Closure of Confessions of Someone Almost 18 / The Komarovian

     I feel like I’ve been gone so long, yet in reality it’s only been a few weeks. A bit has changed, not much and everything all at once, encompassing my all as I favor to say with high frequency. The tension mounted and nearly destroyed me—and yet, I lived—fleeting the precipice of the Lake of the Dead once more; dear Raziel, we are worthy.

     Confessed out & self-proclaimed as nothing and all of everything. Predictably the pilot light flickered out with a whisper lacking a proper recognition when probably due. Unapologetically, “I wanted to kill the most amazing person in the world, then I realized suicide was a crime.”


     One last thing remains before we pick up and move on: thank you.

The Succeeding Works of
Alexis Komarov Voltaire

http://www.komarovian.com/

This is about the difference between you and me--

     As we’ve gone along every step of this way hand in hand or falling apart, I have been a step ahead of the game and yours ad nauseam.

     Oblivious in my silence, you assume, still to consider the reality of the matter. Perhaps I knew then, and then, and then, and now again. Hint: I did.

     The set-up: I knew. The girls: I knew. The dilations: I knew.
     We died late. I hope you have regrets.

Monroe Makes Thirteen

     For a few years I’ve considered getting a monroe piercing. Holding me back was the worry that my face would appear too “cluttered” because of how many facial piercings I already had (snakebites, nose, tongue).

     The other day I took a photo and I couldn’t help but think that it would look so much better if I had a monroe piercing in it. I asked a few friends their opinions and got thumbs up all around, so I went ahead and got it done yesterday afternoon by a friend (who happens to be a professional piercer).

     My friend doing the procedure made the experience much more pleasant than any other. The comfort of my room, my music, and someone I trust doing the piercing was a completely relaxed environment. I can say with much assurance that getting my monroe was the least painful piercing I have ever gotten, and I believe it largely has to do with what I just described.

     If you’re curious as to what all I have done now, here’s a list—

1.) 2 lobe  2.) 4 cartilage (one left, three right) 3.) 1 industrial (left) 4.) 2 lip (snakebites) 5.) 1 nostril (left) 6.) 1 tongue 7.) 1 monroe (right side, which might even be called something else by some, but I’m not sure)

     This leaves me with a grand total of thirteen, if you count the industrial as two (which I do, considering it took 45 minutes and bled like crazy).

On the Epic of Pathetic

     They’re hard, it’s life. Sometimes they end badly, rarely goodly—what’s left? Uncertainty. Perhaps from one end, hardly ever both. Loose ends? I’m unsure. My tightrope isn’t unraveling.

     Almost piteous, never angry. I hate to see crumbs when there wasn’t a reason to crumble.

     Break-ups. They’re hard, it’s life.

But it is never, ever ever ever, over. (:

I’ll teach you about loss.

     Like death, love, and life, I do this alone. Everything, all alone. I know the right decision, and I know the biological reason why it’s so difficult to commit to. Who am I to convince nature my conscience is right? Who am I to pretend I exist as a dichotomy? Who am I to question that I am not capable of a feat this great?

Mysteries of My Creation

    Today is your (un)lucky day—have all you’ve ever wanted if you can only reach it on your own. My money’s on: you can’t, and that’s why you pushed away what you claimed was such a great thing for you, you selfish hypothetical gene. If you genuinely believe deep down that all you deserve is the shit that you spread, that is all you will ever even be. The rewards won’t exist, you’re less than that to me. This is the time of your last feeding. I hope you’re as happy as you deserve to be.

The Observant Love Song of the Future

“I’m seventeen and I’m crazy. My uncle says the two always go together. When people ask your age, he said, always say seventeen and insane. . . .” – Clarisse McClellan, Fahrenheit 451

     It’s a little frightening when I consider that in three months I will be eighteen. Did anyone else ever feel this way, or does everyone feel this way? … A child trapped in hardly a woman’s body, with what has proven to be a man by her side. There are so many things that will change and so many things that possibly could. I am at the brink of the rest of my life. … And in short, I am afraid.

Another Black Hole

     I’d like to think I’ve decided against something for the best of all possible worlds, then I’m not so sure. I won’t consider this the rest of my life unless the importance is paramount to the mountain I’ve already shoveled out of this hole I’ve dug myself into.
     What a terrible world we socialites live in, what a horrible excruciatingly painful world we socialize in. How joyous it is to be as bright as the sun capable of fighting the gravity of everything.

