Post by: Anonymous on December 27, 2005, 07:09:00 PM
Post by: Anonymous on December 27, 2005, 08:01:00 PM
Post by: Bird on a Wire on December 27, 2005, 08:26:00 PM
Post by: starry-eyed pirate on December 27, 2005, 10:40:00 PM
Post by: dragonfly on December 27, 2005, 10:44:00 PM
Post by: Anonymous on December 27, 2005, 11:14:00 PM
I asked that question of a dr. once. He says to me, You are a survivor of child abuse and you are a person with ________ such and such talent [I deleted a talent that I have here, you can add your own].
Unfortunately, that is who you are. You are a Survivor of Straight. And I don't mean that sarcastically or in some odd way. That is what you did with your life. You are not only this however. Usually when people ask that question in such a hardcore way it means they are trying to identify with a culture or something like that. And its damm hard to identify a survivor cos usually their all messed up like you are.
Post by: Dr Fucktard on December 28, 2005, 12:12:00 AM
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There are no easy answers, but let me lay this on you, Thoreau writes in Walden that in order to find yourself you must first lose the world.
Very true, Pirate...Thoreau was certainly onto something there -- and you may want to remind yourself that you needed to lose the world (which here refers to your freedom) after we drag your ass into the group room at SIBS!! ::hehehmm::
Post by: Nonconformistlaw on December 28, 2005, 12:30:00 AM
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On 2005-12-27 21:12:00, Dr Fucktard wrote:Quote"There are no easy answers, but let me lay this on you, Thoreau writes in Walden that in order to find yourself you must first lose the world.Very true, Pirate...Thoreau was certainly onto something there -- and you may want to remind yourself that you needed to lose the world (which here refers to your freedom) after we drag your ass into the group room at SIBS!!" ::hehehmm::
Sounds like it is you Dr. Fucktard who needs to lose your freedom in the group room at SIBS. ::hehehmm::
Post by: Woof-a-Doof on December 28, 2005, 05:44:00 AM
For the most part I gave up and called off the search...I essentually gave up all hope. And for the most part, I never felt better.
At one time I was very serious in asking myself, "Who am I?" and the result was a profound I DON'T KNOW. Remove my hopes, dreams, aspirations,remove my personality and even change/remove my body...what is left is who I am. And who/what is that??? I don't know, was the answer. I experienced this so very profoundly that I could not trivialize my findings.
The question for me was could I abide in that...The answer to that is sometimes, yes,I can abide in that and at other times I can not and don't. But each time I return to the question of "Who am I?" I have the same profound answer...'I don't know"...And oddly enuff that same answer has been a constant when so many other aspects of my existance changes from day to day week to week and so on.
I tend to support Pirate, he said that your question shows evidence of the path you are on. Agreed. I think your quest is one that can not, or will not be denied.
Just my $0.02[ This Message was edited by: Woof-a-Doof on 2005-12-28 02:45 ]
Post by: SurRobinHood on December 28, 2005, 08:58:00 AM
Post by: Anonymous on December 28, 2005, 09:30:00 AM
Post by: Carmel on December 28, 2005, 09:42:00 AM
Everything that makes up who you are is already within, just because you may not like what you see does not mean you havent "found" yourself. There is no alternate option to discover. Take pride in what makes you, you. Good and bad. Hell, why the fuck should we want to be just like someone else?
The only control you have is to govern what you do going forward, and you wont always be satisfied with that either.
Post by: starry-eyed pirate on December 28, 2005, 10:07:00 AM
Original poster, your question stirs my soul and brings up many of my own questions and reminds me of all I went thru in the immediate years following my 2 year incarceration at str8.
Last night, with your question in mind, I had a million dreams. I dreampt that I was hitch-hiking through my past. I was in California with my old best friend, who is the first person I ever smoked pot with. We were on the beach in San Diego. I told him that I planned to continue on, hitch-hiking into south America.
