Jcyf94's Blog

Have not driven a automobile for 4 1/2 years, I just suddenly realized.

Whatever the reason, I am losing more and more of my ability to mobilize myself, and it has been hijacking me to total atrophy and turning prolonged frustration to uncontrollable rage to crystal clear hatred.

I have running out of methods to untangle myself and extreme emergent measures must be taken to jump-start my ignitions of both my good ole wagon and my body/mind hybrid Self.

I have tried to force myself with internal and external stimulants, including applying self-inflicting pain by forcing myself to be reminded of my publicly persecuted defamations and privately perpetrated embarrassments in mass scale, in order to whip myself into motions to deal with these unwarranted assaults.  Those have proved to have backfired as they have turned peripheral psychological wounds into possible permanent neurological damages, to the delight of nay-sayers and oppotunists.

It is popular for some to apply shame, anger, fear and embarrasement to motivate others under their control and establish distinct hierachy of power structure.  I had applied such concepts onto myself in order to self-motivate under duress, for the purpose of my struggles is to take back the control of myself by extreme force as it was stripped away then by brute force.

I failed, but there is absolutely no room for adjustments or backing out.  I had cranked my inner drive beyond my limits and had no choice but to rely temporarily on outer stimulant to maintain what is left of my basic life functions and recover the ones in state of atrophy.  I will never acknowledge that it is my own undoing, or that it is others’ undoing.  By observing my own behaviors, one would never able to conprehend the mental activities behind years of non-action and why I must do what I do in order to really start doing something.  They call call it bullcrap and conclude that the most obvious solution is the right solution and the simplest interpretation is the accurate interpretation.

I started by randomly noted that I have not driven a car for 4 1/2 years, then I detailed part of me that no one would be interested to read about and that I should never divulge in public.  I do not know why I am doing what I am doing now, but after all the embarrassment, all the ridicules, all the unbearable mental anguish, I have given up on parts of broken pieces of my life I could never recover or regain control.  I no longer cared being exposed in public’s scrutiny.

This is FB, not a blog, and I had been buried alive here with my own words without possibility of resurrection, so I am laying everything out here without filter and with abandonment of self-restraint.  I have crossed the point of no return, so I am heading to the cliff with full speed. At least I get to present my version of truth about myself instead of being hammered continuously with libels and heresy.

There is a difference between boredom and resignation.  When bored, one seeks to be excited, amused, and entertained in order to fill the mental void with time. When resigned, one behaves similarily to that who has boredom, but with drastically different state of mind.  He is relegated to a place to escape from overcapacity of an exhausted mind which has run out of terms with the irreconcilable aspects of reality.

Each second passed feels like being slashed with a small blade, and the thousands little cuts inflicts long-lasting pain because there are better and more essential things that he wants to get done but can only watch time passing by.  That is pain cooked with an uniquely crippling sorrow, and it will not stop.

I am betting writing of such length will attract no readers.  140 words society allows no meaningless boredom and I am not a good writer.  I write to curb pain and motivate myself.  I am using my banality to conceal my life.  It serves the purpose of wanting to be let known and fearing to be let known at the same time.  When you are being disappointed long enough and frequent enough, you will feel the numbness starting to fill in you bloodstream.

This is what the past 2 hours feels like.  No whining, just hitting the keyboard in resigned numbness with couple spell of uncontrollable and painful screams out of utter desperation, then at the end, knowing I am about to meat the mental anguish that is about to hit, retreating to the temporary somatic relief under pharmaceutical shelter.

Now, analyse me. How do you prepare to use this piece of junk writing to inflict further pain and gaining more leverages.  I have not given up, but in essense, I have.  You cannot hurt me anymore than I can to myself.