My Podcast: Storytime with Freddy The Teddy

Hello to my fallen angels! It has been so long since I felt inspired enough to add to my blog. Luckily for you, I now have my own podcast! If you were a longtime fan of my blog, now you could listen to my voice on the following podcast platforms:

Anchor

RadioPublic

Breaker

Spotify

Google Podcasts

PocketCasts

Enjoy! There are already over 20 episodes so far! Delve into the mystery and become an avid listener of “Storytime with Freddy the Teddy 🐻” today!

The One-Eyed Angel fucks conformity

Conforming is predictable, safe, and adaptive to one’s individual place in the world. It is easy to abide by something that is so trivial. Little thought and energy is given to doing things that one normally does. Social norms allow one to experience a sense of safety and security, reassurance, especially in times of discomfort or distress. It is like a safety net, something to fall back on, and something to rely on. One’s comfort zone is a place of familiarity and tranquility. It distills the pressures that life presents, the uncertainty of the future, and the fear that follows close behind.

On the other hand, conformity can also refrain one from trying new things or exploring different realms of understanding the world. People genuinely fear the unknown and conforming is a way one adapts to the changes that life presents us. It can render us from taking necessary risks. Also, it could dissuade us from breaking free of complacence. There is a whole world out there to interact with, to learn from, to experience, but conforming can ultimately hold us back from fully harnessing our potential.

Breaking free of social constructs could also leave one to deviate further and further from the status quo. It alleviates the burden of figuring out how to escape from the confines of one’s mind. It could also prevent any means to abscond from what is expected of us.

Personally, from the outside looking in, most people think I’m crazy. From my point of view, living within the craziness, it merely feels like I’m being chastised for being honest within a world of liars.

After 25 years, I still don’t know what it means to be human. I don’t know if it’s ever possible to stray away from the pressure to confirm. Unless the existential dread that I garner every day is the embodiment of humanity. But at this point in my life, I try not to be negative. I try not to be consumed in the darkness of my past. I tell myself that I’ve reached the other side of the tunnel and being humble is proof of that.

I refuse to close myself off from the world. I won’t allow myself to overgeneralize or to assume every person will hurt me simply because a few actually did. Otherwise, I would be no different than those who actually deserve to be condemned in that fucking box I place the whole world in! I’m not going to let my insecurities or my hurt feelings sever my ties to humanity. Or else this unrelenting misery will be all I’ll ever know. And conforming will forever be an inevitability.

I don’t think society is getting worse though. I think the plethora of national occurrences had always been happening. Perhaps society, itself, is becoming more self-aware. Things that used to happen behind closed doors, things that we were once ashamed to admit to anyone – are coming to light. Instead of judging the truth for what it is, we should learn from these horrific events because how else will humanity evolve?

Are there any jobs out there where everyone can be as gay as they fucking want without discrimination? Jesus fucking Christ! Why do social constructs exist where only people confined in the box labeled “majority” can thrive? Like why do I have to be a certain way and come from a certain place and look a certain way to be treated fairly? I question social and cultural constructs and norms all the time when most people abide by them without question. I feel like an alien living in an unfair Utopia where hard work and dedication doesn’t mean anything if you don’t fit the cookie cutter lifestyle that’s expected of us. Fuck conformity! Fuck social acceptance! Hail deviance! Hail satan!

It seems like everything is a social construct. For some reason, women earn 80 cents on the dollar compared to men for doing the same shit as of 2018. It’s even less for women of color. What the fuck is that all about? How come throughout time anyone who isn’t a rich, white, straight man got treated like shit? Why does it matter if you’re male or female or gay or bisexual or transsexual or non-binary or cisgendered? Who cares if you’re black, white, asian, yellow, Hispanic, or Krytonian for fuck’s sake? We are all equals. Point blank.

It used to be legal to own a slave. It used to be illegal to help a runaway slave. People used to think the Earth was flat. And anyone who thought the world was round was ostracized. The pilgrims left Europe to find The New World where they can be free to be themselves and to practice any religion they like. Look how that turned out too! And then we have Columbus Day? He didn’t even discover America! The Native Americans were here way before we were. And the pilgrims just pushed them further and further west until they all splashed right into the Pacific Ocean. Everything is bullshit! The textbooks that we have our children read as ultimate truth? This whole society is built on lies!

I always tell myself that every single life is precious, but there are some days when it’s harder to believe that. Meditation, grounding, centering, and shielding helps remind me that despite the chaos that occurs all around the world, there is also astounding beauty surrounding us all. There are two sides to every coin. You can generalize and say the world and its inhabitants are doomed to hell. However, generalizations are merely logical fallacies. You can ultimately create a theory out of anything, but that doesn’t mean it’s right. Tragedy humbles us, builds our resilience, and allows us opportunities to take part in helping others. Good stems from evil. And the majority will never keep us down!

