jjer94

crotching tiger, hidden dragon. Yay! My balls haven't exploded!.. Yet. Fourteen days have passed since I last released down there. I relapsed on election day because the candidates turned me on too much Jk. I relapsed (fortunately in the shower without a screen) because it was all so overstimulating and my adrenals were firing. If I didn't release on 11/5, I would be on day 24 of celibacy. Here's what I've noticed so far. All of the things I hoped to gain from this practice that I wrote in the previous post are coming to life, subtly but surely... I'm beginning to relate to women more as humans than as sex objects. I don't suspect that objectification will go away completely anytime soon, as I believe it is a primal feature of the male psyche. But I'm noticing it's running more in the background than in the foreground. Fewer sexpectations. I feel more liberated because I need less from the opposite sex and I'm seeking them less as a means to an end. To me, that's a moral win. My crotch is buzzing. I feel such an intense pulsating life force emanating from my balls and perineum. I find it uncomfortable at times because I haven't yet established enough outlets to utilize it. Almost as if the retention itself is like a biological drill sergeant pushing me to exercise again. No wet dreams, but plenty of intimate dreams. This one shocks me a bit. I had more wet dreams while I was sexually active than I do now. I have yet to have a wet dream. Greater connection to self. I feel more connected to myself and my body in a way that's hard to explain. The life force from my nether region is emanating throughout my body and invigorating me, giving me a baseline zest for life that I haven't normally had. Which makes sense on a biological level. Sexual fasting signifies to the body that you're not spreading your seed and fulfilling your biological duty, so your body will then assist you in becoming more sexually attractive. This is the longest I've gone without touching my wee since before college. I feel proud of myself for following through, and I have strong positive regard for this practice so far. I have a feeling my starting this habit will create a cascade effect into the other areas of my life and provide a foundation for me to get back on track. So I plan to stick with it for as long as I can.

unplugging away. If I'm going to build something real and beautiful with this new girl, I need to address an elephant in the room: my right hand. I want to unplug from porn for several reasons: It's a big time sink. It fries my adrenals and depletes my life energy. The industry exploits most of the women. It desensitizes Earthworm Jim. It trains my brain to objectify women moreso than interact with them as people. I feel guilt and shame nearly every time I use it. My original goal at the start of this journal chapter was to stop porn, not masturbation. However, after listening to this audiobook, I'm tempted to go celibate for awhile to see what it's like. That means no sexual activity whatsoever, not even with semen retention. Here's what I hope to gain: Desexualizing my brain. More life energy to direct towards creative pursuits, physical exercise, and the new relationship. Greater spiritual connection. Greater focus on my life purpose. Greater self-esteem due to higher integrity with my values. Give my adrenals a rest and spare my zinc reserves. I've known about celibacy for a long time and its potential benefits through books like Think and Grow Rich, but I've hesitated to try it until now for a few reasons. One, I wanted to have sex. Two, I was worried about wet dreams (turns out they're okay to have unless you're trying to be a hardcore celibate). And three, I wanted to make sure I wasn't spiritual bypassing. But having turned 30 and had a few sexual experiences, I think I can do away with all of it for awhile. At least until it comes up down the road in my relationship. The book I linked says that ideally, a man should orgasm no more than the frequency that a woman ovulates, i.e. once per month. So I want to shoot for one month of chastity. So far I'm on day 3. Let's see how this goes...

plugging away. Amazing how things can shift in a matter of a week or two. For several months, I've been getting to know a woman online who reminds me a lot of Elizabeth and is in a somewhat similar situation with chronic illness. I didn't have much hope with our interaction due to the physical distance and all of the inner stuff I described in the previous post, but the sincerity of our connection kept me from giving up. Come September, a local ex came back into my life and expressed interest again. For several weeks, I was feeling lost in a choice between these two women. Long story short, I recently had my first video chat with the one who reminds me of Elizabeth and was blown away by the connection. That alone gave me the clarity I needed. I gracefully stepped away from my ex again and now have some momentum with the other one. (Side note for the men: A great metric for determining whether a connection with a love interest is genuine is to ask yourself in post-nut clarity if you would still hang out with them ) Only time will tell how this goes. A lot is working against us, but I would rather have a strong soul connection and deal with logistical hurdles than be with someone for shallower, more convenient reasons. On another note (no pun intended), I recently purchased a new microphone that I was planning to buy next year but fortunately was able to afford it this year. I should have bought this thing years ago. It's insanely versatile and would have upgraded my album. But alas, my album was recorded mostly on a bottom-of-the-barrel AT2020... In the meantime, I've been plugging away at new projects and exhausting myself once again. My lack of sleep is the main culprit for my poor impulse control and thus poor habits. Since I started this journal again, not much has changed in that department. But now that the white season is approaching, I'll soon have a lot more time to focus on my well-being.

