About
The details of my life are quite inconsequential.
Very well, where do I begin?
My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a 15-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet.
My father would womanize; he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes, he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.
My childhood was typical: summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring, we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds — pretty standard, really. At the age of 12, I received my first scribe. At the age of 14, a Zoroastrian named Vilmer ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum — it's breathtaking.
I suggest you try it.
My starting FIVE and first off the bench
Uff da, wrong photo; here they are
“While the man of power seeks to conquer and control the world around him, the poet seeks to understand and connect with the world within.”
“Ultimately, the road we choose will shape not only our own destiny but also the destiny of those who come after us.”
– those sound like Emerson, and I’m not sure where they’re from, but they’re not mine so I put the quotes.
Thanks for continuing to scroll. If you made it this far and you are a PET or CBT provider HMU, just, you know, to see if we, you know, match.
I am in PTSD recovery and have been doing prolonged exposure therapy with a Veterans Administration-aware therapist. My happy little morbidity is combat-stress related and involves the usual suspects (especially flashbacks and hypervigilance internally; manifestly scaring people, lashing out, being overly aggressive, reacting with nuclear-winter causing anger in public, melting down in front of people if I can’t find a place to meditate alone**, alienating anyone and everyone who tried to help me), but prolonged exposure therapy “homework” has been my ploughshare for the past few years along with walking, abnegation of any mind altering substance (including hyper caloric and hyper palatable food, non-giving sex for personal pleasure etc.), meditation, and clean living.
I am fortuitously in possession of video and audio I produced while deployed to Iraq in support of OIF; I'm able to utilize those materials to do these sessions at home. My big problem is the overwhelming moral horror I feel any time I'm not focused on my breath or my steps when I'm walking; it's either not getting any better, or it's getting better so slowly that I can't tell. I spent 13 years masking that emotion with daily consumption of alcohol; now I confront it with CBT, meditation, journaling, sleep hygiene, walking, and taking things slowly in a Deepak Chopra-style approach. I am unable to ride in or drive a vehicle without taking one or two prescribed hydroxyzine tablets because 9/10 times I have a severe panic attack**. I used alcohol to prevent those before. If you’re following along at home: “yes, I did, every day until I found recovery” but “no, I was never caught“ and part of my atonement is to help others not make the same irresponsible, potentially deadly decision.
I've recently "scratched one flat top" in that I am now 180 lbs. (November 12, 2024) instead of 267 lbs. (February '23) on a 5'8" frame. Unsurprisingly, that has improved my mood and has enabled me to walk even more -- I'm able to do more homework, and require fewer visits with a therapist for guidance. But I still need guidance from Virgil(ia). Because I may talk a good game here, but I am just describing the edges of what is going on inside of me. If I knew, it would cease to be a problem. So I need help from a professional. A Virgil(ia).
My journaling is pretty detailed and my virtual visits with my departing provider have evolved to be monthly check-ins to discuss headwinds and also little successes I've had, while also receiving some coaching and best practices. They also make me feel less alone in this journey.
Philosophically, I’ve been operating in an absurdist area after reading The Stranger by Albert Camus following my 2nd suicide attempt last year. I also come from a strong anarcho-syndicalist background as my mentor in college before I dropped out (in the 90s; I went back and finished at Iowa State) was a Lakota Sioux professor at University of South Dakota named Leonard Bruguier. “Capitalism is a bloodline that needs to end; and the workers can and will end it someday” is my favorite quote from his HIST 151 course. I ended my own connection to my personal bloodlines, my family, coworkers, and friends, during the time where my character was so flawed that wouldn’t even seek the necessary help to save my relationship with them. I don’t blame my mother for forgoing a reunion; I love her more for it, and I am happy that she has found peace. She has transitioned to my personal Minerva character who I admire from afar, but who I will never see again.
Sorry for the possible TMI (excuse me Phil, this is a Wendy’s 🤣) but I made a list of the questions I would ask myself if I met me and was like “dude, wtf is wrong with you.” That’s my “about” right now. Thanks for scrolling.