Most people tend to project their own insecurities and their own morals and beliefs onto other people. Most of the time, whenever someone treats you in a negative way, it usually has nothing to do with you at all. You have every right to occupy space in this world just as much as anyone else. No more, no less. Don’t let other people force their own morals and beliefs onto you. Don’t feel ashamed when they’re disappointed that your truth doesn’t match theirs. For this world is full of so many possibilities. Each living thing has an entirely unique experience.. The sights they see.. the sounds they hear…. the lives they live.. are so complicated and yet so simple. Regardless, you’re something extraordinary… you’re a human being.

Freedom and its Predecessor

My name is Freddy and I would like to share my story so you can better understand how I envision recovery. Maybe someone out there can relate to me. Who knows?

I was pain. That’s all I was. Everything else, every chance given to me, every promise I’d made, all of it was pain. What use is pain? What use is being just pain? It’s not dignified. It’s not kind. And if it’s not dignified and it’s not kind, then maybe it’s not worth anything. Maybe it’s better off as nothing. Gone. Dead. Ashes. Rising. Breath. Rebirth. Freedom.

I try everyday to find my own, valid definition of the word “Freedom.” This is my journey, and just because it had a rough start and then got worse before it got somewhat better, it doesn’t mean the negativity has to be a be-and-end-all. I don’t have to define my life with “heartbreak” or “trauma.” The DSM-V suggests that I have Major Depressive Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and Bipolar II (“the sequel”). The DSM-II would have mentioned “Depathologizing Homosexuality” in my case study if I was born prior to 1973. There’s no need for me to label it and generalize it based on a few instances in my life that were quite less than pleasant.

I’m not going to apologize to my mother because I failed to reach her perfect, cookie-cutter expectations. I’m not going to apologize to my ex-fiance because I was the only one out of the two of us that was even capable of love! I’m not a failure! I’m not a coward! Society tends to chastise men for expressing emotions because, supposedly, it’s perceived as weakness. But I am not weak! It takes a lot of strength and resilience to talk about memories I’ve repressed for so long. To face these memories that yearn to break the ice of every conversation I shared with anyone, just to receive any kind of sympathy. I am so much stronger now than ever before! I once was the scared, little boy cowering in the corner, fearing for my life. No more! I gaze into the filthy mirror in my bathroom, and I embrace the man I have become!

I lived in a halfway house at one point in my life. Sleeping in the next room over were registered sex offenders, gangsters, and drug addicts. The whole ambience of that place made me feel anxious and hopeless. One day, I sat on the window sill of my assigned room on the second floor. I looked down and after some consideration, I jumped and I broke two bones in my lower vertebrae, an act I pay for with chronic pain every day of my life. I recalled, afterwards, thinking “shit! I should have jumped off from the third story or even from the rooftop. Why only the second floor?! What a fucking wimp!”

My injuries are a constant reminder that life may not be for the faint of heart, but it is worth it. The near-fatal injury led me to physical therapy which then inspired me to get into yoga. It’s been three years since I began doing yoga. It took some getting used to, but now, I can do splits, backbends, cartwheels, and I can press my whole palms on the ground from a standing position without bending my knees. The chronic pain is still there, but it’s not as severe.

The fact that my suicide attempt eventually lead to my aptitude in flexibility and an entryway into a whole subculture where I’ve met so many great people and accomplished so much – is quite extraordinary.

My mother kicked me out on my 18th birthday because my lifestyle went against her religious beliefs. Homelessness was the best present I ever received. For so long, I thought I was going to hell simply because that’s what she told me every night. She was afraid that some boys at school would bash me one day because of who I am. It’s ironic that she was the worst part of my childhood. She tried so hard to make sure my life was planned safely and accordingly. The Muslim faith insisted that my fate would be tied to a girl I grew up with. Her parents befriended my parents long before. My 18th year was meant to be the year I would marry her. But that arranged marriage never happened the second my mother found out I was gay. It’s sad how a friendship between two kids would end so catastrophically simply because of such high expectations being placed on it.

For a long time, I blamed myself for all the pain I caused. I thought hell was my only home. After several years, the pain has finally ceased. I choose to believe that the destination of my afterlife is still undecided. I can believe in anything I want.

