One of the leading causes of death is suicide. I hate the reaction toward this statistic.
Suicide is not a car. Suicide is not murder. Suicide is not accidental or impositional (in most cases, and accidental suicide is not what I'm talking about). Suicide - the cause of it - is psychological. Suicide is not something that comes out of nowhere and hits you in the side. It's not a thunderstorm the strikes you. For those who are the family of such a person, the Result may feel like that, but not the action, nor the cause, Is that.
The debate about suicide is similar to the debate about marijuana -- if you argue in favor of marijuana, you're doing drugs. If you argue in favor of suicide, you're suicidal and need help. Unfortunately, in my case, I can't use the counter to this argument, since I do have a suicidal mental tendency. However, I doubt that I will ever commit suicide. It's a mental romance, not a mental torture. Additionally (and this are details that I will omit for now), the "help" would now be unneeded.
Suicide is a touchy topic because it relates to the inhibition, mentally, of a person, whether through self-imposition or others-imposition. It's a surprise to people, accordingly, because the person (for obvious reasons) does not talk about it; unless, of course, the person wants help. The reason for the high sensitivity of the reaction is that the people want to keep the person safe and sound, and, reasonably, do not trust the potential suicider to tell them the truth. Hence, the possibility for false positives and imposing one's will via paranoia on the potential suicider is an occurrence that oft happens.
Why I point out the semantic difference between suicide as a mental state as opposite to a force of nature killing randomly or a person killing someone else (an important point, since a suicider pretty nearly universally has his or her consent to be suicided, obviously), is because I want to lessen the occurrence of people shutting up other people in places that are very similar to a jail because they simply talk about a subject. That would be nice.
Another angle, of course, is that of an increasing knowledge of why people would become suicidal. Since I have that tendency, and since I have an interest in the subject, I answer that I'm already doing this. So, take the handcuffs off me, please. Do you realize that going to jail is a rather depressing thing, and so your actions are being counter-productive?
Thanks. Have a nice day.
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Monday, July 12, 2010
Monday, September 21, 2009
In the mood for poetry after watchin' a vid
A Witty Response
He sought from the world
Meek-face and distant
In another world was he
Poe his dream
Raven his parrot
Cold world of C.S.
Disdain for religion
Of no opinion hisself
He tires
Twoface wrinkled-eye smooth-side other
Ripplestilkstin stealing babies like his father
Osama, dollars we can believe in
Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem?
Life is a temporary solution to a permanent problem.
The fungus lives.
He sought from the world
Meek-face and distant
In another world was he
Poe his dream
Raven his parrot
Cold world of C.S.
Disdain for religion
Of no opinion hisself
He tires
Twoface wrinkled-eye smooth-side other
Ripplestilkstin stealing babies like his father
Osama, dollars we can believe in
Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem?
Life is a temporary solution to a permanent problem.
The fungus lives.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Trouble of Being Suicidal
I have been suicidal for much of my life. In fact, I've killed myself 5 times. Of those 5 five times, I survived 3 times. You are reading writing from the walking dead.
People's responses to someone who says "I'm suicidal..." are usually worse than useless. "I want to help you. Talk to me whenever you like." "You should see a qualified psychiatrist."
My response to someone who says they're suicidal: "Hm. Why?" The common reason behind suicidality is that of lack of control. And yes, this is my opinion. Probably, most would find my reaction to someone who said they're going to jump off a bridge, dangerous:
"Go ahead. Could you explain to me why you're going to jump before you jump?"
"No! Fuck off!"
"I want to watch. I've never seen a suicide before."
"... I need to find a different place to kill myself."
"Can I watch?"
"NO!" XD
It is true that I have a tendency to be dramatic when it comes to suicide and death. It's only been more recent that I realize that, indeed, my suicidality was, more or less, a cry for attention. Not even attention, though, but to be amused by the response it provoked. People look at you different when you act in certain ways; hold a knife and slowly turn it so it gleams at them; pretend you're possessed; be emo to a friend.
People don't like to think about suicide, it seems. The response is, "get help," and "don't kill yourself." Yeah, thanks. Another boring person who will probably submit me to the police or some psychiatric hospital for being tested for something I already know too well and play with. I romanticize suicide; I don't want to get a 4k bill for it. It's like if you tell someone you're having trouble with a relationship and they recommend you go to the Dr. Phil show. You'd have to be insane to think that doing that would make things better. Then again, maybe I should play with that -- I'm exploring insanity and irrationality, after all.