     Eventually I’ll give up and die without a surrendering key note or a waving white flag. It’ll be red flags and a long night, I can tell. I’ve got a big plan with my mind set, it’s just that who knows when I’ll actually give it some kinetic motion for a goal truly undesired.
     Sometimes we have to do what we must to protect ourselves before we think we must start preserving what little we’ve left uncorrupted, there’s really no one here to save ourselves. I’m sick of being the savior when it used to be all I ever dreamt. I’m not going to save you even if you let me, save your fucking self. … Self preservation—you’ve already welcomed the bomb.

     At the end of the supernova I care more about myself than any one or thing; majority is always right, am I right? I am a selfish, selfish girl proud to be the last one standing on this event horizon someday.

Liberate Te Ex Inferis

     My boyfriend is asleep or so I think, my best friend never called me back to make plans like we were going to, my father’s reading Schopenhauer in the living room, and my mother is terrorizing the city with her friends.

     Although I rarely feel so nonexistent in this world to the people that matter most, a rarity unknown is how actually alive I feel. Today my horrors visited another human being, now I know that I am not the only one who knows them by first name. I am liberated. This is what it feels like to be free.

Thursday’s Thoughts - Theme: Time

     For the past few days I have been reading Stephen Hawking’s A Briefer History of Time and it has completely captivated me. (One of the reasons why not much has been posted on COSA18 lately, still!) His beautiful explanations make the wonders of physics so easily graspable. My dad keeps joking, “So are you going to go become a physicist now instead of a sociobiologist?” In reply I say, “Why would I need to? Hawking has already answered every question I’ve ever pondered about physics!”

     As if it weren’t obvious from the title, time, specifically space-time, is the central theme of the book. It’s led me to think a bit about time, and I find it most appropriate for this week’s theme.

This Week’s Theme: Time

“The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.” - Albert Einstein

“There is a time for departure even when there’s no certain place to go.” - Tennessee Williams

“There is only one you for all time. Fearlessly be yourself.” - Anthony Rapp

     The final quote by Anthony Rapp made me tear up. It’s something I “needed” to hear today.

On second thought...

I don't think it would ruin my life.

It might just be the best thing I could ever do for myself.

Thursday's Thoughts - Theme: First Time

This Week's Theme: First Time

“Minor things can become moments of great revelation when encountered for the first time.” - Margot Fonteyn

“The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them.” - Maya Angelou

“No one can possibly know what is about to happen: it is happening, each time, for the first time, for the only time.” - James Arthur Baldwin

      This week's theme wasn't picked at random. When I first started COSA18 last August I had a few specific ideas for topics I hoped to eventually discuss, one of them being doing things for the first time. Luckily, this past week three things occurred for the first time, giving me enough events to share for it to be worthwhile.

 

     Earlier this week I was struck with the sudden urge to attempt to curl my hair. Every time my hair has been curled it was by a friend's skill, I've never done so successfully. I tried anyway, and was using my webcam as a mirror. (I'm not sure why I thought that was a good idea.) Later on, Jonathan signed onto AIM and we were chatting while I was still at my attempts. He said something that made me laugh, and I ended up burning the hell out of my forehead, as pictured above. I've never burnt myself straightening or curling my hair, and I've been doing so for five years. This was definitely an unpleasant, yet funny first.

     On Monday, my dad and I went to Walmart to poke around. While he was shuffling through  the$5 DVDs he never buys, I wandered over a few isles in search of desk chairs, only to instead find multiple racks of picture frames on clearance. I surveyed the variety, picked what I wanted, and began searching through the ridiculous amount of frames they crammed onto one rack.
     As my dad rounded the corner, it happened. A frame fell to the floor, and the glass smashed into a hundred pieces. I've never broken anything in a store before in my life, even throughout childhood I never broke a single thing. I thought it was really hilarious that I was seventeen when it finally happened, and that it happened at all.

     This last first happened just yesterday, and is by far the most exciting out of the three. Yesterday, out of a random conversation with my mom about a friend of mine, I drank Absinthe for the first time. I didn't feel like I was in Dracula, but I did feel as chill as Marilyn Manson appears in all his interviews where he's drinking his own brand.
     In the midst of texting and IMing my friends about random things like "nugget strips" and whatever else I thought was clever and important for everyone to know, I took a few pictures, as did my mom. Behold, my  hilarious, possibly embarrassing, "Absinthe face:"

     I think it's worth mentioning that although I vowed long ago to never drink alcohol ever again in fear of "relapsing" back to self mutilation, the thought never crossed my mind yesterday in my decision to drink. I have no regret, second thought, nothing. I am completely happy with the decision I made because I made it smartly. Regardless of being seventeen and it being illegal to drink, I am completely one hundred percent happy with my decision because I made it consciously and reasonably.

