The most Lethal Weakness…

I’ve come to realize why exactly I fall short in most endeavors I pursue:

I lack the ability to be patient, and to focus.
It’s very physiological in nature, really.
After dealing with it for 15+ years–
through cognitive and physical approaches…

It’s become clear to me how inherent my impatience and lack of focus really is.
In the past, I’ve tried to let stories of redemption–
The stories of people finding their way from death to life through health and psychology…
I’ve let those stories of transformation give me hope.

But I’m stuck.
Really stuck.

The fulcrum of success is just these two things:
Repitition, Learning, Repitition, Learning (x1000000).

If you’re a slow learner, and you’re impatient, you’re out of luck.

I’ve tried to deny it for too long…but I am both.
Being born without my hearing, doctors said I would probably lack both.
It’s just a difficult component of my existence.
A painful one.

I’m really beginning to lose patience in this war.
The war to be sane. To be rational. Productive. Brilliant. Sharp. Focused.
When I find something that helps me, I forget about it days later.
If I write it down, I forget I wrote it down.

I know what you’re thinking…
“Jake, stop complaining! It could be worse.”

Maybe so…it doesn’t change how I feel.

Plus, it’s like this for me…along your lines of logic…

“Ok..so it could be worse. I could be dead. Away from all this suffering. So the worst of the worse would actually be better? Well, shit…that line of thinking is useless and destructive.”

“But Jake, you could be SUFFERING in a worse way!”

How in the hell do you judge what worse is?
Experience and emotions are incredibly subjective.
It’s like the science of pain tolerance.
A brutal pain to one person is a pinch to another.
So how can one judge exactly what a “worse suffering would be?”

I wish my mind didn’t do this to me.
I wish I could rationalize and think…
“Well, I could be starving–”
But then i think..
“If I was starving, I’d probably wish for anything but starvation…even if it meant mental health problems. And then I’d find myself where I am now….telling myself this is horrible…and telling myself, ‘well, I could be starving…–but wait, I just realized if I was starving I would probably wish my current life upon myself…but in this life, I wish for a way out, so..–”

It’s a cycle. Rationalizing pain is stupid. Abhorrent. A waste of time.

It’s better to admit I’m just not one of the fittest.

And that’s OK. I’ll just spend my life finding where the ceiling really is for me.
I’ll reach my potential…and If I never have the capacity to be with a partner…
I’ll make enough money to hire a hooker.

Problem solved.

 

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Yes. I’m a Caffeine Junkie…

I don’t drink coffee.

I just take caffeine pills throughout the morning.

A few months ago, a doctor prescribed me to an SSRI for my depression, anxiety/focus issues.

I told him, “I really don’t think this is the right chemical for my brain”…
because I had spent the last 2 years of my life researching symptoms of dopamine/serotonin deficiencies and excess. I had my own genetic reports that pointed to an overactive serotenergic system.

Despite that, my prescriber wanted to give me Prozac.

So…unlike my usual skeptical self, I decided to trust him…I didn’t want to become paranoid about the health system. I wanted to exercise my trust.

Bad idea. Real bad idea. 

It only took two weeks before I was in the hospital because I had a severe reaction to Prozac. I mean real bad. I went crazy in every way…without killing myself or someone.

So I was in the hospital for a week.

Ever since then, I’ve had to use caffeine to get me going during the day. I haven’t grown a tolerance to it…it’s almost as if my body is wired for it. Of course, that could be an addict’s justification. 

But honestly, before ever taking Prozac, I always had trouble creating anything. Remembering the little things. My keys, tasks, obligations, appointments, etc..

But I just take a little dose of this stuff every few hours in the morning, and I’m set.

I’m definitely concerned about the future of my renal system (caffeine isn’t all that good for it) But I decided the other day…

I would rather go out in the end…
like a stick of dynamite (short-lived, bigger impact)–

rather than a candle…
admired by many, longer-lasting, but weak-willed
and unable to shine a helpful light in a huge room.

I’d rather have power to create and destroy.
Of renewal and creative prowess…

Then longevity and abstinence from long term pain .

Quality over Quantity.

Quality of living over quantity of time alive.

 

Chemical Self Destruction?

Last night, on my sugar rush (I had eaten a big King-Sized Bag of M&M’s)…

I impulsively put up a “for hire” post on reddit (A social media space with message boards designated to very specific keywords)

I highlighted my fast typing speed in the post headline, and listed a few services I could help with in the body…blog article writing…copywriting….rewriting….transcribing. Basic stuff.