I was a lot more dramatic and damsel-in-distress when I was younger. That is, when I didn't realize I was doing it. A lot of it is because of my Christian background. Christianity is quite the mindfuck. Worthlessness, self-loathing, and yet, validation in a non-existent entity. Is it any wonder that most Christians display so much cognitive dissonance?
People want to help you, and they help you too much. You become suicidal because you're shy and don't understand what's going on and can't change it. You tell people who want to help you and help you too much that you're suicidal. Said people escort you to an asylum, where you either spend most of your time being on watch 24/7 for signs that you might kill yourself, or are released after a few days, with a huge hospital bill. After this trauma, you then thank the over-helpful people for having made you suicidal, admitted you to a hospital that made you paranoid and perhaps charged you, and then left, not dead.
Because all that matters is that people don't die. Save their souls! Torment them on earth that they might have eternal life in heaven! Yes, I'm bitter. I also recently came to the conclusion that the bill was actually valid, since I did voluntarily go in out of curiosity. 7 lives to go (college).
People's responses to someone who says "I'm suicidal..." are usually worse than useless. "I want to help you. Talk to me whenever you like." "You should see a qualified psychiatrist."
My response to someone who says they're suicidal: "Hm. Why?" The common reason behind suicidality is that of lack of control. And yes, this is my opinion. Probably, most would find my reaction to someone who said they're going to jump off a bridge, dangerous:
"Go ahead. Could you explain to me why you're going to jump before you jump?"
"No! Fuck off!"
"I want to watch. I've never seen a suicide before."
"... I need to find a different place to kill myself."
"Can I watch?"
"NO!" XD
It is true that I have a tendency to be dramatic when it comes to suicide and death. It's only been more recent that I realize that, indeed, my suicidality was, more or less, a cry for attention. Not even attention, though, but to be amused by the response it provoked. People look at you different when you act in certain ways; hold a knife and slowly turn it so it gleams at them; pretend you're possessed; be emo to a friend.
People don't like to think about suicide, it seems. The response is, "get help," and "don't kill yourself." Yeah, thanks. Another boring person who will probably submit me to the police or some psychiatric hospital for being tested for something I already know too well and play with. I romanticize suicide; I don't want to get a 4k bill for it. It's like if you tell someone you're having trouble with a relationship and they recommend you go to the Dr. Phil show. You'd have to be insane to think that doing that would make things better. Then again, maybe I should play with that -- I'm exploring insanity and irrationality, after all.
I was a lot more dramatic and damsel-in-distress when I was younger. That is, when I didn't realize I was doing it. A lot of it is because of my Christian background. Christianity is quite the mindfuck. Worthlessness, self-loathing, and yet, validation in a non-existent entity. Is it any wonder that most Christians display so much cognitive dissonance?
People want to help you, and they help you too much. You become suicidal because you're shy and don't understand what's going on and can't change it. You tell people who want to help you and help you too much that you're suicidal. Said people escort you to an asylum, where you either spend most of your time being on watch 24/7 for signs that you might kill yourself, or are released after a few days, with a huge hospital bill. After this trauma, you then thank the over-helpful people for having made you suicidal, admitted you to a hospital that made you paranoid and perhaps charged you, and then left, not dead.
Because all that matters is that people don't die. Save their souls! Torment them on earth that they might have eternal life in heaven! Yes, I'm bitter. I also recently came to the conclusion that the bill was actually valid, since I did voluntarily go in out of curiosity. 7 lives to go (college).
Monday, August 31, 2009
I'm in denial? Nu-uh! Well, maybe a little...
It is not exactly preferable to be in denial if you are in pursuit of truth and reality, which I am. To be honest, I do admit that I am slightly in denial. So I will explain the ideal that I intend to exude with this.
I wish that I did not have a body with needs for food and drink. I also wish that I did not require shelter. In the state of things of the USA, you are born into a virtual slavery (in my opinion). To live is to either leech off of other people, or to be in debt to something called "the government" by way of owning property; or you could rent, which has the same essential feature (in my opinion). You could, of course, just live outside in the cold and be rained on, but I do not prefer this, as I'm sure many others don't.
Having used "(in my opinion)" twice and possibly annoying someone who might read this - well, having annoyed myself - I give an explanation of what that sentiment means: this requires more explanation which I currently don't want to bother explaining.