Nietzsche's "Upon the Blessed Isles" & Marilyn Manson's "Organ Grinder"

     I'm currently reading Thus Spoke Zarathustra, and I noticed some wording similarities in "Upon the Blessed Isles" and the song "Organ Grinder," by Marilyn Manson. (Lyrics in sidebar of video.) It could be me simply looking for similarities because "Organ Grinder" is my favorite song, but this should be fun to write up regardless of whether it's convincing or not.

Upon the Blessed Isles

     God is a thought that makes crooked all that is straight, and makes turn whatever stands.

"I do a crooked little dance with my funny little monkey"

     From my understanding, becoming the overman is about surpassing humanity. Often, humans are associated with monkeys, although we are more closely related to apes. Regardless, it could be in relation. If Manson has become the overman, perhaps he can do the opposite of "God" by making all crooked things straight; a straight fact. The fact being humans are closer to apes than monkeys, but making it alright to use the metaphor of a monkey because he can turn all things crooked straight if he wanted to.

     God is a conjecture; but I desire that your conjectures should not reach beyond your creative will. Could you create a god? Then do not speak to me of any gods. But you could well create the overman.

"I hate what I have become to escape what I hated being"

     To become anything, we must create first create it as an image, only to continue creating during the process. If we reach beyond our creative will, we could hate it. Manson could have moved too swiftly in his creation, sloppily or with more thought power than actual power by means of quick escape from what he hated, causing him to hate what he has become anyway.

Perhaps not you yourselves, my brothers. But into fathers and forefathers of the overman you could re-create yourselves: and let this be your best creation.

     There are many elements in "Organ Grinder" that seemingly relate to children and a father, on the surface of the words. I'm not sure exactly what Nietzsche meant in this part of "Upon the Blessed Isles," but from the translation I'm excerpting, the translator notes that it is about the creative life versus belief in God, "God is a conjecture." (A theory, opinion.) I wouldn't be too quick to assume this means God in the common sense, either, but who knows.

     Creation—that is the great redemption from suffering, and life's growing light. But that the creator may be, suffering is needed and much change. Indeed, there must be much bitter dying in your life, you creators. Thus are you advocates and justifiers of all impermanence. To be the child who is newly born, the creator must also want to be the mother who gives birth and the pangs of the birth giver.

"I hate what I have become to escape what I hated being"

     Like I said, I'm not sure what Nietzsche meant. Perhaps by creating the overman in our fathers and forefathers (or a metaphor of either), we can escape what we hate. (The line could have a double meaning.) By creating what we want in another, we grow to hate ourselves because we haven't applied the same things to ourselves first and foremost. Our hatred of our actions could push us onto the tightrope of finally becoming the overman ourselves, which would explain the arrogance in the rest of the song. Mentions of envy are a good sign (although I don't know what "calliopenis" means, if anything):

"Calliopenis envy from your daddy"

     Now that Manson is the overman instead - or alongside - of his "father," his "father" will act in accordance of typical jealousy when one is one-upped:

"You're not gonna hear what he don't want to hear

What I say disgusts him"

     This reveals something deeper though. Manson will not hear what his "father" doesn't want to hear. By someone going first, importantly by Manson's creation, they are united (father and child, mother and child). So perhaps they are in this alongside each other. Now that Manson has become what he created his "father" to be first, Manson not only disgusts him, but:

"He wants to be me and that scares him"

     Manson has taken away what he gave his "father," in the sense that he no longer holds it alone. Even if they coexist in the same stature, it is not uncommon for someone who is matched - especially by someone who helped lift them - to soon become jealous, resentful, etc., and feel an unexplainable desire to be like them instead of like themselves. This feeling is scary, because it's a doubt of one's greatness in envy of another's. The line "What I want, what I want is just your children," could be a metaphor the "father's" desire to be the "child" (Manson).

     God is a conjecture; but I desire that your conjectures should be limited by what is thinkable. Could you think a god? But this is what the will to truth should mean to you: that everything be changed into what is thinkable for man, visible for man, feelable by man. You should think through your own senses to their consequences.

"They try to blink me not to think me

Don't want to bring me out"

     Besides the obvious word similarities, Manson could have overexerted himself in his rush to escape what he hated, causing man to attempt at not blinking, thinking, or bringing him out. His consequence - hating what he has become to escape what he hated being.

"Here is my real head, here is my real head

I wear this fucking mask because you cannot handle me"

     In some sort of self-preservation, Manson wears his mask to remain high above the people, to remain the overman. However, as the overman, he still has such a desire to show his "real head," that he is, in fact, the true overman, but humans likely cannot handle it. A constant war wages between the two, a walk on the tightrope of being the overman.

     Whatever in me has feeling, suffers and is in prison; but my will always comes to me as my liberator and joy-bringer.