emptiness and yearning. So what's been the fallout of losing Elizabeth? I've heard that men and women grieve differently. Women tend to seek emotional support from others and grieve openly, while men tend to retreat within themselves and use activity to grieve silently. I'm not surprised that I took all of that grief and invested it into learning music production and creating an album in dedication to her. It was useful for me, I suppose. Now that that's done, however, I'm left with that emptiness and yearning once again. I feel as if a large piece of my soul has died. I have become mostly numb, and I feel a massive wall where my open heart used to be. While I have since accepted the reality of the situation, interactions with other women are just not the same, even ones who closely resemble her or have similar values. My numbness and heart-wall has made it really difficult for me to open up again, as if subconsciously my body system knows that to open myself up to love again would mean to open myself up to that unimaginable pain of loss. This is partly the reason I've been relying on a habit with my right hand; it protects me from that risk while partially satisfying my sexual needs. This is also partly why that habit has been difficult to kick. Since the loss, I have become increasingly cynical about the world and have gravitated towards red-pill-leaning ideologies regarding romantic relationships. I see at least part of the reason I gravitated towards someone like Elizabeth was because I could be her only option. Otherwise, I believe I'd have none, because deep down I knew I couldn't offer any of the things that women actually want — the things that usually get a man past the threshold of her consideration, such as financial viability, confidence, lifestyle, and status. Up to that point, the way I've approached relationships was through deception — pretending that physical intimacy was not as important to me as with other men. In other words, the Nice Guy. Throughout the years I've been the emotional support animal to many women, secretly hoping that by just being in their proximity and giving emotional intimacy, I would have at least a sliver of a chance at acquiring physical intimacy. Spoiler alert: That never works. Since discovering that about myself, I've made a conscious effort to curtail that pattern and instead have focused on becoming sexually valuable the old-fashioned masculine way: through grit, hard work, bluntness, risk-taking, and a sense of purpose. But deep down, I just feel bitter. I'm not only grieving Elizabeth — whom I felt I truly loved for who she was and felt she truly loved me for who I am — but I am also grieving the loss of the idea that human love in the context of a relationship can be purely unconditional. I feel bitter towards women in general, whom I feel are only beginning to notice me because of what I offer, and I feel bitter towards myself, because as much as I believe I can love a romantic prospect for who she is, I also want (and don't want) things from her. Perhaps that bitterness is also mommy issues, the hole in my soul where childhood emotional nourishment should have been. I can only wonder. Part of me wants to opt out of the relationships game altogether, but I can't not want what I want. So I'm a bit lost. But I believe in time I will heal and figure it out.