It might do well to explain how I've gotten to this way of approaching life. I was raised a Christian, and one of my questions regarding God was, "Why does God love us?" I pursued this question and never got what I thought was a satisfactory answer. It usually boiled down to something like, "Well, why does the artist make a painting?" or "Why does the artist love his painting?" But... God does not require anything. Which would then be counter-acted with, "God's love pours out." Yet, it still did not explain anything. Why did God love us, and why was his love pouring out?
I used to imagine what the afterlife would be like, after the earth would be gone. It was much like C.S. Lewis' "cold place" version that he wrote of in one of his books, and like the vision of Narnia; it could also be compared to the planet that Mr. Manhattan went to when he was pissed at the reporters. A cold place, desolate from all human activity but my own, on a small planet that wasn't exactly big, but not exactly small, perhaps like the planet that the prince from My Little Prince inhabited, and I would be sitting on it, the rest of the planet utterly dark (more of just a loss of focus from it), and I would watch earth, with all of its destruction and drama. And I would feel at peace.
For a long time, I wondered if I had autism; or perhaps its lesser counterpart, Asperger's. I used to write in my journal/diary everyday, not quite religiously, just voluminously and vigorously. My ideal was to capture all of my thoughts, and analyze them, each and every one, and see what I could find, and if I was consistent in my thoughts. This part of it happened more-or-less after someone recommended Plato to me and I read his Apology. I loved the Socratic method and adopted it.
What I think now was probably the case, and still is the case, is that I might have some mild form of autism/Aspergers, but only as relates to what every other shy person has. That is, I'm suggesting that there is, perhaps, a link between shyness and autism. Well, not really suggesting it, but I am trying to see what the similarities or links might be. Perhaps I'm a combination of the two, as it were, a "very high functioning autistic". Perhaps "shy" could be interchanged with that.
These are the types of discussions I would have with myself in my diary. I would take a possibility, and then try and demolish it, while retaining it enough that the battle of affirming and disproving could never be over; or, if one possibility became more apparent, I would simply travel further down the list of possibilities, and then also, make another outrageous statement or connection, and then go about trying to figure that one out, too. And then I'd tie them together. Put simply, I loved using the written word as a means of exploring reality. Reading books, writing my thoughts, and exploring ideals.
About the time that I started asking why god loved us, I noticed that I saw patterns. In later reading some of Anne Frank's diary, I'm wondering if that was about when she noticed colors. It was, then, very "male" of me to notice that I saw patterns. She noted that she saw all sorts of colors. Me, I saw all sorts of patterns. And then I soon found a type of mind that might help me with my question: geniuses.
Issac Newton, Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison, Thomas Jefferson, Samuel Johnson, Benjamin Franklin (and so on)... I googled "genius, creativity" and many other things daily in attempt to wield more information from the internet. I browsed the online library and checked out books on genius, creativity, madness, and all combinations thereof. Soon I found autism, idiot savants, and Asperger's, too. I wanted to find the extremes, since nature reveals its properties soonest when working with extremes.
I wanted as much time as I could possibly get to study the world and think about it. Since I have/had only about 80 or so years of life, I focused on thinking as often as I could (which wasn't too hard), and more importantly, speeding up my perception of time so that 1 second would seem like 10 seconds, 100 seconds, an hour, or longer. Longer was preferable. I couldn't and haven't figured out a way to do it, though. The main possibility seems to be either training for it, or a rush of adrenaline. Thing with the rush of adrenaline is, the probability of focusing on problems with paranoid vigor. I'm not sure if that's a detriment to thinking, or an advantage.
I guess I'm sort of writing a mini-autobiography. That's kind of how it is when you're explaining part of your life to someone, I guess. I wonder what the verbal/visual format of it will be called. We have YouTube now, after all. A mini-autobiography is what it's going to be until I "catch you up" to the current times, which I kind of intend in doing with just one broad stroke, though this might not happen. And then this'll be more like a... blog? Diary? I don't know. I'm playing it by ear and trying to find out if I'm OK with this.
I've always been slightly introspective. It was increased after an event. In October of 2001, a man named Andrew Pudewa held a writing conference. My mother got word of it by newpaper, and knowing of my interest in bettering my writing, suggested the event. I was enthusiastic about it and went. The event was (and I wish I had a better word for it, but still after 8 years, I don't) spiritual for me. I couldn't attend the speech he gave, so my mom got a copy of it on CD. I listened to it 7 times right away. It has also been is uploaded to YouTube. Andrew Pudewa also gave reference to someone else, John Taylor Gatto and his book (which can be read for free online), The Underground History of American Education.
