The Matrix, PTSD, Masks and Anxiety

I lost my father to mental illness. I don’t know if I ever actually had him. I lived in a fiction my whole life that he is my role model. And I can’t deny he is still my role model. And I never know if I lost him to his mental illness or mine.

If it were up to me, I would go back to my childhood, back when all I knew was trust in him. I ran into his chest to hide when I was afraid or terrified.

I have never had peace in this life and this is not easy to admit to yourself. I have lived in terror my whole life. Some would see it and just walk away for it makes them uncomfortable. Some wont and they would eventually find out about my pain and would be terrified themselves and would walk away themselves.

I lost my siblings. The two young spirits I thought my whole life I was protected by their love. I looked at the most difficult moments in my life and I knew I could face anything because I had Mehra and Hussam in my life. I knew I could always count on them. I did everything I can to be there for them. I, at least in my head, put them first at every step of the road. I felt proud when they rose and I felt their pain whenever they fell. But I was always there, again or at least I thought so about myself, to back them up, to tell them they can get back up again and start running. I would give up everything in this life for a minute of peace with them again.

But that’s what I tell myself. I maybe have been a hurtful brother, it maybe has been agonizing for them to live under my wing. I maybe limited their growth and caused them harm and damage. I really don’t know and don’t see. My distance from them is the most agonizing pain I have felt in this life.

The hardest, most difficult part of my life is being rejected by those who I loved the most as I started awakening to who I am. It must be confusion it must be the damn distance. It must be than when you live thousands of miles apart love becomes somewhat impossible.

I have been tormented by my own appeal for love. And I have been tormented by my own desires. I have been a victim of a system that exploits, uses and washes humans into machines. I was told it is better to sell myself than to be myself. They sent me to school from an early age and I was in agony in their schools. Everyone is.

I have disappointed every lover I have ever had. I have betrayed myself for my whole life. I have been bullied, more like physically abused, for 10+ years in school. I have been betrayed by every friend I met. I have been deceived by therapists and people that came into my life wearing the mask of “I am here to help.” I have been awful to people. I have deceived people and I have lied to them. I have manipulated others. I put on masks. I laughed at others’ misery. I mocked others for their truth. I am not evil, but I am not entirely good.

Therapists claim my condition is typical for someone who has been abused. Therapists claim there is hope for me. They claim I was sexually abused and that was done by someone close to me. A caregiver they doubt, based on the symptoms. And it throws me off and sends me down a spiral of confusion. Like I know I have it hard, but I have been telling myself it is because I am awful or sinner or because I don’t know how to silence the devil in my ears. I want to believe this because I would rather be the bad one than believing someone, I loved so dearly ripped me off of my life-force like they claim.

Why? How? When?

I spiral in a loophole of questions.

And why does it matter and why do I need to know or feel any of this decades later. Why do the demons of the nineties attack me in the new millennia? Why do I find myself over and over treating others like they were about to betray me? A little bit of paranoia is maybe not the worst thing to feel in this world. It helps to be a little paranoid. It is not the paranoia I feel challenged by. It is tightening in my chest. It is the panic attacks. It is the paralysis that puts me in bed and the only thing I can do is hate myself.

I wish I didn’t hate myself as much as I did. I wish my thoughts were a little more positive.

But I lie to myself.

When I see people in complete bliss, I feel underwhelmed. Where is the soul, where is the spirit in too much joy. If you are smiling all the time, you are either wearing a mask or completely disconnected from life. Life brought tears into our eyes for a reason. Tears are here to keep us connected to the world. You depart from tears into laughter too much and you become a puppet for someone else. You feel afraid of feeling sad, you overcommit to laughter you never get to the bottom of your psychic ocean.