Thanks, @Privet!! ================== my love. I had a ridiculously busy week/weekend, from finishing the album and sending it to streaming platforms, to co-hosting a songwriting workshop, to four three-hour gigs in three days. This weekend was a windfall. I earned more tips on Saturday than the base pay I charge for a single three-hour live music performance. Huge wins all around. Though after coming home, eating dinner, and escaping into a movie for a while, I feel quite empty and wistful. Lately I've felt as if something should be there that isn't. And when I say "something," I really mean "someone." I met "my love" in October of 2022. I'll call her Elizabeth for anonymity's sake. I remember seeing a picture of her online and thought to myself, "Who the FUCK is THAT!?" The moment reminded me a bit of that scene in Big Fish where Ewan MacGregor's character is at that circus and time literally freezes when he sees the love of his life. Though at the time, I had already learned about the complexity of relationships, love vs compatibility, the unlikelihood of "love at first sight," soulmates being built moreso than found, overlay, the limitations of online connection, childhood trauma influencing who we choose, limerence, etc., part of me still believed in the fairytale. Part of me still believed there was a person that would move me to the core, that I would just "know" right away, and the dating process with her would be just a confirmation of that knowing. Sure enough, we organically began connecting online, and then we video chatted. Our first one lasted around seven hours. Same for the second, and the third. She entranced me. To this day, she's one of if not the most beautiful human I've ever seen. Everything about Elizabeth delighted me, from her wavy hair, to her sweet smile, to her quirky mannerisms, to the way she spoke, to her perspective on life, to her aspirations and her values. We dove deeply and fell deeply for each other. It was the greatest love I had ever known. The kind of love that didn't feel transactional for me, where I felt compelled to support her just for the sheer joy of supporting her. I had never before experienced that kind of love towards a human, only towards my pet guinea pigs. Unfortunately, many problems stared us both in the face. For one, I'm in the United States and she was in Canada — a several-hours flight away. People say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but it can also make a relationship grow more strained, especially for someone whose primary love language is touch. Another major issue was chronic illness. She was bedridden, barely able to function and care for herself in her day-to-day. My inner idealist held out hope that she would recover, as she was on the same healing protocols as I am, and I have healed many of my own symptoms. But things only got worse for her. She told me that she couldn't date and had to focus on her healing. We tried being friends; in other words, I tried lying to myself about being friends with someone I was actually head over heels in love with. Long story short, in May 2023 I came to the reality of the situation and realized that I had to step away from the connection completely. I couldn't get over her and since then have thought about her every day in one form or another. The limerence of our unactualized love became my addiction for several months. And then, in November of last year, I received a call from one of her friends telling me that she had passed away unexpectedly. I remember sitting in my car on that overcast afternoon, absolutely dumbfounded, going through the stages of grief — telling myself that it wasn't supposed to happen, raging at life, trying to rationalize it, and then bawling my eyes out. She was only 34. How does one grieve the love of his life that he never even met? That remains a mystery for me. Since then, I've struggled to share this story because I don't feel most people understand. Some say it was limerence, that she was a walking red flag, that I fell in love with the idea of her, that I was playing out my childhood "rescuer" role, that it was an escape from a real relationship, that it would have never worked. And while most of that is probably true in one sense... in another, I felt what I felt. She touched me on the deepest possible level. Soul to soul. I had never felt so seen and understood in my life. And she said the same about me. Just because it would have never worked in reality doesn't mean that what was, wasn't real. Having since met in person a few people with whom I had initially connected online and having confirmed that my impressions of them online accurately matched my real-life experience of them, I strongly believe that. Before we stopped talking to each other, she sent me a long letter along with this poem. It hits me differently now that she's gone. I miss you, my love.

After lurking on this thread, I thought I'd throw in my two cents as a short, average-looking, broke, kind of effeminate dude. On a more macrocosmic level — the statistics don't lie. The majority of men under age 30 are single. Many of them have checked out of the dating game altogether and instead have opted to date their right hand and the computer screen. I've met some of these men. Their reasons for checking out are manyfold and multi-factorial. Richard Reeves does a good job of describing many of these factors, including women academically outperforming men. Emerald claimed that most women are equally attracted to men at their level*, which according to Reeves and most evolutionary psychologists needs an asterisk: *or slightly above. They say, women like to look up to their man, whether financially, physically, intellectually, or otherwise. Red/black pillers say the same thing and use the term "hypergamy" to describe that phenomenon. A difficulty for us men is that the modern dating scene (dating apps especially) highlight the shallow things (i.e. height, financial status, looks, etc.) and don't do a good job of emphasizing the foundational things that are way more important for a healthy, mature relationship (i.e. shared values, compatibility, etc.). A lot of us get lost in the losing — the lack of replies, the rejections, etc. — and then we turn to the red pill ideologies to self-soothe and direct our resentments outward. I think that's a valid thing the women on this thread emphasize: Directing our resentments and blame towards women doesn't help the situation and ironically makes us less attractive as a potential romantic partner. In my experience, the kernel of truth in all of the red pill stuff is that on the surface, we are biological beings, and a lot of the shallow factors like height and status will get us in the door for dating. Where red pill falls short is that they don't teach you how to sustain a healthy, mature relationship. They don't teach you how to keep the fish happy, only how to catch the fish. They don't talk about the supremely nuanced world of compatibility. They don't tell you that you can bypass a lot of the shallowness of dating by building friendships with the opposite sex, joining meet-ups, following your purpose and meeting people along the way, etc. My personal experience has equally validated and invalidated the mens' perspective. On the one hand, I've dated some women who have blatantly told me that I'm not masculine enough for them, and have gone on to choose someone else who's taller and "more confident." On the other hand, I have dated women who say that what they appreciate the most about me is that I feel things deeply and make an effort to actually see and understand them on an emotional level. Nothing about the money I make, or my height, or my looks. So I think there's validity in both what the women and the men are saying on this thread. When it comes to dating advice for women though...it's probably a good idea to get that from a woman

