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Saturday, 20 August 2016

Failure Is The First Step

Failure Is The First Step

Alexander Gordon Jahans

How do you build confidence when you have been bullied all your life and your every joy has been fleeting and materialistic? You sink further than you have ever sunk, sink so far that your survival instincts kick in and you start rising back to the surface.

I was lost. I was bought so low that I actually turned to physical aggression. Depressed, self loathing, bored, lonely, emasculated, family disintegrating, family kicking me while I was down. Nothing has changed. I mean I am better physically and mentally but the fundamentals are the same. I am just as fucked as I was when I began the descent, if not more so, yet I feel better.

Don't get me wrong the testosterone helps, a lot. I understand and appreciate my sexuality now and indeed I have, pleasingly, noted that what seemed worryingly like a viscious cycle for ever greater extremes in power imbalanced relationship fantasies has become much more reassuringly mundane and missionary. I am stronger, faster, fitter, better coordinated. I have walked up that fucking hill at least once every 8 days. I now have enough stubbly facial hair that I doubt I will be misgendered in earnest. Except it is more than simple testosterone and exercise. I have lived more in this last year than I did for the entirety of my life before hand.

I was involved in social drama, survived being slandered and saw that my real friends won't depart me. I was doxxed, which was an experience. I delved deep into a man's arsehole and learned that I have a cult.

All these experiences have shaped me, chiseled away at the generic doctor who nerd that I was. Because this all happened after I started to recover from my depression. After that low had tempered me into something stronger. I am not seeking death anymore but I am not afraid of it.

Death has been on my mind a lot the last two years. Hence my fiction getting so very dark. The Consumption of Me being surely the most blatant display of my horrified fascination of the prospect of my own mortality. I am not a killer but I think now that I have the capacity to kill myself with any decently sized sharp knife if it came to it. So I no longer fear poverty or homelessness. Call it an insurance policy against overwhelming suffering.

And now I know I could kill myself if I needed to but that I genuinely do not want to I am free to start building upwards. I used to fear the pain of exercise and muscle ache. When you are used to ceaseless migraines and fighting against the perpetual desire to hurt yourself then walking so far you get blisters and lifting weights despite the exertion being just a tad painful is much more possible.

I said once that I was failing upwards and I have said many times that I don't make plans, where I lurch through the dark. Well in a couple of days I will begin lurching towards every piece of advice I've been given. I'll do volunteering, I'll apply for jobs, I'll keep trying to find dates online, I'll go for walks, lift weights and start running. Who knows, I may even start checking out the local night life and talk to people.

I'm not kidding myself the future for me and my generation looks bleak. We are trapped in Brexit purgatory and whoever becomes President of America we all lose. The racists are getting cocky and automation is going to start removing jobs real soon real noticably. Oh Post Scarcity is still a decade or more off at least, even for Corbyn, but the economic impact isn't.

The world is dark and full of shadows so I am glad to have my insurance policy against impossible odds but personally I am cautiously optimistic. Oh my chances of getting a job may be slim but I can have purpose and I can make progress and I can try to find love.

And that's why I am freaking out so very very bad at the racists. Because so far as I can win at the life I have, I'm winning. Then the zombies lurch from the ground, holding me up and muttering. "But bro  you could at least be open minded about white nationalism." It's not actually scary, just startling. Like, "Now? Fucking now?" It's usually my mother who drops the drama bombs. I half expect that if I did get married some twat would run forward at the "Does anyone object?" bit.

Anyway if racists want to watch videos where I rage at them, they are free to but I am not going on any podcast with dickheads.

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