Posts tagged alcoholism

take me to the hospital

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The title is a popular song by the electronic band Prodigy, and it’s an awesome song on it’s own, but I have a memory of being taken to the hospital, where I still get a bill every month that I spitefully pay just $5 a month on for that ride.  I didn’t get charged by the hospital, luckily, but the freaking ambulance company is up my ass about a ride they are charging me over $700 for.  The cab ride back to the apartment from the hospital was under $20 with tip.

I got to talk to someone else recently who has endured this kind of thing.  Calling out for help sometimes gets you in even more trouble than you started out with.

me in paper, so stylish

me in paper, so stylish

In this photo I look like I am a psycho nursing assistant or something, but it’s actually a patient “uniform” when you get checked in to the ER at Earl K Long in Baton Rouge for a psychiatric evaluation.  Never call a suicide hotline while drunk!  More importantly, make a cop take you to the hospital because you will end up with a bill over $700 for a ten minute ambulance ride!

Now I could probably try to get medicaid to pay that, but I don’t want them to get the cash that quickly.  I don’t think it’s right for people to get carted off in an ambulance when they could take the ride in a cop car.  I really should have refused the ambulance and someone should have offered a ride, but then again, I didn’t push it, so nobody threatened to “take me to jail” if I didn’t go in the ambulance.

I know a cop could have taken me, even if they had to cuff me, but then again, if the ones who showed up were too lazy, the one that did put me in a car would have probably threatened jail just to get me into the ambulance.  I was drunk and depressed, in that “drunk crying” mode.  I was allowing myself to literally shake with anxiety because in my mind, this was the potential start for a much longer journey than just the hospital trip.

I wasn’t sure at all about what it would be like, or how long they would really keep me, or what kind of accommodations I would find at wherever they were taking me.  I didn’t know if I should expect the kind of thing I see in the movies, or if it would be worse.

When I got there, I was admitted, and they tested my urine and gave me ativan because the figured I was a pretty high level alcoholic to have that level, and they didn’t want to deal with seizures if I was physically dependent.  Luckily, even though I have been drinking about six years, I still never got to the point where I could handle the kind of amounts that they were probably assuming.

I am lucky to have the background and history of smoking as much weed as I did, because I have read somewhere that it helps prevent seizures that can potentially come from sudden abstinence from alcohol after several years of using it regularly.

I was in a weird mood when I started this post, probably buzzed, and I even used that photo of me in the paper suit while I was creating the first draft.  I would say I’m “not feeling it” anymore, but something kept me coming back to this post in an effort to figure out what I was ranting about this time.

I know that I didn’t appreciate having a $700 plus bill show up in the mail after going through such an ordeal as putting myself in that situation in the first place.  Then I had to go to the hospital and show them my actual financial state at the time so that they didn’t hit me up for over $1200.  That would have been over 2 grand for making one drunk fucking phone call!

At least I didn’t get caught trying to drive while fucked up because commercials out here in Nevada indicate they will take $10,000 from you by the time it’s all said and done, and you lose your car and license, unless they are figuring that all in with that horrible threat.

I’ve posted enough about “luck” and that didn’t have anything to do with never getting caught driving while fucked up.  I actually have an anxiety about trying to get behind the wheel even if I have been drinking a little bit, because I know very well that if some a-hole pedestrian walks out in front of you, it’s their fault if you are sober but your fault if you are fucked up.

That makes no fucking sense to me whatsoever.  I mean, if some drunk guy hits a bus stop, like one just did recently very close to where I happen to live, he should get slapped with the harshest punishment available.  He fucking killed somebody.  At the same time, nearly every week, some asshole tries to cross the street in total darkness in the exact point between intersections where they should not fucking be crossing.  Add to that if they are drunk and wobbling all over the place while trying to cross the road in total darkness, and you can guess that Darwin’s law will prevail, and that asshole will be another statistic shown on the news.

Most of the time, those suicidal pedestrians are taken out by people who happen to be *TOTALLY FUCKING SOBER* and very lucky to have been on that occasion.  In those cases, the drivers aren’t charged, because the cops know you CAN’T FUCKING SEE THESE PEOPLE IN THE DARK.  If, on the other hand, the driver happens to have had as little as a few beers, then criminal charges come into the picture.

That’s why I am scared to drive drunk.  I’m not scared I would cause an accident, I’m scared that some idiot would cause an accident and then I am still at fault because I happened to be drunk.  Because of this, I don’t drive drunk myself, but I am not so militant about drunk drivers.  If I lost a loved one to a drunk driver, I still would not occupy my time or energy in pursuing “every other drunk driver on the planet”.  Those people do that so they don’t go buy a gun and take out the *one drunk driver* that really matters “to them”. 🙂  I know, dark.

