I sometimes feel the sensation of being 'in the matrix' again. I feel the simulation.
Oh you silly, its not real.
It is a feel though, something you may only understand if you're a spiritual person or been manic psychotic. It keeps coming back! Like I have accessed the concept in my brain, so every now and again it returns. It feels a little like....
It is the most liberating thing, that is why insane people feel it.
I wondering how these dreams can purge you of tension in your head. Life is so tense and full of strife, it is mentally that I suffer. I don't suffer much in my body, so these fears must be stored psychically.
Only in dreams are they unleashed. Not only do I soar, kiss and feel loved, I more often experience painful things such as being hated. For reasons unbeknownst to me, my dreams force me to feel a guilt as bad as committing as murder! Because I have issues worrying about being hated, it simply concocts those experiences as I sleep. Still, I wake up and go 'thank you that wasn't real'.
However why does REM sleep and dreams make me feel differently about my existence now, as if rebooting a computer?
Because maybe, we are all just simulated consciousnesses in a flesh body anyway. The concept of 'simulation' is to be a constructed thing bigger than us. Simply me using my brain to control tendons to type these keys well, I haven't properly Googled this philosophy and don't really want to. This is all my thinking.
The idea of being in a 'simulation' is the same as a spiritual experience for me. People use the construct of God and higher powers to comfort them, in the same way that being simulated minds in a game played by gods is comforting. We need higher powers, to distract from facing an instable existence as mortals.
When I was manic in the ward I remember being the only one awake. I crept down the lined corridor of white doors that had a dark narrow window at one end, the other end had the main lounge that glowed cool green. I lay in the quiet room watching weird late night music videos.
Through the TV a man stared out and serenaded me with a droll song. The lyrics repeated over and over...'I don't beat it out to anyone'.
I lay there on the couch with my scratchy stupid hospital blanket. All the uncanny and psychedelic imagery in the screen and the strange indie Australian music, were all crafted for me!
I was the queen.
No. I was the god queen of the electronic dream.
Did they make all art, all bizarre midnight things, to comfort me, the god who could not sleep?
Actually, it was all my minds doing. I was projecting these weird fantasies, and playing them back on the screen.
I was the god of the electronic dream, who programmed most people to hurry around but in the end I was alone. I was eternal, but entertained myself with funny NPCs. When a patient did come out to sit with me at midnight, he offered me an apple. Well, maybe there were multiple gods joining in for multiplayer mode.
Why is a god complex so reoccurring in insanity? Why did I absolutely feel it? I felt it with every fibre of my being, it is not just a slight fantasy like stupid lucid people who believe in religious garbage, but get upset if an atheist tries to disprove them. No way, nobody could dissuade me, because the times they did say 'everything was ok' I was horrified and certain they were trying to trap me! The psychotic fantasy is rigid, complete immersion into a way of seeing the world.
Of course I want it back. The screencap below is from an old article from 2011, but written about the ward I stayed in! Yes! Give real sufferers attention! I didn't touch meth!
The god complex and emotional release of losing themselves in a simulation, is how bipolar and schizophrenics must relieve stress in their brain.
It wasn't all thrilling and godly, especially when I recount being fully tranquilized and restrained. Even if I say I felt like a god, it will always be the worst mental affliction to ever affect a human. Try to change my mind, you can't.
I am repeating at this point but, my psychosis was triggered because life got too cruel. It absolutely was a psychic unleashing of trauma that was caused watching actual death. I now think more about 'psychic' power and layers of the brain, even if I will never believe in foo-fah like an immortal soul.
Trauma messes you up 'psychically'. It is like an after image burned in your eyes that bores its way into a corner of your brain. In the 2018 Russian war film Come and See, the depiction of being exposed to actual trauma was a bit too accurate for me.
It is easy for many to consume these movies but until you have exposure to real death it will simply remain that, a safe piece of fiction you can enjoy while snacking on popcorn.
This is where most of my hatred of society post institutionalization has stemmed from, that people just want a safe fictional experience, but are threatened if I tell them I ran out to the nearest major road in my underwear until the police grabbed me.
https://youtu.be/c6lBLvpbVy8As evil as psychosis is, I want to live in that boundary between dream and reality. In that liminal space we feel somewhat immortal and detached from so much pain. Released from my perfectionist terror over what people may think of me, over wearing something nice without a stain on it, over my ageing body that maybe nobody will love. Waking up out of a long bad dream is the closest I'll get to this state of balance and gratitude.
I have tried to find a meaning to something as irrationally chaotic as psychosis. It hurts because I wanted to feel like it has some worth. All I know is the worth is that my life experiences has worth. I'm so grateful for my intelligence, health, individuality and independence, it didn't steal that from me.
As always, it is my mission to talk about what I know. Cause you know what? All this blogging is for just one person, for someone walking out of a ward with a fuzzy head after 6 weeks mumbling at the ceiling.
This was just a speed rant. Spoilers in the gif above because nobody gonna play my game anyway. I am making good process, just needed a venting break. I should perhaps start getting back into school work.
This has been another rant from a girl that smeared poop on psych ward walls last year. Another day, another dream.