I would rather be sad than blissful. I don’t know how to be blissful. I tried to be blissful, and my soul choked me. I was bombarded with panic attacks and nightmares. My soul refuses to be in the bliss-matrix. My soul adjuncts with the real world too much and I have to accept and embrace my condition. I am a little too human for the plastic air-conditioned nightmare that is America. And I have no reason to stay nor a reason to leave. Every time I think about moving away, I quickly see how jittery moves in one’s life are just mere anxiety. It is better to be calm and watch the storm. It is better to embrace sadness, better to embrace stillness and let things move. And if I am ought to be somewhere I will be. Alas, this physical world matters a little less when you know your heart so well. And now I get to meet you my heart and I get to spend the time integrating with you and loving you like no one else can.

I wish I had more peace in me for how much everyone pretends. Masks, masks everywhere. Some say masks are just the way of life. And I used to believe that too. I used to repeat it mindlessly like I had tapped into some deeper wisdom. Yes, the way of life. There is no way around it. Humans pretend and play games. The social game is the root construct for everything society brings about. You get better at the game; you advance your position and society lifts you higher.

I have longing for nomads. Nomads are sovereign and provide for themselves. Or rather, they let the world provide for them instead of counting on societal structures to serve their needs. They go out and hunt and they never need to hold on. Holding on is an act of the weak. We hold on because we don’t trust, we don’t trust ourselves we don’t trust others, but most fundamentally we don’t trust nature, we don’t trust the world. We think the world is cruel, but the cruelest animal there is the civilized mom walking with an enslaved dog by a man-made lake spending from a fictional bank account founded on the backs of poor Chinese child labor slaves building the machines of the economy that surrounds the careless blissful mama.

So much love for mothers, don’t read too much into my words please, it is just a metaphor for blissful ignorance…

Duncan wants to escape society and go out in nature to find his own way. Duncan is a super talented renaissance man who works so hard on everything he does. Music, events, concerts, production, videography. But more importantly, Duncan is radically humble. I rarely meet talents that pack as much humility and creative force in the same personality. This incredible man wants to get the fuck out and ditch society and go do his own thing out in the forest. I get his emotion I get why he feels that way. On the one hand there is defeat from a society that betrays us. From millions of people that let the establishment take control over our lives by accepting their hamster wheels and chasing dollars and momentary impulses like rats. So many rats. And they also treat each other like rats. You fail at running as fast as everyone else, they leave you to the homeless trap and they don’t even look back once. They blame the government. And the government blames the conditions. And the conditions are only met because we don’t want to face our real issues.

I think, when I am hopeful and optimistic, that there is freedom inside society that’s born out of shitting on all the rules. Knowing yourself and moving on your own terms. As a nomad walks the path of life in the forest looking for their next meal or shelter, you can similarly treat this world in its entirety. You might not be living in a green jungle, but your concrete jungle is a jungle as much as any other jungle is. Survival for the fittest and each provides for themselves. No one has got your back as much as you do, so don’t betray yourself. Lock your door and chase away the snakes, explore love but be careful in how you approach it, feel the weight of every moment and don’t let any distracted soul convince you that it should be felt a different way. Your instinct is really all you have in this game. Listen carefully. Earn your living and look for the next thing every day. Never tire of working for work is the only influence you have on this world. Move and move and move and see where things take you. If you were a nomad, you would have to act more economic and probably eat grass when the season is tight. And when the hunt is abundant, you would vigorously hunt down dear and have meat for every meal. You won’t worry too much about accumulating. Your focus is always forward, your focus is always ahead, what is next? How to get there. Breaking out of the cycle doesn’t have to be geographic. Breaking out of the cycle is mainly psychological and intellectual. You see my friend; we live in a mental prison shaped up by societal lies. Your way out if honesty. Honesty is freedom. Honesty is the only freedom there is.

I see the bars very clearly, but I am scared of what’s behind them. I keep telling myself its freedom, and I want to believe it is.

Alas, I am as corrupt as everyone else. I am as terrified as everyone else.

Positive affirmations on my freedom and sovereignty don’t work.

I too have a dream like Duncan of escaping, of running away. I have a dream of leaving the matrix and always being myself. It is the only battle worth fighting. It is the only hill worth dying on!