I am not just lucky, but work hard at keeping myself as safe as possible when I am fucking around with a drug as dangerous as alcohol.  I like getting drunk, but I understand and respect the power of that drug, and I know that it’s ironic that out of all the drugs on the planet, this is the one “they” chose to sedate us with.

I really wonder how and why they could not have encouraged the use of marijuana over alcohol because it is so much less dangerous.  Then, I remember that they only made marijuana illegal in the first place because they were racist and wanted an easy way to lock up as many minorities as they could.  I have read that it started with Mexicans, but it worked so well for them that they kept the law in place for blacks.  I am guessing that crack was a real boom to police unions and private prison investors, as well as a big win for racists everywhere who want to continue to lock up more people than any country in the world.

I also keep in mind how big pharma and big alcohol love the lack of competition from this meek little harmless plant.  Occasionally, now that the walls are coming down against the removal of marijuana prohibition, people are trying to lump in pot smokers with alcoholics, and I am kind of offended, even though I happen to be both at the same time.

I know that if pot would have been legal, I never would have started using alcohol regularly in the first place.  I have to wonder how many investors in big alcohol know this for a fact, and are close to knowing an exact statistic of how many regular customers they would not have if weed was legal.

I also wonder how much cancer could have been prevented or slowed down from killing so many people if weed was legal, since it has been proven that weed does inhibit tumor growth.  I have read that this was discovered way back in the 70’s, but the information was suppressed because they were trying desperately to find something *wrong* with weed but just couldn’t.

In fact, I failed to mention how genesis 1:29 in the freaking bible says that God created all plants for man to use as food.  Hemp happens to be perfectly nutritionally balanced, and yet, the christians are not in an uproar that this “sacred plant food” has been taken away from us.

I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for the “food network” to talk about the merits of weed being the “perfectly balanced food” because they are so mainstream and busy slinging  out the pro alcohol propaganda while they conveniently act like weed doesn’t exist.  There is a “cocktail” recipe in nearly every show, with real alcohol, but they act like they have never heard of “marijuana edibles”.

I have to wonder how many people never would have resorted to overdosing on prescription medication if they never went to pills because they stayed happy with a little weed every day.  I have to wonder how many people are in serious pain, and being denied those same pills even when a doctor orders them, because some dickhead at some pharmacy looked them over and labeled them a “drug addict”, even though they are %100 fucking legit.

All that makes me hate big pharma even more.  if the drugs they  make aren’t killing you, you are left dying in pain because the masochistic pharmacist doesn’t want to give you the shit that a real fucking doctor said you should have.

I don’t know, I like to say “I’m not crazy, this fucking reality is out of it’s fucking mind crazy.”

Of course, that is a typical statement of someone who is bat shit crazy, to assume that they are normal and the rest of the world is just fucked in the head.

In my case, when I look around at the world, and see comments people make online about different things, I really start to wonder if everybody is really fucked up in just one small way, and they are only functional because they can hold down that little bit of crazy long enough to get out of the public eye and express it in some kind of fucked up ritual.

I am happy just smoking a little weed, but that was “too much to ask”, before moving 2000 miles and going to a doctor for x-rays that show I need a hip replacement at the age of 46, and I am going to suffer in pain until it is replaced.  If I still lived in Louisiana, they would be giving me fucking tylenol for this massive occasional hip pain.  Louisiana can forever suck my balls.

Even now, I consider how after surgery, I will probably be given some heavy duty shit, and because I have long hair, the dickhead at the pharmacy might deny me of it when I really need it.  On the other hand, I have a history with my pharmacist, and I don’t go in there all nervous, anxious, and itchy, bitching if there is any delay on my precious fucking pills.  I have been in there and watched the kind of people they have no choice but to turn away.  At the same time, the local news makes a big deal out of people who have had to go to up to 30 pharmacies to get one medication, and one of those fuckers was in a fucking wheelchair!

When I said “take me to the hospital” a little part of me had given up.  I reached a kind of “rock bottom” that didn’t require a televised intervention or even the participation of family and friends.  At the time, my family was literally scared of me more than they were scared for me, and my “friends” were pretty shitty and fucked up themselves at the moment.

I had nobody to turn to but myself, and while I did check in for a 3 day holiday, it was really educational.  After all the alcohol I had abused, it wasn’t until I was on ativan that I managed to see from a slightly different perspective, and pull my head out of my ass long enough to finally start to straighten out all the shit that was fucked up with my life.