When I was 21, I came so close to marrying a Narcissist. I avoided a lot of emotional and psychological abuse when I called off the engagement. For a time, I was in such a rush to give my heart away to someone who didn’t deserve it. He would say that everything that went wrong was my fault. His word was law. Apologizing was not in his repertoire. A sense of grandiosity would placate his identity until apathy took its pound of flesh. Empaths and Narcissists don’t mix well at all. The Empathic-Narcissistic relationship is a silver cord wrapped between two souls, the Empath rendered immobile and helpless as they try relentlessly to ease the Narcissist’s pain that is hidden so well. Energy is siphoned from the Empath into the Narcissist willingly, at first, until the Empath is used up completely, squeezed dry like a sponge, wanting nothing more than the sweet, gentle release of death by only the Narcissist’s hand. At least that’s what I desired, what I felt I deserved. I thought I knew everything. But the wisest people can admit that they know nothing. Now I relish in this uncertainty. The only thing I knew for sure was that I had to leave him. I had to walk away from someone that I was still madly in love with.

I just wanted to die. I was in shock. It felt like he died. I wanted to join him, wherever he went, even if it was hell. If I had suddenly developed cancer during that time, I would have felt relieved. I grieved over him, even though all he did was break my heart and leave to find something else to do… someone else to do… his next victim. There were so many questions left unanswered, but maybe it was better off that way. Sometimes, I try to force myself to believe that he was just a figment of my imagination. But once in awhile, a family member of mine asks me about him. A part of me dies inside when I hear his name. It took me a little over two years to finally force myself to go back into the world of dating.

Today, I pay my own bills working at a job I don’t necessarily like, but appreciate. I go to college to pursue a career in Psychology. I don’t need anyone to tell me how to live my life. I’m doing just fine. It’s okay to not be okay sometimes. Yes, my life is a lot better than ever before, but there are still days when panic attacks and anxiety ensue. I enjoy the independence. Just me and my cat. Yes, sometimes, it gets lonely. Yet I refuse to sell myself short for someone who doesn’t deserve me. I’m not ever going to alter my morals and my beliefs just to be accepted. I will never pretend to be someone I’m not simply because I’m deemed socially deviant. I will be the loneliest man in the world if it meant that I can just be myself.

I was pain. That’s all I was. But now, I accept that it all happened in the past. The past happened. It happened! Why feel any regret or guilt on things I can’t change? Why should I let myself suffer when the source of the pain subsided long ago? I am safe. I am wise. I am loved.

Mania III

God dealt me some shitty cards I fight the urge to kill myself everyday I hope that my resistance is worth it someday I can’t keep it up much longer if this is all that’s real but a psych ward is more of a vacation than it is a solution I don’t think you can save me I’m so miserable and no one can save me life is meaningless death is inevitable that’s the only thing I look forward to I feel indifferent towards everything so numb from things I can never un-experience I don’t care enough to raise my voice or to be assertive I feel myself slipping into a miasma of dissociation desperately trying to turn off my human switch and to disappear into the shadows with blood dripping from my fangs for I am the life that sucks from other lives

Borderlines and Narcissism

I told him I love him
He said “so love me”

I told him I miss him
He said “so miss me”

I told him I need him
He said “so need me”

I asked him “do you love me?”
He replied “I love your excessive admiration”

I asked him “do you miss me?”
He replied “I miss my sense of entitlement”

I asked him “do you need me?”
He whispered “I need your undivided attention”

Feel free to check my latest book, a book of poetry called Trials and Tribulations! http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B018ZR0IVA/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?qid=1460319936&sr=8-1&pi=AC_SX236_SY340_QL65&keywords=trials+and+tribulations+sufian

CAUTION

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Hello to my cautious fallen angels! It’s been a while since I last checked in. I tend to write poetry and short stories, but there’s nothing wrong with that.

It’s Mother’s Day and the sadness wrecks havoc once again. I was an unusual child. My mother was afraid of me. She called me “the sick boy.” I spoke of death, misery, and hopelessness around the time my parents were divorced, and also during the time I began to get bullied in school. Then, trauma ensued and I became catatonic from the age of 10 to 18. I dressed in gothic garments, cut myself regularly, and tried to commit suicide whenever I was bored so she could keep me entertained. I blamed her for the loss of my innocence even though she didn’t do it directly.

I used to have sex with gangsters for drugs and pickpocket strangers on the streets to survive. My mother was a whore, and there was never food in the house. I went in and out of psych wards, residentials, group homes, and state hospitals. I got expelled from four different high schools before I finally graduated.

By then, my mother no longer bothered visiting me, let alone keeping me entertained. She gave up on me. I am the “Jason Todd”* of her four children.

