It appears iv run out of things to write about, my creativity hasn’t been what it was since I came out of hospital, I struggle at times to even think coherently. In effect I feal as though I lost something along with my ignorance, I lost that spark of not of a creative self. I find it all very frustrating, lockdowns cost me a lot, they cost me my happiness and contentment, the fundamentally changed my character, along with a personal religious experience I guess it was both a blessing and imposition. I wouldn’t change that religious experience for all the tea in China.

It cost me a hell of a lot, I dragged up childhood trauma, it made me look at myself and my behavior and I was disgusted. Its cost me more than I could afford at times, it cost me my life. I still feal this compulsion to write yet I find my mental capacities are severely diminished, my ignorance it seems was power, boldly writing at the limits of my knowledge.  It is true what they say ignorance is bliss, but now what to do? What is my purpose know? What can I find meaning in? That I do not truly know. I guess I am at the beginning of a new chapter in life, I am at that stage of awakening (I hope) where I am transitioning from ignorance to wisdom, because its only in experience that knowledge is gained.

I am glad in a sense that I gained know knowledge of my self despite at times cursing this gaining, it took over five years to get to here and I possibly would have took longer without the shock value of Lockdowns being stuck in the same place. Lockdowns for me were like a living hell (it took to hell, I still have flashes of this it is deeply disturbing), I watched and still watch the world slip into tyranny and fascism. I watched as lives were destroyed by policy and I was in despair, I could no longer go to the shop my anxiety and anger got that bad. I came to the realization that domestic abuse was rife and the children were suffering with no escape. I couldn’t watch the news and since have cut out pretty much all tv. I began smoking vast amount of weed witch I now have completely stopped and I lost my Dog walking and behavior business. Then wound up in a metal hospital talking about a book I was writing that became an obsession yet was so muddled and confusing it made no sense, I was talking about God and demons as well as the devil.  I talked about how I was the worst possible person on the planet,  I was diagnosed with Psychosis.

Now I am back to the old task of five years previous of become the best possible person I can be despite passed failures here I am still standing, my Psychologist says I am very resilient. Also that I am very self critical (I never used to be) and need to talk about myself in a better light and put in context my past, iv still yet to reconcile my childhood traumas that Lockdown brought back into light, things I truly wish to never remember but they here know in my every waking day.

In light of talking better about myself, I never paid much attention in school or to school and left when I was sixteen barely able to read or write, I was dyslexic and at that time schools never really know what they were doing with dyslexics. I would never do my homework; I feel as though my whole childhood was a cry for help that never went answered. I wasn’t so much a disruptive kid as a quiet kid I had very few friends. In light of all that I years latter around twenty one I began educating myself, I never really read books but I did teach myself to write and read, in time I became an autodidact a self taught person and begin reding books though I rarely finished them. I loved complex ideas and dug deep into behaviorism and philosophy. There was two well relay three parts of myself and I failed my higher values on a regular basis, no matter how hard I tried I would simply escape into a fantasy that was the smartest person alive and no would could reach me. I never accepted help form other and I was delusional. (This is me talking nicely about myself.) I had many behaviors that were ghastly, ugly and few other choice words that I will keep to myself. what I can take away from this is that I taught myself to write and to read, that I needed the delusion I was in to help me simply cope with life, while I did a lot of damage to myself, I don’t think I could have coped back then with my enter world falling in on me. It was all just one big protective bubble to keep myself from all the pain in my life. Lockdown brought this bubble crashing in and I am now the stronger and more honest for it.

I will never be able to be the person I once was I am better for having had that experience of gaining knowledge of myself, however am in no man’s land. I have no real qualifications, have lots of experience with animals but no whare to go with it. My life is stalled and stagnating at the moment, being without money to further my education and with out any real prospects for jobs. I am at lost, and my creative mind has been destroyed. I know not what to with myself with my what seems like useless knowledge now. I see problems in the world I see the loss of freedom and liberty on a global scale, yet I can do nothing, I feel helpless so I write in vain about it all even when I have noting tow write about it would appear.

Published by Engine Mortale

Engine Mortale is my chosen pseudonym, I’ve chosen a pseudonym because I think it most appropriate as some of work will be rather personal. I figured this was the best way. I’m an autodidact, my to prominent fields of study’s are behaviour and philosophy, most recently art and poetry have been of keen interest. I hope genuinely that some good comes out of my out of this thing i call a life, if nothing else just that.

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