dane_valek

More than a year ago, I was all but destined to face a harsh reality. I knew that it was coming. I was waiting for it with much awe and anxiety. I knew that it would be devestating, and I knew that it would change a lot of things. When I realized this reality was all but unavoidable, I made a decision. I decided to abuse myself. Physically and mentally. The emotional abuse had been a long ongoing battle. I started to skip most of my meals. Eating only when absolutely neccesary, getting as little sleep as possible, and making no attempt to accomodate the mistakes I had already made. Reflecting on these problems seemed only to push my harder into my abuse. You could call it a sort of "destructive zen". I was focused on nothing, except what was currently happening. I had no thoughts about the consequences of my actions, and no revelation that I was digging myself a hole. One that would be much harder to crawl back out of.

The point, you ask. The point is that in my experiences of self-destruction, and my experiences of self-cultivation, I see little difference between the two. Making strides to be better results in the same outcome as taking no strides, and laying down in front of the traffic coming up behind you.

Bleak? Rather Dark-sided? I suppose. But, the more important question is, Do I care?