In a way, the visit to the hospital did absolutely nothing to improve my “condition” on it’s own.  The medication combined with the intense boredom of being stuck with nobody to talk to but yourself was enough to change my perspective to the point where I realized that I either had to figure out a guaranteed way to take myself out, or I had to figure out a way to maximize the potential I have for growth and development in the future.

I think that a spiteful part of myself wanted to get back out there into “reality” just to see how much trouble I could cause without getting into trouble myself.  In a way, I think I am still doing that.  My work is pretty unique, because there aren’t many super sized, or super morbidly obese women who are approaching 500lbs who literally suck and fuck on the internet.

I had to sober up “just enough” to get a job, to keep the apartment, to meet a few women, to build my confidence, to get Candy back, to get back to work doing what I was meant to be doing all along.

In a way, my life is even more crazy now than it was when I was just drinking myself to sleep every time I woke up.  I was boring, typical, useless alcoholic.  Now, i create content that is just raunchy enough that it stands out against the competition just enough to pay me just enough to make me want to keep creating it.

I am kind of taking money away from other people who are doing the same thing.  Every dollar I make I am grateful for because it’s a dollar someone could have spent somewhere else, but didn’t.  I realize that everybody and their grandmother, LITERALLY, are trying to make a dollar in the adult realm online.

There are granny phone sex chicks that are super sized but don’t even use that to their advantage, or just started to recently, which gets them into modeling.  That’s how I met and got started with Dia from bbwdungeon.com.  She was in phone sex, she was a SSBBW, and she didn’t think that she could market her real look in order to promote her phone sex.  Now women are doing it all the time.

I love saying “grannies” because I did some math and concluded that a woman is old enough to be a “granny” at just 32, if she had a kid at 16 and that kid had a kid at 16.  When you raise that to 18, you get 36.  If you raise it to 18, you get 42.  Candy happens to be 42 right now. 🙂  I have concluded that when Candy does hardcore content, it is not just SSBBW hardcore, it is actually SSBBW granny hardcore. 🙂

 

ssbbw candy godiva swallows

ssbbw candy godiva swallows

Being a ‘granny’ isn’t just for “parents” anymore. 🙂  Being a MILF probably doesn’t require having kids anymore.  Even if someone has biological kids, it doesn’t mean they have to have custody of said children when they do porn in order to be called a “MILF”.  I think that is just one of many “flattering” terms that have been given to fetishes and sexual preferences that don’t involve magazine cut out “allegedly perfect women”.

For example, “BBW” is supposed to mean “big beautiful women”, but I have often commented upon how the “beautiful” is easily disputable not only based on facial charisma, but on personality and general attitude.  In other words, there are some fat women out there who are just real bitchy cunts!  They really don’t deserve to use bbw no matter what they look like, but I like to call them “big bitchy women”. 🙂

So, the content that I create can get a little crazy, because all I have to do is cross over into a few more fetishes and it gets insane.  I put on a horse head mask for one video and so there is “mask play” and “pony play” as well as the already crazy combination of SSBBW granny porn.  If I toss some food in there on top of that, you have “feed me fuck me” ssbbw granny porn with mask play.

ssbbw sex with horsehead masked man

ssbbw sex with horsehead masked man

I don’t know, but maybe I just found a way to end this post, and justify the title “take me to the hospital”. 🙂

Also, this reminds me of how badly I want to do another SSBBW “feed me fuck me” hardcore clip and Candy has been procrastinating because she is fixated on the food she wants for feedee videos!

My life really is “crazy”. 🙂

 

luck

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I don’t like to depend on “luck” as we call it, or think we know it.  I live in Las Vegas, and I don’t really enjoy or feel compelled to gamble.  It’s really ironic to move nearly 2000 miles from Louisiana to Las Vegas and not want to gamble.

I blame it on my cheapness, and my weak but solid knowledge of math, statistics, and odds.  I make one assumption when I walk into one of those massive super store type casinos.  The odds are in the house’s favor.  Beyond that, I realize that any money lost would be a natural consequence for betting against that house.

The cheapskate trait that I have noticed most of my life comes in when I realize all the things I could do with money rather than gamble it away through some lottery or machine.  I also make subtle calculations on how much money I would lose over time if I continued with a regular gambling habit that seemed small.