I loved his vision of how learning should be done. My mom was homeschooling me (having taken me from public school because my sister and I were having problems there; a girl was teasing me and my sister was being a bully and threw a kid in a garbage can); I stopped doing the curriculum, instead focusing on research on genius, creativity, madness, and autism. This caused problems, since I didn't have a job. I was, essentially, leeching off of my mum and dad. This didn't settle too well with me, but neither did I want a job. I'd read about the tyranny and discomfort of having a job (How to Be Idle [Amazon link] by Tom Hodgkinson) and didn't want to get one.
This went on for about a year. Finally, my mother couldn't take it any longer, and took me to a counseling place to get me evaluated. I saw it as a chance to show her, officially, that I was depressed, instead of telling her myself, since I was trying to avoid her. I was diagnosed with Mild Depression, and my mother cried over it. Mostly, I was surprised that I wasn't diagnosed with severe depression.
During one of the last visits to the place (they tried to help me with psychiatric care and it just didn't mix), she suggested a private Christian school. At this point, the word Christian had begun to have a bad taste in my mouth. But I was tempted to see what Andrew Pudewa was talking about in regard to the corruption of schools. So, I agreed and went.
It was a good year. For the most part, I liked it. I even passed out CDs about the Andrew Pudewa stuff to a teacher or two, and we tried the system. It didn't last for that long (and later the school closed), but from a recall point of years later, it was probably the best time and most stimulating time I had when doing a school assignment.
The school year ended, and I expected to go back to my research on genius, creativity, and so forth. Instead, I fell into a deep depression, and found YouTube. Thereat, I searched around and listened to people, and soon found TAA (or, TheAmazingAtheist). This was back before when TAA's videos were a lot better. I concurrently started at his first video, and listened to all of his videos. I also went looking for long (2+ hour) debates on religion.
About 5 or 6 months later, I started calling myself an atheist; first, abashedly (since many of the atheists were also anti-theistic and rude), and then, more comfortably (I made another category of anti-theist/YouTube atheist, both of which have the first meaning of being against the Christian religion and thinking that it's memetic destruction will benefit the human race, with the second meaning being an atheist that might have a tendency to be an asshole to Christians). The main definition used by the atheist community is: the lack of belief in god(s). As opposed to having unbelief, or, disbelieving (or something of that elk). In which case, the Christian then claims that the atheist "has even more faith than the Christian!"
Then came college. As it saw it, since I would be, essentially, kicked out if I didn't get a job soon, my two options were live on the street somehow, or attend college. Since I was curious about what college would be like, and if it was true that college is corrupt, and since I couldn't think of a way that I would be able to live on the streets, I went with the college option, to increase the amount of time before the inevitable crash. I looked at a lot of them and visited a few. My favorites were St. John's, Cornell, and a lower costing college.
And then there were costs to consider. Since I didn't want to take out extravagant loans (I hate owing people money; I would rather people owe me money and give them a lenient time to pay it back with interest), the lower costing college became the only viable option. It still wasn't attractive, but it was college, or bum; I didn't want to be a bum, and I was, as I said before, curious about college.
The first semester went beautifully. Stimulating and full of stuff to observe. However, what happened at the second semester was unexpected. It seems that I had absorbed what I needed to absorb about how college worked. With my interest having declined, I had an issue with homework. It wasn't the work aspect that I had trouble with, it was someone else telling me what to do when in regard to what I thought about. I guard my intellectual focus with a passion, and homework was a direct intrusion upon it. Why didn't I have an issue with it before? Because it was part of the investigation.
I started missing homework assignments, and soon simply skipped class. And because I was also talking about the subject of suicide in my videos, concerned teachers had me admitted to a psych ward. I at first went willingly. Upon discovering that I was actually locked in, I spent the next three days in paranoid rebellion. The night of the second day they called my parents; they asked if I wanted to drop out and go home. I did. Home I went with a 4k bill from the hospital and a determination not to pay it off since it was, basically, imposed on me. Not that I had money to pay it off...
At about the time that I was about to be submitted to the psych ward, I was trying to get laid. From craigslist. I had an interesting experience with an older man, and then I met a girl who was "experienced with helping virgins." She also had a husband, a kid, and something she put up her vagina that prevented pregnancy. I went back home, and when we visited our grandparent's house (that's where she lived), I took the opportunity to arrange with her an night to fuck. And we did.
