I was amid this shit participating and one of those deputy Gods until I detached myself from such trivial shit and resigned. It was the best decision I’ve made. I got the best feeling from that resignation. It was a liberating move. I highly recommend it.
All those material possessions I had collected offered me some sense of comfort, security, and superiority amongst my dumb peers like me and superpowers. I felt like I was progressing in life. Hey! I felt like I was smarter and making my life better without the tiny piece of intervention of conscious, deeper thought that I was deluding myself and making myself worse and dumber.
When I found out about it, I realized how much less progress I've made in life. I realized I had to change. In fact, I realized I must change. I was fed up. The people who knew me well and gave some fucks about me noticed some changes in me and weren't comfortable to be around me. I couldn't help it. I wanted to hide the fact that I was going through some shit but failed. Dismally. It oozed from my face and behavior, so it became plain as porridge that something was troubling me. But it felt good because the frivolous burden I was carrying on my shoulders was being harshly removed, bit by bit.
I didn’t stop there, I went down deeper as that Titanic I was hoping on was sinking with me, I began to be hard on myself. Me, my identity, and my self-worth or whatever that is. It surprised me to discover that my dearest and venerable identity was merely built on illusions and lies. As it surprised me,it hurt me again because the truth isn’t sweet. I fell under and became a victim of what psychologists called the identity crisis. My folly self-worth diminished at an instant. That one didn’t hurt me that much.
And there I was--at the age of 19--puzzled, dragged, and roaming around from self-inflicted hate and to wrath. Swinging back and forth between loneliness and misery. I watched my only one identity shattered. It’s like I lost the powerful, respected part of me. I was fed up, for sure.
Then I began to examine my love and endless desire for chasing various women...
Argh! I just got distracted now. Let's leave this one for the next time. I just need to eat right now, you know.