spiritual flint and steel. Reading older entries, I'm surprised I'm not cringing much at what I wrote back then. In fact, I'm looking back on most of what I wrote with fondness. I'm supremely grateful for the person I was back then, who, despite facing seemingly insurmountable levels of emotional and circumstantial difficulty, pushed through in hopes of a better tomorrow. Yeah, I'm a little more mature now, but that soul kernel still remained throughout the older writing. In some ways, I have lost the spark, and reading old entries has been like a spiritual flint and steel on my soul. My prophecies, especially the ones in December 2017 and September 2020, came true. Pursuing music has also been a direct path to self-mastery due to the reasons I described, and I have the direct experience to confirm that. Since 2020, I have made a few male friends, found new male role models, and became part of a local community that has been conducive to my maturity. As of the summer, I am financially independent. Even with these advancements, I still live a hermity kind of life, but I don't berate myself for that anymore. Hitting 30 in April, the biggest change I've found entering my fourth decade of life is that I feel more of a palpable freedom to be authentic. I've lived enough to know just how difficult life is for most people. That most of us are barely scraping by and are too focused on ourselves to really give a damn about the quirks and flaws of the average person. And I've survived enough life to know that even "mistakes" that feel astronomical at the time are infinitesimally more trivial than we realize — which is substantiated by the fact that we are still alive. Living more life, having so many different experiences, some good, some bad, and surviving them all — it's made me more comfortable in my skin and more flexible to handle whatever life throws my way. It's chilled me out. It's solidified my sense of self more. Would I be who I am now if not for all of the struggles I've endured? I wonder about that. And then I wonder if that really matters, because I'm here. And then I make myself a smoothie.

@Michael569 Likewise, Michael!