Having the Christian mystique taken away from sex, I could now better evaluate it and incorporate the experience into other things, like what books said about it. It seemed over-glamorized. And the jealousy that was attached to it I found confusing. Why couldn't people fuck who they wanted to? Why were people jealous of other people fucking "their" girlfreind? I could only relate it to my first love when I was a Christian, and my scathing jealousy at the thought of someone else fucking her. The next question, then, was whether jealousy was a theistic concept, or, if jealousy had similar elements that theism had. Or what sort of animal it was that I was dealing with. As it was, I preferred (and prefer) sluts and polyamory.
After the vacation at the grandparents was over, I left with the family back to home. However, I now wanted to live with the woman I'd met, instead of my family. After some talk, and a few weeks, we had some time of goodbyes and I left to back to where she was. The situation wasn't great, I wasn't technically supposed to be there, so I slept in the garage for much of it. Since I didn't have a job, I tried out a daily labor place that paid you at the end of each day.
After doing a few jobs for the place, one being heavy-work, the other a long time standing in one place, I realized that I could not handle hard physical labor jobs. I lived off and on in a homeless shelter. The place had an overall feel of tyranny to it. It wasn't overtly tyrannical, but it had Christian overtones and annoying schedules. The place was somewhere you didn't want to be if you could help it. Which, I suppose, was a positive, since that encouraged people to leave.
As it was, and is, I was trying to get a job for a place - any place - and never getting one. Consequently, I focused my efforts on online methods (specifically PTCs) as a means of making money. Unfortunately, the current PTC that I'm hoping pans out, I didn't discover until the last month or so. Apparently, the renting for NeoBux may not be that great. If it's not, then I'm kind of out of options, especially since I seem to be eternally unable to get a job.
I shall explain more later, perhaps.
I wish that I did not have a body with needs for food and drink. I also wish that I did not require shelter. In the state of things of the USA, you are born into a virtual slavery (in my opinion). To live is to either leech off of other people, or to be in debt to something called "the government" by way of owning property; or you could rent, which has the same essential feature (in my opinion). You could, of course, just live outside in the cold and be rained on, but I do not prefer this, as I'm sure many others don't.
Having used "(in my opinion)" twice and possibly annoying someone who might read this - well, having annoyed myself - I give an explanation of what that sentiment means: this requires more explanation which I currently don't want to bother explaining.
It might do well to explain how I've gotten to this way of approaching life. I was raised a Christian, and one of my questions regarding God was, "Why does God love us?" I pursued this question and never got what I thought was a satisfactory answer. It usually boiled down to something like, "Well, why does the artist make a painting?" or "Why does the artist love his painting?" But... God does not require anything. Which would then be counter-acted with, "God's love pours out." Yet, it still did not explain anything. Why did God love us, and why was his love pouring out?
I used to imagine what the afterlife would be like, after the earth would be gone. It was much like C.S. Lewis' "cold place" version that he wrote of in one of his books, and like the vision of Narnia; it could also be compared to the planet that Mr. Manhattan went to when he was pissed at the reporters. A cold place, desolate from all human activity but my own, on a small planet that wasn't exactly big, but not exactly small, perhaps like the planet that the prince from My Little Prince inhabited, and I would be sitting on it, the rest of the planet utterly dark (more of just a loss of focus from it), and I would watch earth, with all of its destruction and drama. And I would feel at peace.
For a long time, I wondered if I had autism; or perhaps its lesser counterpart, Asperger's. I used to write in my journal/diary everyday, not quite religiously, just voluminously and vigorously. My ideal was to capture all of my thoughts, and analyze them, each and every one, and see what I could find, and if I was consistent in my thoughts. This part of it happened more-or-less after someone recommended Plato to me and I read his Apology. I loved the Socratic method and adopted it.
What I think now was probably the case, and still is the case, is that I might have some mild form of autism/Aspergers, but only as relates to what every other shy person has. That is, I'm suggesting that there is, perhaps, a link between shyness and autism. Well, not really suggesting it, but I am trying to see what the similarities or links might be. Perhaps I'm a combination of the two, as it were, a "very high functioning autistic". Perhaps "shy" could be interchanged with that.