As cheap as I am, and as aware of odds as I am, I still smoked cigarettes for a few decades on and off.  I had managed to quit before, for over a year, but something would eventually trigger me into going back to it.  I’m only at day 17 and I’m acting like I have beat smoking already, but I am used to using patches and now there is the “emergency e-cig” too.

After just a few weeks, I’m already having dreams about smoking, but instead of fulfilling a fantasy of wanting to smoke in those dreams, they are more like nightmares, because of the feeling of disappointment after taking that first drag on the “dream cigarette”.

I have been in some kind of inner conflict for the longest about if luck is something that really exists, or if an old cliche’ is true about the more you work towards a goal, the more luck you happen to run into.  I don’t test my luck in a casino because just like the psychics like to say “it doesn’t work that way.”

venus von willendorf statue, goddess or first porn model, feedee, and gainer

venus von willendorf statue, goddess or first porn model, feedee, and gainer

When I consider where I am right now, and how things are going, I am forced to remember what it was like when things were so different, and I was so different.  My “growth” was hindered by the abuse of just one drug, alcohol, for months at a time, and I didn’t seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation I was placing myself in.

Now, I have only taken a baby step towards being somewhat “fixed” in quitting smoking.  That is just one little habit in a long line of impulsive behavior I have to gain control over.  In quitting smoking, I have given myself another level of confidence in what I can achieve when I put my mind to it.

The truth is, I was merely procrastinating from quitting smoking because the withdrawal is such a bitch.  I would have done it long ago, as I have a few times before, but I just didn’t feel like the hassle of a few weeks in first world misery.  Once I started using expressions like “first world” more often, I started to realize the arrogance of this concern over such a minor inconvenience.

I was only so “lucky” to get to smoke in the first place because I had the extra income to blow nearly $200 a month on the drug that would probably end up killing me eventually.  It seems so simple, when you think of the assumed logical equation of smoking = death.  Maybe people who smoke have a death wish.  Maybe people who eat themselves up to nearly or over 500lbs also have a similar wish, but it has been modified to abuse a substance that provides life.  Food.

 

I don’t usually post music videos, but I had to give credit to what I chose to listen to while I attempt to finish this blob post without hitting 5000 words, but then again, there is no way I can predict where my stream of consciousness writing will go.

I’m only 2 weeks into quitting smoking, but I already know I will be successful, because I have been reminded in what could be called a “nightmare” that I have to quit, “right now” apparently.  There is some sense of synchronicity in this realization, because Candy experiences such breathing difficulty that she is on 2 different medications now.

I never smoked inside after Candy quit smoking, I started smoking outside before Candy ever quit actually.  I made it a habit, because I always knew I would quit smoking, and I didn’t want my apartment and everything in it to be polluted with that horrible smell after I quit.

After I quit for just a week, i started to experience my true sense of smell again as well.  Now I can taste better, and I can detect so many things in the air around me with a sense that had been dulled for years by this dreadful habit.

I can detect a female that is heavily “scented” from quite a distance.  I can also detect when someone is smoking a cigarette in a very wide area.  I can smell someone close to me and know if they are an alcoholic, or a smoker, or a pot smoker, or a crackhead.

With that realization alone, I am motivated to stay far away from inhaling burning matter on purpose, except for weed of course.  I went to the trouble of getting a card at the DMV from the state of Nevada to get legal permission to smoke fucking weed.  What a rigmarole.

medical marijuana card nevada

i got my medical marijuana card!

I might be “lucky” to have quit smoking when I did, or in the long timeline, it’s already too late and the real tragedy is that I don’t even know it.  Either way, I’ll take a higher quality of life while it is granted to this old, abused body.  I am still trying to become more “enlightened” even though I realize that because of my age and my old ways, it will be much more difficult than a much younger version of me.

There was really no way to break through to younger me though, as it is, I didn’t become a full fledged alcoholic until after hitting 40, and I am already backtracking at 46.  When I gain control over alcohol though, I won’t need to abstain, I will just use it sparingly when the desire arises to reconnect with this aggravating part of myself.

I have had access to more pharmaceuticals than I can pronounce, and I don’t abuse those at all.  I know where that road goes, I chose to start using alcohol when I already knew how fucking serious it was and dangerous that particular compulsion can be to people like myself who have issues with impulse control and procrastination and anxiety and depression.

I lost so much while I chose to experiment with alcohol.  Candy didn’t even know the full extent of her ability to emotionally disconnect and withdraw when exposed to a “typical alcoholic”.  She had family issues going way back with alcoholism, and me being “that guy” brought her back to a family situation that she fled from as a mere child.  There was no way she would tolerate that behavior from me.

