crazy, life, love, mental health, mind, psychology

Enslaved by High Intelligence

intelligence

I used to love his personality; he used to be a very warm and affectionate guy.

But things changed with time. Everything human was entirely wiped off his face.  The sincerity of his smile waned, the life in his eyes died, even his hair that used to be soft and pleasant to touch became stiff and brittle.  His warmth gave way to numbness, sardonic grin, glassy look, and a ramrod back.

His mind was purely mathematical; he lived in the three-dimensional world, where everything was thoroughly measured, evidenced-based, and highly logical. Over the years, he kept constraining himself to viewing everything through the prism of numbers, calculations, and statistical significance. In the end, he found himself entirely buried in the conviction that the reality can be observed, touched, assessed, and explained.

He knew that everything has the beginning and the end, and nothing lasts forever. He lived in the world of material women and reasonably prudent men, of social stratification and power inequality, and of blue and white collars.

His mind got caught in the web of black and white, yes or no, true versus false, and conservative/liberal paradigm. He was totally enslaved by his brain and incapable of seeing beyond the acquired life knowledge and experience.

Locked in the matrix of sound judgement, rationality, and compulsory protein consumption, he became extremely rigid and painfully case-hardened. He denied feelings, savagely suppressing love, and proudly discussing the victory of facts over intuition.

The personality was completely gone, but I still loved his penis. It was big and hard, the only thing about him that seemed to function well while his mind was mercilessly imprisoned in mathematical reasoning, composed hypotheses, and evidence-based findings.

crazy, happiness, health, life, mental health, mind

Oriented in Person, Place and Time

love-2055960_1920

Being admitted to the psychiatric unit was a disaster. Pulled apart by endless assessments and thousand meaningless questions of the personnel added to the distress and confusion.  “Who are you? What is the date today? Do you know where you are now? Why are you here?”

Fear and misunderstanding mixed with the bitterness of prescribed mediation gradually and surely forced to the orientation in person, place, and time.

Who are you?  – I am a human, I am a female

Where are you? – I am in a mental health facility

What is the time? – Morning, 9 am, March the 2nd… um  … 2020

First, all these sounded like abracadabra, weird, surreal, and merely stupid.

Self-Identification? – Female. (Whatever).  Labeling self and others through I, You, He, She, We, They …. split the whole reality into ugly pieces.

But it was indispensable to remember I am a female, 33 years of age, since saying this with an idiotic smile got her out of the crisis stabilization unit. No more intense surveillance, the prescribed pills were flushed down the toilet, and she breathed a sigh of relief no longer suffering from the upset stomach, skin blemishes, and drowsiness.

Trapping the identified HERself in the matrix of time: the past, the present, and the future was another torture. The time orientation made no sense: none of the personnel could adequately explain why the past that everyone sees differently should have the only one version sloppily reflected in history textbooks and broadcasted through mass media. Why the future that is never known should come as the definitively hopeless scenario, and why the present must be the bridge that connects the past sufferings with the anticipated hysteria.

She learned that the past was always the time when everyone was poorly trained and ignorant; horrid mistakes were made due to lacking in advanced knowledge and modern technology. While the far future presented as promising; the near future was pictured as the dreadful prognosis of stock market crashes, gory conflicts, infectious diseases, and environmental disasters. The present was  the drama, the panic, the sensation widely spread through TV and the Internet.

Today is Monday, March the 2nd, 2020 – she said that nonsense looking straight into the dirty eyeglasses of the psychiatric nurse. She did her best to look as serious as possible.

 – You are doing really good my dear, – the nurse hurriedly made notes getting ready to sign out for the day.

They discharged her a month after. She slowly walked out of the hospital, leaned up against the dirty brick wall, and lit a cigarette. She closed her eyes letting go of the espoused person, time, and place orientation; smoking, smiling, and disappearing in the cold November air.

    

addiction, anxiety, crazy, depression, life, mind, psychology

Addiction in Crowds

addiction

 – I am an addict, an addict, an addict… – the words rang in her ears every time she had to leave the quiet household and merge with crowds.

Crowds talked in their own way; the hysterical I gotta win, I can’t lose, I am late, mingled with the desperate he is not calling me back, she won’t get laid, they will never promote me forming a never-ending buzz.

She used to pick out male and female voices from the hum; initially, she was curious what the buzzing was about.

I must meet project deadlines, and I gotta pay the bills overlapped I am hungry,  I am lonely, and I am horny. She moved on, I want her back,  I’ll get drunk, I will smoke weed resonated with people are stupid, I should lose weight, I want shrimp scampi.    

Eventually, the curiosity turned sour since different words generated the same old I want, I crave, I will die if I do not have it now. Words of distress and agony; words of anger and instant gratification, words of addiction.

The bigger was the crowd, the more addiction was emitted. Airports, stadiums, shopping malls were the worst particularly during the holiday season. Individual pain, fury, and anxiety fused into an avalanche of despair and hatred that moved fast enough to destroy serenity, love, and common sense.