"My prison skin's an eyesore-mirror-sketch-pad"

     "Whatever in me has feeling, suffers and is in prison," exactly! Manson's only capable of showing us what he feels inside of his prison on the outside, his skin; his prison's skin. I wouldn't doubt that Manson viewed it as an "eyesore-mirror-sketch-pad," either. Hasn't he downed himself before in such a manner, anyway? I'd imagine he believes everything he is and has created is an eyesore to some degree, he might still hate what he became what he has to - of course - escape what he hated. (Or did during the PoaAF era, at least.) Whatever he created would never be exactly like what's dwelling within his prison either, rendering it a mirror of creation by means of escape, yet through his willed creation, a sketch pad of what he truly wanted. (We see in the mirror what we truly are, but if we draw ourselves we draw what we feel we are on the inside. Beautiful, skinny, etc.)

"I wear this fucking mask because you cannot handle me

Here is my real head"

     Manson's creative will liberates him and brings him joy, despite everything else he has done by creative escape. His creative will pushes him to wear the mask, while simultaneously rearing his real head. It might not create an overabundance or balance of happiness, but it's enough for what he's doing and what he's become. Manson ends the song with these two lines, a final liberation. The song is free and finished.

     But my fervent will to create impels me ever again toward man; thus is the hammer impelled toward the stone. O men, in the stone there sleeps an image, the image of my images. Alas, that it must sleep in the hardest, the ugliest stone! Now my hammer rages cruelly against its prison. Pieces of rock rain from the stone: what is that to me? I want to perfect it; for a shadow came to me—the stillest and lightest of all things once came to me. The beauty of the overman came to me as a shadow. O my brothers, what are the gods to me now?

Here is My Real Head series Pt. 1

Organ Grinder by Marilyn Manson

I am the face of piss and shit and sugar

I do a crooked little dance with my funny little monkey
What I want, what I want is just your children
I hate what I have become to escape what I hated being
Calliopenis envy from your daddy
You're not gonna hear what he don't want to hear
What I say disgusts him
He wants to be me and that scares him
"let's do a funny little dance with my funny little monkey"
The black keys
Here is my real head, here is my real head
I wear this fucking mask because you cannot handle me
Here is my real head
They try to blink me not to think me
Don't want to bring me out
I am the rotten teeth, my fists are lined with suckers
My prison skin's an eyesore-mirror-sketch-pad
I am your son, your dad, your fag, I am your fad
Here is my real head, here is my real head
I wear this fucking mask because you cannot handle me
Here is my real head

Here is My Real Head series 
Pt. 1 - Addiction & Self Mutilation
Pt. 2 - Childhood Grooming & Sex and Relationships
Pt. 3 - Worth of My Peers & Trust

Pt. 4 - Being Honest with My Parents
Pt. 5 - The Sound and Feel of Carpet

 

     One of the things I’ve deemed most important for me to do is to face things I’m afraid of. It strongly ties in with the quote I assigned the year 2010, ‘Find what you are afraid of, face it, and then you won’t be afraid of it anymore.’ [Marilyn Manson, 1998]  Not that I never did before 2010, but now more than ever I’ve recognized its importance, particularly its importance in my life.
     I’m afraid of a few physical things. Sharks, tornadoes, and getting water in my eyes, to name a few. However, the majority of my fears have always upheld residency in the psychological or sociological realm. I am so well groomed still to this very day that I am frequently terrified of speaking what’s really on my mind. If not terrified, the fear persists on an unnatural scale of appropriateness.
     As a child, I used to secretly draw pictures of my dad with another family because I wasn’t brave enough to tell him that his actions led me to believe that he wanted to leave me and our ‘family’ (loosely used). Years later when he found one of the scrawlings, horrifyingly in my presence, I was deeply ashamed.

     Whenever I reflect back to those instances or ones similar, I shake my head at my childhood self. I wish I could lend her a helping hand, or some useful advice. I wish I could tell her to not fear being as brave as she really wanted to be, no matter what anyone tried to convince her with otherwise. I wish I could tell her how to escape the inevitable outside party conditioning after her own shampooing, but I don’t even have a substantial solution. I wish I could have saved myself for the child’s sake, for me then and for me now, but the lyric ‘there’s no one here to save ourselves’ [‘Man That You Fear’, Marilyn Manson] has never rung truer in my ears.

     Today I decided I wanted to list some things that are my completely honest opinions about the topic discussed. I am showing you my ‘real head’ without any reservations watering my beliefs. Fear-ladden, some. But today I am bravery stricken and bravery is self-contagious.

(This got to be nearly 2,700 words and seven pages long in Microsoft Word, so I am going to split it up into parts that have relative topics. I’ll post them in daily succession. Thank you for reading!)