I don’t think it’s too late for me though, I started reading “Be Here Now” and it gave me an insight and perception that I had not thought of or realized for a very long time.  It was like reading that first Dianetics book and realizing that there were a lot of statements in there that I “knew already but never thought of in that way.”

I realized as I was reading Be Here Now by Ram Dass how similar his ability to recall things everyone already kind of knows in a different way is to L Ron Hubbard.  The severe difference is that L Ron Hubbard doesn’t write from the perspective of someone who has done LSD.

Ram Dass also traveled India extensively and met with many gurus who made a profound impact on his perception of this reality.  The influence of being on LSD a lot of the time could have impacted or biased that experience, but when you think about it, it would bias it in exactly the direction he was meant to go.

Be here now is all about figuring out the simple truth that you are exactly where you are supposed to be at any given time, given your desire to either find enlightenment or hide from it.

Everyone is on a path, and some people ride that path with blinders on, protecting them from seeing the potential branches that they could take which would change their lives for the better, forever.

I have used “drugs” to open my perception beyond what my bias and upbringing and limited education would allow.  I have expanded the very experience of my reality by opening my mind up to alternate states of consciousness.

People who are all like “drugs, ew” are so “white and uptight” that it kills me.  I can easily see why so many Caucasians will reject the race that they happened to be assigned at birth in favor of one that isn’t so fucking uptight!

I have spent a great deal of time in waiting rooms, getting the much needed and neglected medical attention for myself and “The Candy” simply because the opportunity was provided by this thing “Obamacare” that so many “fake conservatives” are all worked up over.  I dread another “republican in name only” getting into office to destroy any chance I have to get medical care while at the same time creating a moral panic over “obscenity” to appeal to the religious right. 🙁

I have read a great deal of spiritual material in those waiting rooms, and I feel that I am very very far from total enlightenment, but even the very first step towards it is enthralling, exhilarating, and beautiful.

I have realized that no matter who I was, or have been, there is room in my heart for change, for the better.

I know that no matter what beliefs I have stubbornly held onto in the past, I can see the “big picture” just a little clearer now.  I know that my dependence on any substance has been some kind of false idol that I worship and make sacrifice to in order to maintain my personal status quo of procrastination.

If the first step in solving a problem is admitting there is a problem.  I passed that little nugget of self awareness months, if not years ago.  I just needed a reason to grow emotionally.  I needed to find hope and salvation in the potential of a future I really wanted in order to make myself prepared and available for that future to occur in this reality.

Now, as I take the baby step of quitting smoking, I realize that there is something in my distant future that requires and demands that little positive change in order to allow a chain of events to occur.  I am thinking of time a little differently now.  Instead of thinking of time on a straight line, I can see how the present intersects with the future due to consequence in ways that I could not see or did not want to see before.

The simple act of quitting smoking has caused me to begin to realize a whole set of new future realities, that never would have occurred to me without having had the experiences I have had, good and bad.

If I had not gone through so much bad shit, I would not have had the motivation or inspiration to continue to get better, and continue to grow spiritually.  When I say grow spiritually, do not confuse that with the whole fucked up and contradictory phenomenon known as “religion”.

They are not the same, and can’t be, because current mainstream eastern religion inhibits personal growth by keeping women down and restricting sexual behavior.  It will always seem back woods and “redneck”.  Just look at any given argument against “same sex marriage”.

I have to laugh when I see what bigoted fools the highly reverent and religious are making of themselves to this current, slightly more enlightened generation.

Maybe I am so lucky, because while in one of my altered states of consciousness, I had this crazy idea of leaving everything I knew so well to travel west and land in allegedly fabulous Las Vegas.  I followed some sense of what I know will happen in the future.  I know that Louisiana will be one of the very last hold outs to legalizing marijuana.

I know that as voters turn down medical marijuana in the deep southern state of Florida, voters in Nevada approved medical marijuana over a decade ago, but the state of Nevada is pussyfooting around because they are so scared of being hassled over “gaming”.  Dicks.

I think that I realize just how lucky I am, to have moved to where I did, just when I did, and follow a highly disciplined regimen of living on next to nothing for over 3 years.  It sounds totally crazy, even to me, but I seem to know what’s coming, and I am planning every step of the way before I even realize what I am planning for.

Everything just happens as it is supposed to.  I take limited risks in tiny micro social environments, and I create an outcome that I really want.  I am faced with a challenge larger than I have ever attempted in all my life in the future.  I have to make everything exactly the way I want it, in a way that is even more perfect than I have set it up in the present.  The scary part is, I know I am capable of doing it, and it will be done.