The crowd annihilated human individuality, people turned into mere transmitters of cravings and impulsivity losing their mind, becoming numb, deaf, and blind. Loud music, bright pictures, and spicy smells blended with screaming sexuality amplified addiction and maximized craziness.

 – I am an addict, I am an addict, I am an addict – the humming insanity of the crowd felt annoying to her ears.  She was never a loner, she loved interacting with people, she was just bothered by crowds.

 

 

 

 

 

anxiety, depression, happiness, life, mind, psychology

Moving Somewhere or Feeling Stuck

stuck

Big city. Modern fairy-tale, neon nights, and highway tie-ups.

Early mornings with over-roasted coffee on an empty stomach. Fast paced work hours, puffy eyed rainmakers, and slow service in crowded cafeterias.

Bouts of depression are combined with heavy air, traffic noise, and collar stains on designer shirts. Loneliness comes along with whiskey on water and futile attempts to feel comfortable at private parties. Before-the-alarm wake ups and ever-lasting Monday fatigue.

He moved from a small town leaving old childhood traumas for new megapolis experiences.  – Don’t you understand Vixen? I need opportunities, right people, career, entertainment. I need money.

I understand.

His life in a big city was the constant go-go of aggressive self-promotion, goal-setting, and struggles to fit in. The more he made the more he pushed for, snorting cocaine and squeezing the maximum from the chest press machine. He was the winner who hid his insecurity behind the sparkling white smile and a seemingly sunny mood.

You gotta move forward, always move forward or you will lose.

Who told you this crap? – I shivered wrapping myself in a shawl. The AC in his office was constantly running causing goose bumps and nasal congestions.

You are crazy to say that.

His fear to become a loser mercilessly pushed him towards endless rat racing, which added more and more to his nervousness, impulsivity, and hopelessness. He cherished the illusion that he keeps moving up closing his eyes to the truth that he stays still.

You can go forward, backward, up and down. It really does not matter, luv. The truth of it is you never move no matter how fast you run.

 – What do you mean?  – years of living in a big city shaped his skill of hiding true emotions, but I could still feel the growing irritation behind his nonchalant politeness and trendy perfume.

 – You are an inferior boy who tries to show this world that you are someone big and important. You failed to prove it to your parents, nowadays, you are failing to prove it to your big bosses since no one cares. As you see, nothing has changed. You are still staying still. You are stuck, and your soul feels it.

He did not respond, and we never talked about it again.

 

crazy, life, love, mind, psychology, relationships

The Ideal Woman

fantasy-4023839_1920

After my friend broke up with his recent date, he was plagued and desperate.

 – What was the deal breaker this same?  – I knew the answer but faked curiosity since he needed someone to be here for him, someone to talk to, he looked totally distressed and heart-broken.

 – She was a classic gold-digger.

 – Why?

 – She never gave me blowjobs unless I bought her gifts.

 – You look so damn sad.

 – Of course, I am, – he was crumpling up an empty plastic bottle, nervously dejected, breathlessly discouraged.

 – Sounds like your previous one. You kept saying she loved money more than yourself.

 – Correct, and she was a whore. She looked at other guys, and she was clearly not over her ex-husband.

 – The one who was before your ‘whore’, – I paused suppressing a giggle,  – you told me she was all over you like white on rice

 – Who, Maggie? She was freaking obsessive. She followed me with her ‘I love you’ bull 24/7.

 – Stephanie?

 – Lazy bitch

 – Jen?

 – Liar

 – Wait, – our conversation started giving me headaches, – wait, what about me?

 – What about you? – he quickly threw the crushed bottle in the bin and came very close.

His smell was painfully familiar and brought memories; him and I, mountains and water, sex and cold breakfasts. I slowly stepped back, pounding heart, dry lips, and shaky hands.

 – We were together, what was I?

 – You were one of the biggest disappointments in my life, – he took a step forward, I stepped backward again, unwilling to further feel his smell and recall the past, our past together.

 – How come?

 – You only care about sex and money. You are extremely worldly, and I need a godly woman, I need the princess not a greedy hooker.

– Thanks.

 – Wait! you are a great friend… you will always be my friend, Vixen. 

I know.

I had bad news for him, the news that he would never find what he had been looking for all these years.  Somehow, he fell for the fictional girl’s image blindly and obstinately chasing the illusion, feeling angry and disheartened every time the princess turned out to be an average female who expected gifts, loved money, choked on semen, and hid acne with her make-up. He wanted the goddess but met live human beings fearful and insecure with the unrealistic expectations to find the knight in shining armor so he would take care of the bills and practice monogamous sex under the blanket.

 – I am hopeful you will find your princess one day, – I did not mean it, I knew it would never happen. I was just lying straight to his face, smiling, and hoping that one day he will come back, pay my rent and care about my orgasms.