Previous chapters: spiritual tinnitus. *Old man Jenkins voice* How long has it been? Fifty years? Certainly feels that way. Like I've lived a few lifetimes in the past few years. I've been exploring the wild and revelatory vicissitudes of being human, embracing human needs and human obligations. More than half of my twenties was spent avoiding being human, i.e. spiritual bypassing. I used Leo's content, this forum, psychedelics, a whole 'lotta books, and even food to avoid the confusing, difficult world of human affairs. The main remedy that pulled me out of my spiritual circus was renting my own house. I have a host of different responsibilities and adulting things that I need to stay on top of. Survival has stared me straight in the face, and I stare back with equal reluctance and resolve. I literally cannot afford to sulk anymore. The past couple of years have been a test of the "Divine Masculine," I guess I could say. Pressing on when metaphorical weights were tied to my ankles. Developing a work ethic. Managing rejection. Believing in myself when the people around me were doubting. Having a willingness to take risks and look like a fool. Solidifying my sense of purpose. I'm proud to say that at age 30, I have finally found "my thing." My zone of genius. It's been staring me in the face for ten years, but I've been fighting it every step of the way. "There's no money in music," the average Joe says. "It's a competitive industry. Keep your day job. Music is nowhere near impactful as being a teacher, a healer, a therapist, or really anything else." Yadda yadda yadda. To a certain degree, that's all valid. But I've reached a point in my life where doing anything other than what I'm good at and feel passionate about feels like a waste of time. So if it means going the starving artist path, then so fucking be it. Fortunately, it hasn't been so bad. I've been blessed in so many twisted and peculiar ways. For instance, I was Instacarting at the time of the shooting in 2021, and consequently, the CEO gave me free mental health services as well as a large sum of money. I ended up saving all of that money, so by the time I made my way back home, I had a fat stack to invest in something. Someone offered to rent me an entire house with all of the amenities for a killer rate, and I accepted. I then used all of that saved money to invest in acoustic treatment, a new laptop, plugins, furniture, etc. for a music studio. Be Light Studio unfolded so serendipitously that looking back feels a bit surreal. Since then, I have been teaching myself music production and plan to start an LLC once I get my ducks in a row. I've spent the past year self-producing an album, and as of a few days ago, I finished it. I plan to release it in Mid-October. In between the album, a number of locals have asked me to produce their music, so I already have a growing clientele. For a while, I doubted the whole thing, reverting to my idea of becoming a healer/therapist as I already have a couple of certifications. But joining an orientation zoom call for a master's degree in counseling, I knew immediately that I would hate myself if I pursued that path. Turns out that I've been using those aptitudes in other ways. Maybe I'll write about that in another post. For the past few years, I've worked part-time at a local juice bar. But thanks to all of the live gigs I've managed to book, I am now officially financially independent. I have to live like a monk, but I'm wealthy in freedom. I never thought I'd reach this point. In most of the other parallel realities, I am likely dead by active or passive suicide. But in this reality I'm pursuing my passions and making money from them. Go figure! I could say more, but I don't want this post to be too long, and I need to get my day started. But I feel drawn back to this forum because I feel that in the midst of all of this human stuff, I've lost the plot. I've hit a level of burnout that I've never experienced before, which has caused me to backslide in my habits. I've become addicted to my own adrenaline release, whether with chronic Youtube content consumption, my right hand, or late bedtimes. While I've achieved so much in the past couple of years, I feel like I've lost myself in the process. I've lost that zest to learn more, to push myself towards higher virtue, to stay above the noise. I guess I have a case of spiritual tinnitus. So it's time to turn down the volume on distraction. My hope is that writing, whether here or in my own journal, will get me back on track. My goals for this off-season (i.e. fewer gigs and more time to myself): Replace mindless Youtube content consumption with audiobooks, books, journaling, and songwriting Either write one song or learn one cover song per week Continue working on clients' projects Transition from using my right hand with a screen, to using my right hand without one, to ideally using my right hand only once per week at most Re-acquire my stretching habit and begin to myofascially release my god-awful posture from too much guitar playing Acquire a regular aerobics habit (likely long walks) Re-acquire a regular strength training habit At least eight hours of rest every night, with an ideal bedtime of 10pm and wakeup at 7am I have other goals and more to say, but for now, this will suffice. To anyone who is curious enough to read this — I wish you well!