I am just that lucky. 🙂

over a decade

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I wonder myself sometimes how everything that has happened has actually happened.  The thought of Candy leaving twice, and my going literally insane both times is such a weird set of memories to process.  I know that there are times that I still experience the anxiety I felt at that time out of the blue, with no additional stimulus required.  At the same time, when real shit is doing down in my life I tend to use another type of anxiety to motivate, inspire, and push myself into doing what needs to be done.

There are times I have had some pretty heavy duty shit going on, like having to pull a huge, heavy fuel tank off a big ass van to replace the fuel pump, or pull the dash apart to replace an automotive computer.  Those two things were just last year, and while I do consider myself a hobby mechanic, both of those jobs were things I had not done before, and I had to face a certain type of anxiety in order to successfully complete both of them, and still have working transportation that is paid for, and amazes me to this day that it is still going.

The biggest obstacles I have come across in my life never came anywhere near the level of intensity I felt when I lost Candy.  It was as if everything in my life before those events meant absolutely nothing.  All the accomplishments, all the hurdles overcome, all the disappointment, all the pain, none of it meant anything when I lost the one person in the world that I felt I loved more than anyone or anything else.

I literally wanted to drink myself to death.  I went online and I started to reject everything I held dear all of my life.  I started to become the absolute worst troll that even I had ever come across in the realm of ‘SSBBW’ or super size big beautiful women.  I would not lash out so much at individuals, except for a very small handful of people who were directly involved, because they cared enough to save Candy from me if I wasn’t making her happy.

I would go into every fat specific area of the internet I could find to bitch and raise hell about how I should not be attracted to women who look like this.  I should not be in such pain because I chose someone to love who would leave me.  I was lashing out partially because I was severely intoxicated most of the time, but also because I was hurt deeper than I had ever been hurt in my life.

I am still resolving feelings of guilt over how I acted.  I have apologized over and over to one person who was mature enough not to take any of it too personally in the first place.  I have wondered what must be going through the minds of people who Candy met and interacted with while she was gone, only to run back to me, after previous accusations of abuse.

We were in a destructive, abusive relationship for at least one or two years before the point where she left, but we didn’t realize it, because there were circumstances that Candy wasn’t fully aware of that triggered negative behavior in her.  When Candy and I met, we were both potheads.  She had what amounted to a near allergic reaction to alcoholics.  She had previous family history with alcoholics, and she herself feels as if she went through a period of alcoholism in her earlier years before we ever met.

When I made the brilliant decision to stop smoking pot and start drinking in it’s place, that created an environment where I would start drinking in the evening, and as I got more and more intoxicated, Candy would grow more and more anxious and upset.  If I were to talk a little too much, or about the wrong subjects while intoxicated, it would give her the reason she was looking for to just “go off” on me.  I had a great deal of restraint, after being through everything I have been through back in Florida with Alexis, so I would let it go.

There were just a few times when I would have gotten upset along with her for being upset, and I would allow an argument to escalate to a certain point.  Then, I would get tired out from being drunk and just want to quit arguing, usually before anything significant happened.

One evening, things did get really intense, and rather than cooling off and calming down, Candy made a snap decision to take off.  She wasn’t just leaving for a day, or a few days, she was packing a back to move out completely.  Because she had just done the same thing a few months before, I started to reach a point where I didn’t want her to come back.  I had been so hurt by her leaving the last time, and so excited when she came back, that watching her leave yet again would have me telling myself that I didn’t deserve that shit, I was over it, and I can’t be in love with someone who leaves me over little shit.

For the first few weeks she was gone, she had probably intended to come back all along.  Because I entered this mindset of believing I didn’t want her back, I would allow myself to get drunk and log on Facebook to rant and rave about how shitty it was for her to leave the way she did, and how she was “not a good girlfriend” if she was going to use this tactic of leaving me to control me.

At one point, maybe 2 and a half weeks in, I got so drunk that I posted some really horrible shit on Facebook, where instead of complaining, I started getting highly insulting.  At that point, any thought Candy had of coming back started to evaporate, and instead of getting her back sooner, I pushed her away for even longer.

After about 3 months of doing nothing but getting drunk every single day and passing out, I finally decided to get back out there and try to meet people.  The first attempt was this woman in her 20’s who I talked to on the phone.  She acted like she really wanted to meet right away, so she suggested I go to some bar to meet up with her.  She totally stood me up.  I tried calling her, no answer, of course, she knew what she was doing.