After str8 I was so sick in the head. I was completely lost. I had developed what I call a split/pseudo personality. Str8 had raped my mind so horribly that whoever I had been prior to str8 was barely there and afraid to even move, hiding in the depths somewhere. I had to relate to the world though. Somehow I had to find a way to have some reference point. With none of my original personality left I decided to just become somebody. I picked a personality to be and thoroughly adopted all the stereo-typical personality traits which I thought were appropriate to that kind of a person. I am not reccomending this to anyone but for me at the time it was a survival tactic, and something I apparently had to go thru. After several months or a year of trying to be someone that I wasn't, I came to the realization, as I stood alone on the balcony of my apartment trying to figure out why my girlfriend was leaving me and why I couldn't keep a job or even socialize with people other than those that I had known in str8, that I was in some kind of an internal conflict. My real self(for lack of a better term) seemed to be making an attempt to come out of hiding and yet there was this other personality now in place and firmly established within me. I was terrified to realize that I was completely estranged from myself. It was like there I was all alone and yet there were these 2 personalities having some kind of a crazy, intense and very real argument about who "I" really was. It was crazy to feel like there were 2 seperate and distinct people(personalities)within me. Absolutely terrifying.
At that point I took a major step towards healing but it came in the form of a nervous breakdown. I knew I had to let go of my false personality but I was afraid to do it. On the other hand if I didn't let it go I would only become sicker and remain a prisoner within myself. I refused to cling to the psuedo personality which I had developed as a means of protection. I was traumatized yet again by this whole scary process of freeing myself from my str8 inflicted psychosis. I felt completely alone in this struggle.
But I was committed to healing and becoming strong again.
I remember it was only a few months later. I was still very sick(It takes a long time to recover from such catastrophic illnesses), and I was stayin with my good friend, Dragonfly, after I had dropped out of college after only one month. I had already read Thoreau and was reading Maslovs' "Becoming Free, The Struggle For Human Developement" when my friend suggested to me that I just put whatever I needed on my back and start walkin'.
To find yourself you must first lose the world. I took that advice. I packed up my backpack, the one Dragonfly had given me, tied my sleepin' bag up under it and caught a ride as far as the Rocky Mountains. I hitch-hiked around that whole summer. I took only necessary possesions and my copy of "Becoming Free". I detached from all associations, only occaissionally calling my folks to let them know I wasn't dead. I kept a detailed joiurnal to record my thoughts and experiences. I hitched down to San Diego and looked up old friends, who I had known before Str8 and stayed with them for a week. Then I hitched north along the west coast hittin' Dead shows and swingin' acid along the way. I made it up to Eugene,OR and then Portland, which I have many fond memories of. Along the way I made new friends and managed to find temporary work here and there as I travelled and healed and naturally relied on my instincts to carry me thru. I made it back to D.C. by the 4th of July for the fireworks on the mall and then took off again, but this time with my friend K.C. in his '80 Datsun station wagon and repeated the entire circuit with him. We spent a month campin out at the base of Mt. Hood about 45 mins. from Portland gettin' high and drinkin Yukon Jack every night. We collected cans and bottles and sold our blood for money. We had almost no expenses other than food, alcohol and gas. Every night we would sit around the fire drinkin' whiskey and smokin' up and playin' guitar. Life is the school.
The entire point of this adventure was to find myself again. To lose the world as much as I could and be left only with myself. During the course of my travels I ran into many other Str8 survivors that I had known on my phases. I ran into survivors at a Jerry Garcia show at the Warfield theatre in San Fransisco and another survivor at the Reggae on the river in Humboldt County, CA and i ran into lots of survivors on Dead tour. I wonder if we were all tryin' to find ourselves after the brutality of the str8 mind rape.
I'm sorry this post has gotten so long but I just wanted to really illustrate the depth of the str8 inflicted sickness and the intensity and committment required to even just begin to heal.
Follow your instincts kid. Everything you need is within you. I wish you Peace and all beautiful things. ::dove::
Dr. Fucktard, as usual your interpretation is affected by your delusional world view. :silly:
Peace to all Str8 survivors.
Post by: Dr. Miller Newton on December 28, 2005, 10:23:00 AM
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On 2005-12-27 21:30:00, Nonconformistlaw wrote:
"Quote
On 2005-12-27 21:12:00, Dr Fucktard wrote:Quote"There are no easy answers, but let me lay this on you, Thoreau writes in Walden that in order to find yourself you must first lose the world.