Human and full. Well, howdy, partners. It's been a long-ass rodeo since my last visit to this forum. I thought I'd give an update, to those who are curious. Life has unfolded in an effortless way the past several months, and all I've had to do, paradoxically, is put in some effort. But it's not really a paradox as much as it is a language game. The effortlessness comes from noticing the opportunities that the Universe throws my way. The effort comes from choosing the most expansive, integrated options as much as possible. The word "integration" has been a theme of the past couple years for me. I've become well-acquainted with parts work, which rests upon the idea that the psyche is not just one singular entity but rather a collection of many different parts, all of which have different needs and desires. The task is to make sure all of those needs and desires are heard and accounted for in a way that doesn't undermine any of the parts. I've also been deepening my breathwork practice. I'm currently on day 29 of a 30-day breathwork challenge as a part of a certification. Once I'm certified, I'll be able to work one-on-one with clients. I've already facilitated one session and find intense meaning from holding space for someone who has releases and revelations. My plan is to have breathwork facilitation as another income stream alongside working at the juice bar and playing music. Which, by the way, is going swimmingly. My voice has improved a lot over the past couple of years in conjunction with all of the self-love and healing work I've been doing. Again, I've learned that the less I "try" to hit notes and the more I focus on the fullness of my breath and the fullness of the moment, the more my singing voice sounds the way I want it. I'm still in the process of searching for a new living space, but I found a place that shows some promise. I've been making all of these new friends, a few of them homesteaders, surprisingly. Given what's been happening in the world, I've acquired a newfound interest in self-reliance, and the idea of planting some veggies this spring feels more and more appealing to me. After plenty of time and space to work through relational wounds with my therapist, I'm on talking terms with my ex again. I feel so genuinely happy that she found someone else that seems to be a better fit for her. I really like the guy. Of course, there's tons of other feelings that came along with that, but I'm glad that things are starting to mend between us. Things have honestly been the best they've ever been in my life, from community to dating to family to work to purpose to self-love. I have so few things to complain about these days. My life feels so human and full. I guess that's partly why I haven't felt the urge to come back on here. My worldview has also diverged quite a bit from Leo's. I haven't watched any of his recent videos for the past several months, nor have I felt the desire to do so. I've also become more and more of a private person, wanting to separate my personal life from the online sphere. I'll also be honest...part of the reason I'm up at one in the morning writing this right now is that I have a ball of anxiety in my solar plexus, and the idea that other people could be reading this feels soothing to me, LOL. I'm anxious because I put my neck out for someone I'm dating by sending a long heartfelt text, and she didn't respond at all tonight when she usually responds. When I use my felt-sense and tune into the ball of anxiety, what comes up is the fear that I'm too much. I have so much love to give, I sometimes wonder if it scares people away. As a feminine-leaning man, I feel very deeply, and I have a lot of nurturing energy. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm going overboard with her. I've only dated her for a couple months, so we don't have a label yet. But damn. I really like this one. The attraction and chemistry are there, and there's also a ton of compatibility. I have a shout-from-the-rooftops kind of feeling about it, and maybe she senses that on a subtle level, and it's overwhelming her. Or maybe my perception is totally off. Maybe she just didn't want to respond, or something came up. At this stage, who knows? What also comes up is a recognition that this is my stuff. I didn't ask for a response. All of this emotional charge is mine, and I'm still not quite at the stage in dating yet where I can bring up little things like this. All of this feeling of too-muchness or not-enoughness is just an invitation for me to redirect that energy into nurturing myself and my already full life without her. To not text her back until she texts me back, and focus instead on my music and my other things. Dating is so much easier now that I feel a strong sense of purpose with what I do and have lots of friends that I can go to when I'm feeling under-resourced. Anyway, that's all she wrote! If you're wondering where I am or what I'm doing these days, you can find my most recent stuff on instagram and my website. I don't plan to be consistent on this forum anymore. To the lurkers and ones I connected with here, I send you my love and good tidings for the journey ahead! <3

shitty and happy. I've had such a peculiar month. On the one hand, I've experienced brand-new hurts and dove into my deepest wounds; I've been neurotic and confused; by most metrics on the outside I have "backslid"; my expectations around fame and fortune have shattered. Yet at the same time, I've felt so deeply happy that I'm not sure what to do with it. It's a happiness in knowing that even when I'm going through all of this, I know I'm not a bad person. I don't need to beat myself up for any of it because I am enough as I am. And in the safety of being enough, I've noticed that things unfold at a much healthier pace for me. I had a phone call with the girl I dated in Colorado, the one who was living with her ex, who said she was sure that she was done with him and moving on. She's back with him. I respectfully ended my friendship with her. My ex has yet to respond to my text. She completely ghosted me and posted some passive-aggressive poetry about leaving me "where I belong" and how she's not ready to remember the ways I was good to her. I blocked her on all social media, but an event linked to her new music page that she started on September 29 which now has 100+ more likes than my page...a page that I've had for seven years. On top of that, she covered a song by a dude I hung out with once while I was starting my musical journey who is popular in my state. In the description, she was basically licking his feet by writing, "he's the best." At one of her live performances (which I probably shouldn't have attended, but I wanted to support her as a musician), she played that same song and said, "he's going to be famous someday." I just checked Facebook tonight and found that another young musician chick I jammed with back in 2014 (and almost made a move on; turns out she's queer ) was on TV and is off to LA to do music. I have this sense that she's really going to be famous someday. I would have thought I'd be more triggered. Other people "surpassing" me in certain ways is my big wound that rests on the feeling of not being seen or valued. With all of the stuff with my ex, I felt a primal rage, no doubt. I tantrumed on the bed and wrote some nasty things in my journal that I should probably delete. She's shown a side of herself that appears to have genuinely malicious intent, and it feels like shock and betrayal to my system. But the emotional charge to all of this is manageable. Of course, there's an immature part of me that can't help but think, I have busted my fucking ass off to get where I'm at now. I've dodged my own death, literally, around half a dozen times. I've written songs that speak from the core of my being. I am a kind person. I have unique gifts and perspectives to offer. I know my zone of genius is songwriting. And this is how you reward me, Universe? When will I be recognized? Then I remember: If it benefitted my growth, I would have it by now. If I had it prematurely, I wouldn't be able to receive it. All of this has been a gift for me in the art of self-love. Real self-love. The kind where there's literally nothing but me, a teddy bear, and Spotify. Where I sit with the ideas that I may never be famous; other people may surpass me in popularity; everyone I know could abandon me; someone I love the most could betray me on a profound level; I may never resolve my neuroses; I may never change. Can I dare to love myself as I am, even if all of those things come true? That's what I've been prioritizing, and it's transformed my perspective. As a result, I've taken manageable steps to meet my needs; I've stumbled into part-time work that I totally love; I've made so many new friends that I'm wondering if I'm an ambivert; I've been supporting myself where I'm at rather than where I expect myself to be; I've been creating more from a place of authenticity rather than a place to impress; and I am so much happier. All of this happiness, blossoming out of a steaming pile of shit. So peculiar.