I will never forget the drive home from that place, how depressing it was, and how everything I passed on the way home reminded me of being with Candy.  I was reminded of how much I loved and missed her, and I was hurt so very deeply to have the first moment of encouragement turn out to be another taunt by life itself.

I didn’t try to contact that woman, but a few days later she sent me an email trying to apologize.  I basically cursed her out, told her how useless and pathetic she was for doing that to me, and I told her not to contact me anymore.  I also wrote out at least 3 pretty harsh jokes about her having only one hand.  I know that was totally uncalled for now, but it felt good at the time to do it.  She was writing me as if there was some big misunderstanding about the plans she had made with me.  She may have attempted to say she “chickened out”, but it didn’t matter.  She was already putting me in the position of meeting her “with friends”, which I absolutely hate doing.  Then, after agreeing to that really shitty scenario, she stood me up.

I stayed at that bar until around 1am, not because I had hope she would show up, but because I wanted to put myself through the misery of being someplace I didn’t want to be because some bitch lied me into going in the first place.  I wanted to absorb all of that negative emotion for as long as I could stand it, until I really wanted to go home and slam more vodka.

There was no giving up at that point though.  I had to meet someone.  Hanging out with old alcoholic guys was more depressing than being alone, and the more I was alone, the more time I had to act like a total dickhead on Facebook.  I believe a part of me hates Facebook to this day for giving me an outlet to make such an ass of myself.  I still get drunk and act stupid online, but I am not mean, depressed, and cruel to people.

When that woman stood me up on the very first date planned since Candy left, it reminded me of the long, hard road ahead in finding someone I am attracted to, who was available, who I could trust.  The person I was at that time would not allow me to find the “perfect woman for me” though, because I wasn’t myself.  I was lying to myself about not being in love with Candy and wanting her back, so I would naturally lie to myself about the kind of woman I would be truly happy with.

One woman was so physically awesome, and she agreed to model, and I still have yet to figure out what site I want to add her to.  It has been nearly 4 years since I took those photos, and I have yet to ever use any of them.  A part of me looks at that work as inferior because i was so very drunk most of the time.  Another part of me looks at that work and feels the pain I was in at that time.  Something has blocked me from using those photos, even though I have an ID, a model release, and she is physically amazing and impressive as a SSBBW.

unnamed ssbbw

unnamed ssbbw

It was awesome and amazing to meet someone so physically amazing and incredible.  I would have been instantly in love with her appearance with the hopes that her personality would not let me down.  She was unavailable though, of course.  She was available to mess around, but she was living in a situation that prevented any possibility of us being together.

This was another harsh reminder to me of the long hard road ahead in finding someone I could love like Candy.  The first woman to appear and actually come through and meet me would turn out to be someone that I would never have a chance of being with.  A woman who I could probably be content to be monogamous with for the rest of my life is just another fantasy.  Of course.

I didn’t give up though, I kept searching, and I reached another compromise.  There was one woman who was kind of aggressive online about wanting to meet up, but at the same time, she was a certain “type” that I was always hesitant to get involved with heavily.  I’ll just say it, she was a freaking “christian”.  She was eager to meet me though, and that seemed to be a rare occurrence for me in the online dating world, so I agreed to meet with her.

the christian bbw

the christian bbw

She was beautiful, and happened to remind me of someone from the distant past facially.  She had full, sexy arms, and DDD breasts, but she had kind of the typical “top heavy” figure, which has never been my total favorite.  Anyone who has seen images of Candy would realize quickly that her mass is more heavily distributed on the lower half.

Since as long as I can remember, there has been this thing about larger thighs.  In a previous post, I went into great detail about a theory that I have about being near sighted as a child and going years without wearing glasses.  I may have started to distinguish male from female by body shape more heavily than face, and because I had such an intense sexuality, I started to become attracted to larger and larger representations of visual femininity in the body.  I could recognize someone from a great distance before seeing their face by seeing their shape and even their walk.  I still do this, because I can recognize some people from a distance, looking at their back while they walk away.  I once picked out a woman I knew in a crowded mall on a Saturday from the second floor while she walked away on the first floor a great distance below and away from me.

Because of this, I have to admit even to myself that I developed a kind of “fetish” for large thighs.  I tried to overcome this, because I kept telling myself that I didn’t love Candy, I was no longer attracted to Candy, and I was not going to limit my potential sexual partners to women who are “Super sized” or super morbidly obese, who happen to have large thighs too.  That was too specific for my old, ugly, drunk ass.