1. Addiction

     I consider the title ‘addict’ the middle stepping stone of anything relating to the sorts of drugs, alcohol, cutting, sex, etc. The first stone is active participation, the second stone is claiming addiction as a state of being and existing, and the third stone is realizing you don’t necessarily have to be stuck in that mindset forever. It’s realizing NA, AA, SMA, etc. is all a form of brainwashing watered down by society into acceptability. Were these groups advocating something of a different topic, it would be a church or a cult which are equally despicable by various parties, and equally despicable by me personally.
     Not everyone can be strong enough to hop to the third stone, I am at terms with that and hold no resentment towards people that haven’t taken that leap, even if I feel they’re capable of landing safely. By no means, however, do I consider it a leap of faith. It is a reality to me, unless otherwise proved by something scientific.
     Your body is not eternally addicted to physically addictive drugs as far as I know, and you can change your mind to dispel whatever mental addiction subsides, at the least enough so that you won’t partake again. It’s a conscious choice we must make if we want to live happily without constantly being reminded of our faults and past, and I know with me personally it made me feel worse than better. Last time I checked, in any other form that’s considered dwelling, and frowned upon by the populations of major societies when it comes to any other subject like past relationships, or a poor childhood. No one wants to hear you whine or offer up the same excuses for everything, so why is it okay here? Well in my opinion it shouldn’t be, but because it keeps a majority of past ‘abusers’ under control, it’s a popular remedy.
     It’s important to remember that with the help of NA, AA, SMA, etc., you’re ultimately making the decision on whether or not to repeat your actions. The group may be offering something to your table of guilt, but are they really offering up respectable plates of reason? It’s important to come to terms with why you’re not still repeating your past behaviors. Do you genuinely not want to, or are you not because someone else is telling you to? Although the brainwashing can work, it doesn’t work forever, and it’s hardly different than the church convincing you their spiritual scriptures are what create your morals. Your genetics have and always will write your morality, as your mind will always inscribe what behaviors you do and do not participate in.

2. Self Mutilation 
     I don’t consider self mutilation in the form of cutting necessarily an addiction. I recognize that endorphins are released in the brain as a feeling of release when the act is carried through, and perhaps that does add a physical addictive attribute to the act. In my opinion, it doesn’t have as strong of a backing as drugs or alcohol. I believe that it’s favored by many, therefore allowing it the popular label of ‘addiction’ by society.

     I have experienced many mindsets when self mutilating, the most popular being dissociation without memory of the act, spur of the moment anger, rage, or sadness, and as a show of control over my physical behavior. I have upheld the last one listed within the past two weeks a single time, and I do not regret it. I wasn’t sad, and I am not sad now over the fact of my behavior. I am proud actually, proud of my control that it began and ended when and where it did, among other things.
     I don’t consider myself an addict any longer. I finally realize that I am above something that doesn’t even exist. Being an idea isn’t existence, otherwise all church or cult sermons—who can tell the difference anymore—would be true. I got caught up in believing something that wasn’t true, not all too uncommon of human beings, ha.

Someone had to go this far.

            It’s hard to believe it has been ten years since ten years ago.

            How ridiculous does that sound?

It’s baffling to think of all that has changed in my life within a single decade. I haven’t even been alive for two, and already my life has lead into so many directions, only to weave in and out of traffic into another. Scarily, many different turns have been made without a final destination in mind.

Somehow I survived, but I’m not thanking anyone.

            For once, I don’t feel like reflecting. I don’t even feel it necessary to.

I believe I’ve learned something.

Constant reflection is just as counter-productive as never gazing into the past at all. “And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” [Friedrich Nietzsche]

I’ve recognized the necessity of facing my past to be able to whole-heartedly accept it, but now I have also had light shed on another truth: I cannot ever allow the past to consume me, even for a sole dangerous second.

Since I am mainly focusing on myself in history, I am easily mirrored into the present just by gazing, which is dangerous even with reason for peering at all.

I must tread lightly for now, until everything is over with. This mainly includes acceptance and writing my autobiography.

Tearing myself apart for the aforementioned to be completed feels relative to how the actual events affected me originally, sometimes worse because I am more knowledgeable than I was as a child. It’s simple for me to resent situations at a greater ease, but that doesn’t mean that I do.

I completed all my new years resolutions for 2009, but I think my best accomplishments of this past year have all been something greater than what I intended to do. In comparison to my successes, my listed resolutions seem silly in their mediocrity, as if written by a ten year old. I think it’s safe to say I’m too young to live this life.

