Seppuku

I’m at it again – the whole “I can’t sleep because I’m going through some mental shit right now” and since I haven’t written anything in awhile… this jibber jabber of text can hopefully help with the instability.

You could ask, who are you writing for? And, I’m going to be straight up and tell you that I’m writing for myself.

Writing is how I cope with my mental fragility. Therefore, I don’t care about the grammatical errors that happen in this post, I don’t care if my words are illogical… all I care about is the fact that I’m writing.

I’d rather write than shove a gun down my throat.

There are so many things that are racing through my head right now. I want to tackle how my manic-depression and PTSD keeps me awake at night: I’m tired of waking up screaming as another night-terror after night-terror after fucking. night. terror. blasts through my hippocampus as it rips through my emotional memories of nostalgic pain.

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Stop Caring About The People Who Don’t Care About You

A few weeks ago I relapsed and I gambled.

For those who don’t know I have a gambling problem and I made the grave mistake of going to a casino, withdrawing three hundred dollars from the ATM, and blowing it all away on poker.

Old habits die hard.

I have this belief that though bad things happen to me all time. I’m talking my car getting stolen, getting fired, having the IRS freeze all my assets,  and the list continues…

However, the consequences that take place when I gamble, are consequences that end up being destructive to myself and others. I’m talking the things that happen after I gamble are. just. fucking horrible. I won’t lie I have always enjoyed reading the latest fantasy news for my fantasy football, but everything in moderation.

I have no idea why I write in the wee hours of the night or morning.

How do I explain this? How do I put it?

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The Most Romantic Breakup Story Ever

I was recently asked if I had a breakup story to share.
This is the story –

When I would close my eyes and think of her, I would see her smile. It forms ever so slowly to where her eyes squint softly, her cheeks begin to glow, and then the tiniest of dimples appear as if to remind you that there is indeed pure beauty in this world.

Angelic elegance.

Her smile more than plants your feet on the ground because it’s made up of empathy, compassion, and the type of selfless love that tells you that you are home.

If you don’t smile when she smiles, you have no heart. Her smile could make your heart ache with comfort.

In this moment she wasn’t smiling.

Her eyes looking down. I was in front of her as she was in front of me. The lady’s back leaning against the wall of her bed, while I sat idle on a stool in the middle of her room.

The only noise that could be heard was a sniffle from her nose, the pensive scratching from my nails, and the lamp’s bulbs radiating energy from being on for too long.

We were just trying to make sense of the last two hours.

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The Time I Stole

I was recently asked to tell a time when I stole something.
This is the story –

In my freshman year at UC Berkeley, I lived in a dormitory called Bowles Hall. It looked and felt like the gloomy structure of an exact replica of Hogwarts.

The only difference was the ability to find an amazing woman like Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, or an Angelina Johnson to be walking the halls… because women didn’t exist at Bowles Hall!

Yes.
No women.
No magic.

It was an all-male dormitory with men growing into their prepubescent bodies and their strides of deodorant sticks. It was less of a Harry Potter story and more of a Lord of The Flies type situation.

And on this particular day, like any other day, I found myself vehemently arguing with my roommate, Greg.

Listen, Greg is a great roommate. The only issue is he was (is) a very vocal right-wing conservative. And, to his credit, I can be a boisterous liberal lefty.

I loved President Obama.
He thinks President Obama is one of the worst presidents in American history.

We argue from pro-choice issues all the way to the fundamentals of whether or not systematic racism exists. Our debates get loud – and at the young age of 18… they often got violent.

That day wouldn’t be any different.

Me: FUCK YOU
Greg: FUCK YOUUUUUUUU!

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Acceptance?

It’s 4am. I can’t sleep. I need to write.

I’m not going to lie, I was going to write a blogpost called “Being a Superstar Is the Biggest Lie Companies Tell You to Be”

There is a mantra that floats around startup culture and corporate America in general:

“if you don’t own the company, you should work late, outwork your co-workers, soak up-soak up knowledge from others. Be the positive energy, make good contacts, and be the person people remember… make the most out of it – grow.”

What I’ve learned in the last year is that this mantra is wrong.

Much of what was said doesn’t matter.

If you don’t fit in the company’s culture or if you subtly irk someone at the top, at the wrong time, in the wrong way… you’re gone.

Working hard, staying late, being a positive energy to others doesn’t really matter. What matters?

I believe working hard is part of it, but what’s really important is how you fit in the company culture and if you have a great communicative relationship with your team and the people who can let you go.

If you’re a team player and you get your work done… you’ll be fine: going above and beyond is just doing your job and being heard without being a nuisance to others.

If it isn’t clear, this post is about what it’s like being an employee in a company and what you need to do so you don’t get fired… I don’t know it’s 4am in the morning.

Also here are a few other things I’ve learned from last year:

  1. Save. You can be gone at any moment. Therefore, prepare for the worst because you should never think your job is secure. Again, unless you own the company, your job isn’t secure.
  2. Trust no one. I love many of my co-workers, even the person that let me go… I’ve learned a lot from them and I’ve given them a lot of myself to them. However, with that said, I’ve learned you can’t trust anybody. You are a team, but at the same time you must be able to take a step back and live a different life outside of your co-working space. Your co-workers aren’t your enemies, but you have to remember, that their job security will always outweigh yours.
  3. This third lesson is just for me: I should learn to control my manic depression & PTSD a little better. I don’t know how I can do this part, but I do think a lot of what happened was due to how I dealt with my mental issues. Though I never blamed my mental health issues on bad work performance… I did have strange spurts of creative energy that would go in waves. Others can’t handle it sometimes.

My personality is not for everybody. I think people who really get me are the ones who just accept my child-like wonderment. There was a reason why my interns and other creative partners stuck by me and gave me their best work … and it’s not because of money. I have none.

I believe they stuck by me and gave me 150% of their time because people who are young at heart, people who are truly creative, people who have gone through shit, understand others who are similar.

What am I saying here? It seems when looking for interns or people to partner up with… I find people who are as broken and creative as me?

What?

Anyway. I’m all over the place.

Isn’t the title of this post called Acceptance?

Alright, let me get back on track and talk about Acceptance.

Though, I will admit, writing everything above is helping me deal with everything I’m going through at the moment. Let me explain…

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