a homogenized mixture. My time back in the Northwoods has been a homogenized mixture of deep, grounded, profound joy, fiery rage, and heart-shattering grief. When I pulled into my hometown while blasting Bon Iver's self-titled album through the stereo, I wept so hard. What a relief it's been to be in a geographical location where I truly feel safe and at ease. I think there were maybe one or two ten-minute stints total where I felt truly safe and in my body in Colorado. But the moment I'm back in the Northwoods, my body seems to recognize a deep sense of safety, and I'm able to be more in rest and digest. Within days, my skin has turned from pepperoni pizza-face to smooth and spotty. I think many factors contributed to my acne in Colorado, both physical and emotional — worse diet; poor digestion due to inability to relax; feeling like I don't belong; and repressed rage from the trauma that I carried. With contrast palpably in my grasp, I feel like there's no place I'd rather be than here in the Great Northwoods. The peace and quiet, natural settings, familial support, down-to-earth people, and small-town vibes are qualities that I've come to value highly. I feel so grateful to be back here. I also cried upwards of five times yesterday. I texted my ex a couple of days ago to let her know that I'm back in the Northwoods. I texted with a tone of levity because I didn't know how else to communicate. In retrospect, it came across as kind of pompous and inconsiderate, and I wish I would have been more frank. Well, it doesn't really matter, because she never responded. She completely ghosted me. The following day, I stupidly checked her Facebook and read a post where she related removing tooth decay at the dentist with removing toxic people and things from her life (I blocked her shortly thereafter to spare my sanity). I took it to mean that I am the equivalent of tooth decay. So the person I called right away after the shooting in March, who responded with so much love and affection, who is the most attached I've felt to any one person in my life, whom I love deeply regardless of anything...ignored my text and deems me as toxic as rotting calcium. I couldn't handle myself. I drove to a secluded spot and went totally apeshit, screaming and flailing and sobbing and feeling like the ground beneath me disappeared like some trapdoor. I had to reach out for help to my therapist afterwards because I felt totally unhinged, like some screws in my brain had come loose. He helped to ground me. He suspects that these primal reactions I'm having are due to deep developmental trauma, and a mixture of self-soothing and community support will be sufficient. He also shared his own seventeen-year struggle, and how he had to humble himself with menial, back-breaking labor for some time just to come into himself. I cried once again when I heard his story, because I realize that what I've been missing in my journey is humility. Less focus on the end goal, more on smelling the roses and being there for myself through thick and thin. To slow down. To congratulate myself for the small wins and dance my way through the grindy jobs and the times where I am a complete nobody (like now). Like that Matt Kahn quote in the first post. That night, I watched the movie A Taxi Driver with my parents and cried once again. It's a movie based on the true events of a reporter filming the 1980 riots in South Korea in protest of martial law. Seeing the graphic images of bloodied college students in the hospital struck something deep in me. What I took away from it is that my rights are really privileges, tenuous at best — and what matters most are the connections we have. The tragedies of that movie resonated with my current tragedies, and I cried some more after the viewing. This morning, I checked my ex's website and found a new poem about how she is careful to "leave me where I belong," and how our love was like gasoline. Surprisingly, I only cried twice today, with no mental breakdowns. I picked up my guitar, learned a new song, and bought new music-making software. I also had a job interview with two wonderful folks at a juice bar that went fairly well. So it's been such a strange combination of happenings today. Things are moving pretty quickly. I feel A TON more stable now than I did in Colorado, even with total stinginess from my ex. From here, I suspect things will continue to be a homogenized mixture of joy and struggle.