This time next decade I’ll have a Ph. D, or close to it. That’s frightening in a way, because it promises with guarantee that so much will change from now until then, possibly even more dramatically than the time span of seven to seventeen. Part of me thinks I won’t be able to handle that, but then I know deep down that unless someone murders me within the next ten years, I’ll be unstoppable from there on out.

Hell, I am unstoppable now, I always have been. I’ve always just stopped myself for one reason or another. To elaborate, I have never lost anything, I gave things away. Even control, I gave willingly. I admit but I do not submit.

Walking away from 2009 means I have stepped outside of my defining decade.

Stay tuned for what I do with my definition.

The end of a decade

     I don't have time right this moment to type out everything I'd like, but I do have a lot of ideas planned to write about to conclude the year 2009 and begin the new decade. I just glanced at the time and realized it's 10 PM, and a tsunami of . . . something just hit me. I cannot describe it in one word, and multiple words wouldn't do it the justice it needs.

     One thing I do know is that by the time the next decade rolls over, I'll have a Ph. D in sociology, maybe even a book published if I work hard enough and people enjoy my work. Another thing I know is how truly terrifying that is.

     So this is it, my last writing of 2009. Deep breaths.

"Find what you are afraid of, face it, and then you won't be afraid of it anymore." - Marilyn Manson

1998, Hit Parader Magazine

Mechanical Animals

(Courtesy of MansonQuotes.com)

Clarity; magical thinking

 "I need clarity and truth to be
And peace to make me whole
I want freedom to come and hate to be done
And love to guide my soul"

- Clarity by Shawn Mcdonald

The latest leg of my journey towards turning eighteen has become an increasingly exhausting road that I am consistently defending to elude redundant criticism, alongside facing personal perplexity. I discern that I am powerless over criticism unless I do nothing, say nothing, and be nothing, but I haven't polished the behavioral practices that Epictetus taught me in The Art of Living. That being confessed, some people feeling they fathom what I'm going through, even though they haven't known me for years, is still something I permit affect me. I do not believe anyone can completely understand regardless of what level of tragedy they've been through. They're not going through this right now, in this time period, as me. No one will ever hold the dexterity to comprehend everything revolving around me except me.

What happens next is what I empower to happen next. I am trying with all my fortitude to push through this wearisome time in my life, but it is really kicking me. Without end, I could invent reasons as to why maybe that is. I don't believe in any God, I haven't been to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting in months or called my sponsor in equal time, in general I don't carry any sort of fellowship, I don't open up to others, I never speak of my problems in honesty including personal inquisitions, or it could be that I'm just trying.

I know my biggest obstacle is that I'm just trying to make situations bearable. I cognize with needing to unaffectedly make them livable. Trying is wishing, and wishing rarely gets you a result that's not somewhat deluded. Being conditioned since birth that it is acceptable to be negatively emotional has destroyed me, and now I must be solely responsible for my rebirth— which will not involve a near-drowning experience.

Before I even had two digits to my age, I have been acquainted with the reality that everyone has the adequacy to vanish. Including but not excluding my family, lovers, friends, acquaintances, and even perfect strangers. My birth mother repeatedly walked out on my family—which even I'm being pushed out of now, by a woman just as sociopathic—without ever having a conscious glance back. It's a shame that when a parent walks out on a child, there is an enormous chance that said child will never be able to trust completely again. I hate to be part of a human behavior statistic, but I've not transformed into an idea just yet. I remain affected by the past.

Good intentions have never been enough to satisfy me. Hitler had good intentions within his beliefs, but is the Holocaust at disregard? Not in the slightest of passionate minds. My family and friends can have all the good intentions in the world for me, for my future, for our relationship, etc., but actions speak much louder than words or intentions. If you leave me, you have chosen to leave. Nothing I have said or done has forced you to abandon me. I will not wait for you and I will never come after you more than a handful of times unless I really love you. I do not have time to wallow around and wait for your return or apology, nor to repeatedly pursue you. While I may hear you out, you're not forgiven unless I verbally express that I forgive you in plain English. Typically I won't even allow those I have lost all compassion for even offer me an explanation for their negative actions towards me, usually people only apologize for negative actions so they can forgive themselves. I'm not a fan of repentance, confessing due to guilt or shame.

Of my entire life, today is the first day I have gone a full twenty-four hour day without my father attempting to contact me. Excluding the time he spent serving in the military, we have never been physically apart longer than a week until this year. He has made his decisions, and now I have come to the realization that I must make my own. Becoming an adult is more difficult and abrupt than I ever imagined, and I overly dramatized it's difficulty all my life. Never did I know my last year as a minor would take a turn onto this road. My dad was my protector for years, and now it's come to him ignoring my phone calls.