These are the types of discussions I would have with myself in my diary. I would take a possibility, and then try and demolish it, while retaining it enough that the battle of affirming and disproving could never be over; or, if one possibility became more apparent, I would simply travel further down the list of possibilities, and then also, make another outrageous statement or connection, and then go about trying to figure that one out, too. And then I'd tie them together. Put simply, I loved using the written word as a means of exploring reality. Reading books, writing my thoughts, and exploring ideals.
About the time that I started asking why god loved us, I noticed that I saw patterns. In later reading some of Anne Frank's diary, I'm wondering if that was about when she noticed colors. It was, then, very "male" of me to notice that I saw patterns. She noted that she saw all sorts of colors. Me, I saw all sorts of patterns. And then I soon found a type of mind that might help me with my question: geniuses.
Issac Newton, Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison, Thomas Jefferson, Samuel Johnson, Benjamin Franklin (and so on)... I googled "genius, creativity" and many other things daily in attempt to wield more information from the internet. I browsed the online library and checked out books on genius, creativity, madness, and all combinations thereof. Soon I found autism, idiot savants, and Asperger's, too. I wanted to find the extremes, since nature reveals its properties soonest when working with extremes.
I wanted as much time as I could possibly get to study the world and think about it. Since I have/had only about 80 or so years of life, I focused on thinking as often as I could (which wasn't too hard), and more importantly, speeding up my perception of time so that 1 second would seem like 10 seconds, 100 seconds, an hour, or longer. Longer was preferable. I couldn't and haven't figured out a way to do it, though. The main possibility seems to be either training for it, or a rush of adrenaline. Thing with the rush of adrenaline is, the probability of focusing on problems with paranoid vigor. I'm not sure if that's a detriment to thinking, or an advantage.
I guess I'm sort of writing a mini-autobiography. That's kind of how it is when you're explaining part of your life to someone, I guess. I wonder what the verbal/visual format of it will be called. We have YouTube now, after all. A mini-autobiography is what it's going to be until I "catch you up" to the current times, which I kind of intend in doing with just one broad stroke, though this might not happen. And then this'll be more like a... blog? Diary? I don't know. I'm playing it by ear and trying to find out if I'm OK with this.
I've always been slightly introspective. It was increased after an event. In October of 2001, a man named Andrew Pudewa held a writing conference. My mother got word of it by newpaper, and knowing of my interest in bettering my writing, suggested the event. I was enthusiastic about it and went. The event was (and I wish I had a better word for it, but still after 8 years, I don't) spiritual for me. I couldn't attend the speech he gave, so my mom got a copy of it on CD. I listened to it 7 times right away. It has also been is uploaded to YouTube. Andrew Pudewa also gave reference to someone else, John Taylor Gatto and his book (which can be read for free online), The Underground History of American Education.
I loved his vision of how learning should be done. My mom was homeschooling me (having taken me from public school because my sister and I were having problems there; a girl was teasing me and my sister was being a bully and threw a kid in a garbage can); I stopped doing the curriculum, instead focusing on research on genius, creativity, madness, and autism. This caused problems, since I didn't have a job. I was, essentially, leeching off of my mum and dad. This didn't settle too well with me, but neither did I want a job. I'd read about the tyranny and discomfort of having a job (How to Be Idle [Amazon link] by Tom Hodgkinson) and didn't want to get one.
This went on for about a year. Finally, my mother couldn't take it any longer, and took me to a counseling place to get me evaluated. I saw it as a chance to show her, officially, that I was depressed, instead of telling her myself, since I was trying to avoid her. I was diagnosed with Mild Depression, and my mother cried over it. Mostly, I was surprised that I wasn't diagnosed with severe depression.
During one of the last visits to the place (they tried to help me with psychiatric care and it just didn't mix), she suggested a private Christian school. At this point, the word Christian had begun to have a bad taste in my mouth. But I was tempted to see what Andrew Pudewa was talking about in regard to the corruption of schools. So, I agreed and went.
It was a good year. For the most part, I liked it. I even passed out CDs about the Andrew Pudewa stuff to a teacher or two, and we tried the system. It didn't last for that long (and later the school closed), but from a recall point of years later, it was probably the best time and most stimulating time I had when doing a school assignment.
The school year ended, and I expected to go back to my research on genius, creativity, and so forth. Instead, I fell into a deep depression, and found YouTube. Thereat, I searched around and listened to people, and soon found TAA (or, TheAmazingAtheist). This was back before when TAA's videos were a lot better. I concurrently started at his first video, and listened to all of his videos. I also went looking for long (2+ hour) debates on religion.