The conductor's burden. Once upon a platform, I boarded a train That required no ticket — A free ride that I could take for granted. I used two seats (One for my dirty feet) Rolled up my sleeves And made use Of the amenities That its conductor so generously offered — Windows to another world; Warm air to soothe My frayed nerves and weary soul; And a place to rest my body Warts and all As I wondered Where in the hell I wanted to go. The what-if’s Of exotic destinations consumed me As I consumed that train And its rickety rails Faltered at every junction. Even so, the conductor Did not mind my ambivalence. She pleaded that I stay Until the train Turned to dust and scrap metal On that northern countryside. I quickly hopped off the train at the next stop In an escapist act of desperation As the conductor clung to my coattails In an escapist act of desperation Until her Every Last Finger Clung to the air. I wandered the western countryside With a sigh of relief, Looking for thingless things And mindless mind-stuffs That escaped my grasp Like watery mirages On a desert road. I tried my hand At being a conductor myself, Providing ticketless passage for folks Who took two seats (One for their dirty feet) And made use Of the amenities That I so generously offered — Windows to another world; Warm air to soothe Their frayed nerves and weary souls; And a place to rest their bodies Warts and all As they wondered Where in the hell They wanted to go. One by one They made a mess And hopped off my train Shortly after boarding As I clung to their coattails In an escapist act of desperation Until my Every Last Finger Clung to the air. Left with nothing But thoughts of Retreating to Antarctica I finally understood The conductor's burden — A tenuous offering to let someone board with no ticket and in return receive no courtesy no reciprocity and no guarantee that you will see them ever again.

A journey to where? Chapter 6. I am currently writing this in a bedroom right next to a busy highway. The engines vary — some are whispy and others assault the ears like a firecracker. There's no sense of predictability in it... just like my life right now. I am utterly shattered. After five months of attempting to find my place in Boulder, CO, I have ended my journey here with heartache, betrayal, failure, trauma, and jadedness. In three days, I am moving back to Wisconsin. Back with my parents. Back to square fucking one. The past month, I've been regularly suicidal. The past two weeks, it was so serious that I had to ask for help. I opened up to my parents for the first time about it. They received me the best they could...and their best was more than sufficient. They didn't judge me; they just want to support me. Same with my brother. That's been the most healing part of the past year — it feels like something shifted in my family, and now they're much more empathetic and curious about my emotional states. I can't begin to describe just how horrible these past several months have been. Some things I may not share for confidentiality's sake, and other things may take multiple posts to share. In the meantime, I wrote a blog post that summarizes a lot of what happened. While this may not be the case, I feel as if I've backslided to my 2017 self. I'm in the same cycle of retreating back to my parents' house, except this time at least I haven't nearly fasted myself to death — I've only nearly thought myself to death. So my next question is — where? I feel like I've tried everything. Nothing has been sustainable. It feels hopeless to live in this world, in this system. It feels like I could die and the memory of me would fizzle out of people's heads like dust in a desert. I feel useless, unwanted, and totally fragmented. (Note: this is not a cry for help. I have support systems.) This next leg of my journey will involve processing the trauma of these past five months; reconnecting with myself; integrating the abysmal failure that was this time in Colorado; getting crystal clear about what I need every single day; returning to the psycho-emotional state I was in before leaving Wisconsin; and prayer. Lots of prayer. In this state, I can't make guarantees about anything; I can only take everything a day at a time.

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