His actions have the greatest potential to break my heart (equal with my mother's), but I will not let it crush me. I just hope he realizes he isn't excluded from the people I will expel from my life if he decides to really walk away. This isn't said as a threat, it's what I must do with my life for humanity. I will always do the greater good for the greatest number, even if that means sacrificing everything I have.

Tittle Hearts for Bigger Hearts

      I was just watching The Cosby Show and Theo was talking to his dad Dr. Huxtable about a note a girl passed him in class. Theo liked the girl, so he convinced himself that the tittle she dotted her "I" with was a heart. Dr. Huxtable pointed out that it was only a heart if you looked at it long enough. It fits perfectly in the theory that if you want to see something, you will.

     Dr. Huxtable's statement was meant to point out that the tittle was actually just a circle. With humor-filled thoughts I wondered, who draws circles for tittles? I considered the few that have large, loopy handwriting must be the main offenders of this crime. The extra time it would take to draw circles for tittles—as carelessly as they might be scribbled— it just seems like pre-meditated time wasted that could be spent doing something else.

     Personally, I think it's cute when people draw hearts instead of circles or the common dot for tittles. Within movies and conversation it's often ridiculed because people are conditioned to believe that it's immature. What makes it immature? Is expressing love immature? It sounds like another instilled idea of society. The only connection I see is that younger girls draw more tittle hearts than adult women, but the reason why has been aforesaid. I'll clearly express it again, society is convinced to believe that they should feel "bad" for drawing hearts.

     I've done a variety of things with the way I write my name over the course of my literate life. One I significantly remember is that around my thirteenth birthday, I was obsessed with circling the "A" in my name to make it the symbol of anarchy. It's jocular now, my current opinion on anarchy is that it is completely absurd, a prominent sign of weakness, an excuse to selfishly do whatever you wish, and a cop-out for being a decent basic law following human being. I was only twelve-thirteen though, I didn't even possess a child's strength grasp on the concept of anarchy, so I let myself get away with that act of ignorance. At least it gives my parents a cute story to share with their grandkids.

     As if this weren't an obvious lead-up, I have decided I am going to strive to draw hearts for the tittle in my name. If I remember the concept for the rare times I write upon physical paper, I'll draw hearts in the place of every tittle. I do not see immaturity in showing, expressing, and spreading love in the simplest of ways.

COSA18.com domain & The Atheist Blogroll

First of all, I want to announce that Confessions of Someone Almost 18

now has it's own domain, which is www.COSA18.com! Thank you so much dad!

(I need to make some links now..)

The initiative for this purcahse lies in that I am trying to broaden my audience. If you want to help me out, share my name, my link, my posts, etc. I'll have some links soon too. I don't mean to toot my own horn (and that's not why I'm saying this), but I think I have a lot of enlightening things to say, and I think a majority of the topics I speculate over can help others out too. I do this blog for the readers, not for me!

I've also joined The Atheist Blogroll, and hope to meet some people with similar interests and beliefs—or lack of, haha—to my own. Check it out! If you want to join, check out Mojoey's Deep Thoughts.

"Thoughts on.." Part Two- Religion

 Thoughts on..

Abortion 11/05/09 | Death Penalty | Prostitution | Alcohol

Gay Marriages | Illegal Immigrants | Downloading Music

Smoking | Drunk Driving | Cloning | Racism

Religion 11/13/09 | Premarital Sex | Porn

Religion?

29 April 2008- Have faith in whatever you want, but regardless, its not going to send you anywhere, its not going to make you a better person, its not going to help you. IT MAKES YOU A FUCKING ASSHOLE if you try to push it onto other people. If you're that fucking helpless that you need to shove it down someone else's throat, please jump in front of a car for me.

13 November 2009- For a considerable amount of time I evaluated the differences between Atheism and Agnosticism, and for a time I couldn't even comprehend the now-obvious distinguishing characteristics. I never leaned towards one or the other besides reason of "cool factor", meaning whatever influential person I looked up to at the time advised I should deem truth, I deemed truth. I can finally say in an irony-rich statement that I have comfortably attained security within a religion—or lack of—that I believe in. I never considered that I might as well have been condemned to cross irony in believing in disbelief. I should have foreseen such a result, considering I was the subject. I always knew subconsciously, regardless of my hopeless denial, that it'd never be as easy as deciding which God to believe in when the inevitable reality was that I believed in none.

     I hate to compare this to an irrelevant topic, especially since it withholds the possibility of pissing said group off, but it makes a lot of sense to me and I find comparisons that in my case of religious self-discovery it's similar to being gay. I unconditionally believe that gay people are born gay because they can recognize they're gay—whether they know what gay means yet or not—at a prepubescent age because it's genetic and not a conscious choice. From every recollected childhood memory, the idea of God has been absent from results of my ability to reason—possibly because of a specific instance that I will elaborate on later—but the conclusive reality is that God doesn't exist. I accept the concept of God, rendering me Atheist as opposed to Agnostic, but I do not accept the probabilities of God as reason to believe in Him.