I really did it impulsively…and didn’t expect a reply.

But what happened within an hour was surprising to me.

Some guy with an extremely well-off business messaged me about working with him. I never made any indication in my post about being an expert or anything…but he messaged me and asked about my hourly rate.

I guess typing speed goes a long way? I thought to myself…

I never indicated in the job post I had any experience or marketing expertise.

Sure, I said I was familiar with marketing psychology and could do some copywriting..but nothing more than that.

We corresponded a bit, and I gave him an hourly rate…he was cool with it, so we scheduled a call.

But then I woke up strangulated by a frozen angst. A familiar pressure I can’t avoid putting on myself once I make a commitment of any sort to something new. Not the kind of “healthy pressure” that motivates you to take action. 

A claustrophobic sort of pressure which motivates you to destroy any progress you’ve made.

This is the chemistry which governs my fleeting momentum.

It’s the same chemistry that’s plagued me since I was a child. I’ve always experienced it, and as I get older, I do feel like it’s grating my gait–

debilitating my ability to walk in a straight line and get to the finish line, even if I adhere to all the best “self-help” advice out there in the world.

It’s a physiological problem. I’ve looked into this far too long to be wrong about that.

Usually, I would have fought the anxiety and showed up to the phone call…after all, it was a new freelancing opportunity.

But I’m tired of turning into an anxious wreck that treats everyone like shit.

I realized…

I’d rather be broke and a decent human being to the people closest to me…then constantly under stress by the heavy demands of valuable work in the world of entrepreneurship, and treat people like shit.

I’m just the kind of person who doesn’t do well under pressure. My emotional intelligence is horrendous. It’s just not there…and it’s lessening with age.

So I destroyed my progress and cancelled the call.

I told the guy my job post was impulsive on my end, and I shouldn’t have ever put it up.

…Destroyed my practical progress…but sustained my interpersonal progress with the people closest to me…my family.

Self-Sabotage or Survival? Or both?

Not sure.

 

 

 

 

Admitting You’re Stupid: Freedom

Well…these last 5 years have been a bumpy ride. I’m thankful to be here.

Admitting you are stupid is one of the most freeing experiences you can have.

I mean it…it takes you places you’ve never been before. It gives you permission to stop chasing dreams on a hamster wheel…and instead start building a life with your bare hands. Instincts and aimless prayers.

Admitting you’re stupid isn’t an insult to yourself. It’s an insult to your ego. It’s an insult to Pseudo-intelligence.

You know…when I first started this blog 5 years ago, I was a pseudo-intellect.

I did have some real profound realizations about my life…and I talked about them here…

but if you look back, you can see I was really trying to learn how to be a smooth talker.

I had already planted an “ego seed” in my empty sense of self.

I called myself a “writer” in my mind.

But I’m no writer.

In fact, no one is a writer. The best “writers”  have simply found the easiest way for them to express their emotions…which is…by written word…and we live in a world where it’s an indication of high status to write word well–I mean–write words well.

The easiest way for us to deal with major pain...is the thing we are best at…and sometimes the thing we are best at can cause a little bit of pain, too. But not as much as the pain we are looking to relieve in the first place.

Some people find it the easiest to build up a grandiose sense of self by constructing a life of luxury and altruism…and by easiest, I don’t mean painless. I mean easiest on the mind–the easiest route is the one which doesn’t conflict with our perception of ourselves.  When someone is biologically balanced and wired…they like the idea of being a good person. Of being a healthy person…so they might choose this route.

I think I might be different than that, as a lot of people are.

Through a series of unfortunate events, various failures, and broken promises by people around me…I have come to the glorious realization that I am best at only the most aimless things in life:

Eating, Overthinking, keeping to myself, and masturbating (on a good day).

And typing.

I can type a mean 80-104 WPM Net speed.

You feel me, monkey?

 

 

My Old Philosophy and my New

My old Philosophy:

Wait for the answer within. From God. or From without. From people who believe in God. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Enjoy the experiences you don’t control, the lucky moments. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Enjoy the next experience you don’t control, the lucky moment. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Repeat. Die with regrets.

My new philosophy:

Take care of myself (grow in knowledge, love my body, find people who inspire me). Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Take care of myself. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Take care of myself. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Take care of myself. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Do. Act. Repeat until the honorable death.