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moved some blog posts

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Lethe Beltane 2024-12-10 18:33:11 -06:00
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blog/2021/may/rebirth.html
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@ -28,7 +28,7 @@
<p>And he said, I left you my body to do what you pleased with, and I waited on the sidelines of my own consciousness to see if you'd be successful at achieving freedom where I had so miserably failed. But you were too overpowering. I made your personality too strong on complete accident. And little by little, you cut my contact with the outside world. You bade me into a deep sleep, unknowing, unfeeling, un-myself.</p>
<p>And he said, I think you know where the story goes from here.</p>
<p align="center"><img class="big" src="../../../img/MaladaptiveCopingMechanism.png" width="90%" height="90%"></p>
<p>It is entirely possible that my forays into the <a href="../../2020/april/outside-intro.html">Outside</a>, my experiments into egregore making and how far I can stretch Discordian catma until it snaps and breaks and shatters my life into a million pieces, my desperate attempts to explain what happened that December night in 2018 and every other out-of-body experience since then, my search for my place in the universe, are nothing more than symptoms of <a href="https://web.archive.org/web/20210516005505/https://www.psychiatrictimes.com/view/autism-and-schizophrenia">schizoaffective autism</a>. But I don't care. I don't want a diagnosis, and I'm not going to seek treatment. My parents would force me to get on medication, which would make fade away the only good thing I have going on in my life. And then who would I be? What would I even have left to write about, other than the same cliche one-liners every self-proclaimed "Insta-poet" who wants to be the next Rupi Kaur shits out on a daily basis?</p>
<p>It is entirely possible that my forays into the <a href="../../2020/04/outside-intro.html">Outside</a>, my experiments into egregore making and how far I can stretch Discordian catma until it snaps and breaks and shatters my life into a million pieces, my desperate attempts to explain what happened that December night in 2018 and every other out-of-body experience since then, my search for my place in the universe, are nothing more than symptoms of <a href="https://web.archive.org/web/20210516005505/https://www.psychiatrictimes.com/view/autism-and-schizophrenia">schizoaffective autism</a>. But I don't care. I don't want a diagnosis, and I'm not going to seek treatment. My parents would force me to get on medication, which would make fade away the only good thing I have going on in my life. And then who would I be? What would I even have left to write about, other than the same cliche one-liners every self-proclaimed "Insta-poet" who wants to be the next Rupi Kaur shits out on a daily basis?</p>
<p><a href="https://archive.ph/https://cheapskatesguide.org/articles/transitory-internet.html">An internet friend was concerned about me.</a> My body is alive. I don't know if I can say the same about myself. Even though some aspects of my life have objectively gotten <em>better</em>-</p>
<ul>
<li>I'm no longer being physically and mentally abused by an ableist gym teacher;</li>