Very true, Pirate...Thoreau was certainly onto something there -- and you may want to remind yourself that you needed to lose the world (which here refers to your freedom) after we drag your ass into the group room at SIBS!!" ::hehehmm::
Sounds like it is you Dr. Fucktard who needs to lose your freedom in the group room at SIBS. ::hehehmm:: "
Your ludicrous display of barefaced audacity & sheer lack of respect toward my esteemed colleague have been duly noted! ::hehehmm::
Love ya,
Have a seat! :wave:
Post by: Nonconformistlaw on December 28, 2005, 12:37:00 PM
Quote
On 2005-12-28 07:23:00, Dr. Miller Newton wrote:
"Your ludicrous display of barefaced audacity & sheer lack of respect toward my esteemed colleague have been duly noted! ::hehehmm::
Love ya,
Have a seat! ::hehehmm::
Post by: Anonymous on December 28, 2005, 11:56:00 PM
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Here Fucktard, I have a drink and big joint for ya! ::hehehmm::
Not too bad....not too bad...showin' some chutzpah here..keep it up! You'll get better at it, trust. :wink:
Post by: Woof-a-Doof on January 01, 2006, 10:20:00 AM
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On 2005-12-27 20:14:00, Anonymous wrote:
"so, if I kill myself then I will become myself? If I die then I will be alive? Is that the order of it? I get so confused with all this metaphysical chatty.
(http://http://www.woof-a-doof.com/images/Characters/Non-Cogito.jpg)
"Inconsideratus Cogito Ego Non Sum"
Latin, "I don't think much, therefore I might not be"
Post by: Anonymous on January 01, 2006, 11:57:00 AM
Post by: Anonymous on January 01, 2006, 11:57:00 AM
Post by: Antigen on January 01, 2006, 03:38:00 PM
That's me right there on the ocean or some bay or whatever in Sarasota. Or maybe I was round the back side and out of frame entirely. Hard to tell w/ all the cloud cover. But this picture captures exactly what I felt at that moment. It was terrifying! I had the sense that I actually didn't exist and an intense, irrational fear that I might just lose gravity (or gravity lose me) and float off into space, away from air and water and all sustanance.I'm only being a tiny bit facetious here. I had gotten out, was just over 18. I had a job and a place to stay, knew I could pay my share, finally had actual days off to fill. One problem, though, I had no fucking clue what I might want to do with time and freedom. I knew, factually, that I needed clothes. Maybe I should go to a maul (yech!) and shop like normal 18yo girls do. But I didn't know what kind of clothing I liked.
Didn't even know where to begin. So I remembered that I used to like going to the beach. It always had seemed to help me regain my calm, my focus, my inner peace and all that intangible shit you never even notice in inventory till some asshole manages to pilfer the stores of it.
So there I was on my day off, sitting at the point of a pile of large boulders on the edge of the Gulf which connected w/ the sea which abutted the land... all of it. And I was so incredibly alone. I didn't even have myself. As I sat there trying to remember how to think, trying very desperately to find 'myself' I realized I was completely lost. I had no opinions, no preferences, no friends, no clear memories--every one I could conjure was tainted or completely obscured by the Program filter through which I had become accustomed to seeing everything I allowed myself to see--no volition, no will, no fucking idea what I wanted to do now that I could do anything. It was like walking off a cliff into .... nothing, nothing at all, void.
I finally, after a couple of months, it seemed like the dogs were finally off my trail and I had achieved that long and hard fought goal of having time and space to think and the freedom to do whatever I wanted to do.
So I decided I needed most desperately to job my memory. I went back home to Pompano. Another little lucky break for me; my mom had sold the family home and built herself a new one in Sarasota to be closer to Straight. The rest of the family had already fled to other areas just about as soon as they could. So I had Pompano all to myself.
It helped, sort of. It's true, ya can't go home again. But the familiar, if altered, surroundings did provide me w/ some context to latch onto.
I still don't know who I am. But I don't think anybody does. I don't think it's up to us to make that determination. It's entirely up to the rest of the world to define us as they will.
You say there is but one way to worship the Great Spirit. If there is but one religion, why do you white people differ so much about it?
--Chief Red Jacket, Seneca Indian Chieftain
Post by: Anonymous on January 02, 2006, 11:35:00 PM