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*Jason Todd was the second Robin after Dick Grayson. He was murdered by The Joker. Then, he was resurrected by the use of Ra's Al Ghul's Lazarus Pit. Jason Todd became a villain called The Red Hood.

Now I am a grown man. And every Mother’s Day that comes and goes relinquishes the mental bind I constructed to keep these horrid memories at bay.

I am socially rejected by almost every social group dynamic I have come across throughout the years. I am guarded and I hardly let anyone in. I portray this dark persona but I believe myself to be very gentle and kind. I must be cautious at all times. It’s days like today that never let me forget why I always exercise CAUTION.

Well, just because I hate Mother’s Day due to association by my own life’s experience, it doesn’t mean you feel the same way. At that note, I wish you all a Happy Mother’s Day!

Feel free to check my latest book, a book of poetry called Trials and Tribulations! http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B018ZR0IVA/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?qid=1460319936&sr=8-1&pi=AC_SX236_SY340_QL65&keywords=trials+and+tribulations+sufian

Mania I

I’m so sick of people in general. I bet no one would like this post. Maybe now you will because I bet you would’t. You just wanna prove me wrong, huh? Perhaps I just want to get attention. That would explain why I’m posting this on a public domain. But no one cares. Even if you like it, you still don’t care. Likes are meaningless. Comments are meaningless. I don’t give a fuck about your opinion unless it strokes my ego. Even then it’s not enough. It’s never enough. What are we living for? To pay bills? Fornicate? Consume food? Earn money to further fuel your hedonistic ways? Fuck this. The only reason I’m still alive is because I don’t have the balls to kill myself. FUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!!! If you made it this far, congratulations for nothing. Because only I exist and you are all just a figment of my imagination, both unknown and repressed. Seek sacrilege from an undeniable, corruptible society in which everything is labeled for your own selfish needs. The human race is doomed to hell for eternity. If you’re not benefiting me in any way, whether it’s money or sex or connections, then you are nothing to me. But why do you care? I’m just another human being suffering on this wretched planet. What’s the point of anything? What’s the point of subjection and free will when it just leaves you all alone? Seeing the remnants of family members during holidays just to not feel alone one day of the year. Where’s Jesus? Where’s God? Where’s anything holy in this cataclysmic world we all just happen to occupy? Let the end of the world commence in unholy communion. I don’t give a fuck!!!! Do you love my writing style? insert meaningless heart here: ❤

Free Choice

Hello to my inconsistent fallen angels. I’m so sorry that I haven’t been blogging nearly as much as I used to. I have been in a rut for the longest. I have major depression and bipolar disorders. I’m sick of people saying that they’re just labels because if they were so, then they wouldn’t exist to begin with. I have serious issues and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I have nothing left to lose and I don’t feel like the world owes me anything. It is what it is. I’m refusing to take my meds. I’m a grown ass man so I can do that. No medication in the world can cure a broken heart or loneliness. I have to be patient and go through the motions. I have to resist this urge to quit everything in my life, such as college or this blog. I already quit my job and the GSA at my college so my resistance isn’t perfect but I have more important obligations I refuse to give up on. I found friends in the most unlikely places and I’m more blessed than I give myself credit for. However, I’m not afraid of death nor am I afraid of man. I’m only afraid of the things I can’t see. It’s those things that gives my life meaning and purpose. Things that require faith in order to establish within our own realities. Well I hope you understood my psychobabble. Have a wonderful day! Over and out.

Feel free to like and comment on this post and I will do the same for you. Also, please check out my eBook: http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B012BSPFCQ/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?qid=1452971409&sr=1-1&pi=AC_SX110_SY165_QL70&keywords=The+Pandemonium+Chronicles

War of Subjection

Denser than the body

Deeper than the poems

Disease is a chronic hobby

The mind ostracizes the prose

I have grown                fond of the villains inside              my head                   They beg me to             give          them credit for my dread            Life is            boring without someone            to show me the               ropes              And your leap           of absence fabricated the death                     of my hopes               It is as if you died            If we are all                different Then                     not one of us can                 confide                If we are all a godsend                Then how come everyone does not feel alive                 We all                perceive                 our own reality So what                 does it matter who                we marry Or who to call Lord                                 Or which sports                 team                 to root for               All wars fight over differences of subjection                   We could                use our opinions for something                           more productive Let us build off                    of each other            so we can                   all be inventive                            Perhaps some of us have been                       doing so already But                    I am so addicted to                       generalizations                Grouping similar attributes together to make believe                     That I am anything                 but a separate entity                                                     Completely condemned to loneliness entirely