     Often, it is proposed that people either believe or disbelieve in God because of an event that's taken place that profoundly affected them either in that instance, or later on in life due to re-analyzation. Almost embarrassingly, this was true for me for years. When I was nine years old, my friend Elizabeth* passed away in the middle of the night from an unanticipated heart attack. Alone, her death left my religious ideas unaffected, although it did familiarize me with the bitter reality that death exists. I didn't know it then, but I sure practiced my current principle that "all events are impersonal, even death" [Epictetus]. Undeterred by my attempts, I couldn't shed a single tear the day I caught news of her death. I felt extremely disrespectful when I couldn't even make my eyes damp, while the class bully sitting to my left bawled his eyes bloodshot. I hid the fact that I couldn't cry by burying my face in my crossed arms because I was convinced that lacking dramatic emotion was something to be ashamed of. I only wish I had known then what I was accomplishing by letting that event harmlessly—outside of my dissipated guilt—pass me by.

*Name changed for confidentiality, although I couldn’t find a single article about her on Google. I concluded it is probably due to her family being very private, and this was in a time before the internet exploded in popularity.

     At the wake, my attitude remained aforesaid until I approached the casket. Before it stood her father—who to my understanding is or was some type of religious leader—who spoke to everyone before they bid final valedictions to Elizabeth’s mortal remains. Elizabeth’s father took my hand and looked deeply into my eyes before enlightening me on the "fact" that Elizabeth was in heaven now and that God was looking over her, and personally over me too. He informed me that God loved Elizabeth and me, but offered no explanation as to why her untimely death occurred because a factual explanation in relation to his God did not exist. It was then that tears drenched my cheeks because I knew that he was lying to my face**, but more barbarously, lying over the body of his dead child.

** Many people have undeserved respect for those that truly believe in something that's doing "no harm" (religion is common), but it is doing harm because any religious concept is just that, a concept, and I do not let those equal to me walk upon me with their beliefs. You do not need a book to differentiate right and wrong, believing so is ultimate human weakness. It’s a shame adults in positions of political power need religion to let them know that they shouldn’t kill their fellow man. Where does the separation of church and state exist there? The bottom line is, you can believe whatever you want, but unless I ask or express obvious interest, I could care less.

     As time and events carried on, I relived that moment multiple times, trying to produce a tangible belief on what happened that night that Elizabeth's father attempted to instill his values within me. I cursed him for lying to me because I know he lied to classmates my age that either already agreed with his ignorance, or do now because of his admittedly convincing speech. On the contrary, I thanked the idea of him for enlightening me on something he didn't intend— the closure I needed that God does not exist.

     Society labels it a pubescent conception to state, "If God existed, this wouldn't happen." In actuality, many adults still face the same question long after their hormones are in check, regardless of how vocal they are of their religious considerations. Impressionable society instructs teenagers to shut up in a manifold of practices whenever the idea that God might not exist because he wouldn't let horrible things happen is either declared or exhibited in the embodiment of a currently unanswerable investigation.

     Extraneous from Elizabeth's death, my theories have developed into category 6 Atheism. I suspect my close relatives and I both confirmed years ago that that's what I would unquestionably come to secure as personal truth.

     Despite my previous comparison of my religious realization to being born gay, do not confuse this with me having the idea that people are born of a specific belief, because that's not true at all. Like Dawkins clearly expressed in The God Delusion, "That is not a Muslim child, but a child of Muslim parents. That child is too young to know whether it is a Muslim or not. There is no such thing as a Muslim child. There is no such thing as a Christian child." My comparison lied in the similarity that I knew I lacked belief in God from a young age while co-existing with the impressionable beliefs of others.

     While I personally think it's a waste of time to speculate on things that can never be answered—or the probability of it being answered during my lifetime being extremely slim—I do find it essential to be exceptionally educated on topics without immediate conclusion like religion and extraterrestrial life. Composing factual answers doesn’t have to be my life’s work for me to be well educated in their core concepts. If something is to be under frequent speculation, it only makes logical and intelligent sense that I should examine it with more thoroughness than just knowing a definition to be a productive member of society.

     So now the difference is finally clear and I am cleansed of all instilled delusions. Claiming Agnosticism is foundationally claiming ignorance and denial in the idea of something very apparent throughout history [God]. Atheism is the more thought-through of the two disbeliefs in God because it acknowledges that God may certainly exist, but in belief He does not. I believe He— he does not.