About 5 or 6 months later, I started calling myself an atheist; first, abashedly (since many of the atheists were also anti-theistic and rude), and then, more comfortably (I made another category of anti-theist/YouTube atheist, both of which have the first meaning of being against the Christian religion and thinking that it's memetic destruction will benefit the human race, with the second meaning being an atheist that might have a tendency to be an asshole to Christians). The main definition used by the atheist community is: the lack of belief in god(s). As opposed to having unbelief, or, disbelieving (or something of that elk). In which case, the Christian then claims that the atheist "has even more faith than the Christian!"
Then came college. As it saw it, since I would be, essentially, kicked out if I didn't get a job soon, my two options were live on the street somehow, or attend college. Since I was curious about what college would be like, and if it was true that college is corrupt, and since I couldn't think of a way that I would be able to live on the streets, I went with the college option, to increase the amount of time before the inevitable crash. I looked at a lot of them and visited a few. My favorites were St. John's, Cornell, and a lower costing college.
And then there were costs to consider. Since I didn't want to take out extravagant loans (I hate owing people money; I would rather people owe me money and give them a lenient time to pay it back with interest), the lower costing college became the only viable option. It still wasn't attractive, but it was college, or bum; I didn't want to be a bum, and I was, as I said before, curious about college.
The first semester went beautifully. Stimulating and full of stuff to observe. However, what happened at the second semester was unexpected. It seems that I had absorbed what I needed to absorb about how college worked. With my interest having declined, I had an issue with homework. It wasn't the work aspect that I had trouble with, it was someone else telling me what to do when in regard to what I thought about. I guard my intellectual focus with a passion, and homework was a direct intrusion upon it. Why didn't I have an issue with it before? Because it was part of the investigation.
I started missing homework assignments, and soon simply skipped class. And because I was also talking about the subject of suicide in my videos, concerned teachers had me admitted to a psych ward. I at first went willingly. Upon discovering that I was actually locked in, I spent the next three days in paranoid rebellion. The night of the second day they called my parents; they asked if I wanted to drop out and go home. I did. Home I went with a 4k bill from the hospital and a determination not to pay it off since it was, basically, imposed on me. Not that I had money to pay it off...
At about the time that I was about to be submitted to the psych ward, I was trying to get laid. From craigslist. I had an interesting experience with an older man, and then I met a girl who was "experienced with helping virgins." She also had a husband, a kid, and something she put up her vagina that prevented pregnancy. I went back home, and when we visited our grandparent's house (that's where she lived), I took the opportunity to arrange with her an night to fuck. And we did.
Having the Christian mystique taken away from sex, I could now better evaluate it and incorporate the experience into other things, like what books said about it. It seemed over-glamorized. And the jealousy that was attached to it I found confusing. Why couldn't people fuck who they wanted to? Why were people jealous of other people fucking "their" girlfreind? I could only relate it to my first love when I was a Christian, and my scathing jealousy at the thought of someone else fucking her. The next question, then, was whether jealousy was a theistic concept, or, if jealousy had similar elements that theism had. Or what sort of animal it was that I was dealing with. As it was, I preferred (and prefer) sluts and polyamory.
After the vacation at the grandparents was over, I left with the family back to home. However, I now wanted to live with the woman I'd met, instead of my family. After some talk, and a few weeks, we had some time of goodbyes and I left to back to where she was. The situation wasn't great, I wasn't technically supposed to be there, so I slept in the garage for much of it. Since I didn't have a job, I tried out a daily labor place that paid you at the end of each day.
After doing a few jobs for the place, one being heavy-work, the other a long time standing in one place, I realized that I could not handle hard physical labor jobs. I lived off and on in a homeless shelter. The place had an overall feel of tyranny to it. It wasn't overtly tyrannical, but it had Christian overtones and annoying schedules. The place was somewhere you didn't want to be if you could help it. Which, I suppose, was a positive, since that encouraged people to leave.
As it was, and is, I was trying to get a job for a place - any place - and never getting one. Consequently, I focused my efforts on online methods (specifically PTCs) as a means of making money. Unfortunately, the current PTC that I'm hoping pans out, I didn't discover until the last month or so. Apparently, the renting for NeoBux may not be that great. If it's not, then I'm kind of out of options, especially since I seem to be eternally unable to get a job.
I shall explain more later, perhaps.
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