I kind of settled, which is horrible, and I still feel guilt over how it hurt her when I had to tell her Candy was coming back.  I settled on her being religious, her being top heavy, and her being kind of distant and controlling herself.  It’s not like I wasn’t attracted to her, because at her size, with her shape, I could do things with her that I could not physically accomplish with Candy, ever.  She could literally ride me to the point where I was struggling to control climax.  Having those pendulous breasts swinging in my face while she gyrated on top of me was something that was kind of “new” to me, and it was literally amazing.

I know that sex is not the only thing that can keep a relationship together, and while I was still fixated on my preference for large thighs, I would end up cheating on the christian in order to see and photograph the unavailable ssbbw.  One time they actually passed each other in the parking lot because I was such a bastard.  I can’t believe that I was able to pull off that kind of timing while I was so hopelessly intoxicated most of the time.

By the time I started to “date” again, I did reduce the drinking a great deal.  I also got a job, which surprised even me at the time.  I didn’t just get a job, I got 2 offers and had to choose between them.  I also pulled that off just weeks before it would have bankrupted me to pay rent before getting the first paycheck.  My timing does seem pretty amazing, even when I am impaired.

I must have been dating the christian for a few months, because it really hurt her when I sat her down and told her that Candy was coming back to me.  I had to also admit that I had been talking to Candy behind her back, and that I loved Candy all along, even if I was trying to lie to myself about not loving her because she left me.

All of this seems to have wanted to come out of me today because it has been a few months since I had to hurt someone else emotionally, when Candy thought she wanted to leave and somehow we managed to work it out yet again.  I thought there was no way that I could have met someone that I would be so fond of while I was still living with Candy, even if she was planning to leave.  Maybe the fact that she didn’t just eject herself much faster gave me some kind of ability to find and meet exactly the kind of woman I would want to be with after she was gone.

That hurt me this time.  I had a few months to get to know someone who is physically amazing and complex intellectually.  Because Candy was leaving yet again, I was giving myself an opportunity to find the near perfect woman while Candy was still with me.  Of course, the second I find one that seemed to be really compatible, and have real potential, it would be ripped away from me because I cannot resist the loyalty of my love for Candy, and she changed her mind yet again.

Being with Candy for over a decade, I have been through more emotional turmoil than ever in my life.  That is saying a lot, since I lost my very first SSBBW porn site in a divorce when I left Lexi in Florida.  I was so young and foolish and impulsive, and even way back then, I had a level of maturity to realize that I had to leave that situation or I was going to end up getting in more and more trouble over time.

I have managed to resolve a lot of my feelings about Alexis, and what I went through in Florida, but it still impresses me that I was able to walk away from “my baby”.  i cared more about that first website, fatfantasy.net, than I ever cared about Alexis, and that’s exactly why it had to be given up, to save myself.

me and alexis so long ago

me and alexis so long ago

Now I have to deal with unresolved feelings from when I was a total dickweed on Facebook while Candy was gone both times.  I have to deal with the guilt of how I treated all the people involved who were just trying to help Candy, and they didn’t even love her the way I do.  I still have issues with getting intense and typing too much in a place I shouldn’t be while I am somewhat intoxicated, but nothing reaches the level of pure crazy that I dove into while Candy was gone both times.

I had to break someone’s heart because I could not choose them over Candy.  Not just because of the time I have known her, but because the intense level of emotion that has developed over that time.  Now I have to deal with that too.  I’m getting better, not letting myself get as drunk as I used to.  I try harder to resist the temptation to log on to social media when I pass a certain level of intoxication, but sometimes it is just too tempting, and too satisfying.

Writing while intoxicated is something that I picked up as a kind of coping mechanism to deal with the loss and pain of Candy leaving both of those times.  For a period of maybe a year or so since being in Vegas, Candy’s decisions kept me in a kind of emotional stasis where I had to go back to those habits to deal with what I was feeling at the time.

It’s amazing, that Candy and I were falling apart because we were staying in different rooms during the day, and the little interaction she got with me was when I would bust into the bedroom ranting about something on the news or something I saw online.  I failed to see how just being apart from each other, even in the same residence, was slowly destroying our relationship.  It would seem so obvious to anyone on the outside, but I was blinded by my bias, my emotions, and my past experiences.

I’m getting better, I’m writing this on day 6 without a cigarette, or I should say a real cigarette.  I’m still using nicotine replacement, with the nicotine patches and an e-cig, only for use when cravings reach a level of intensity that make me want to give up and buy a pack of cigarettes.  I’m limiting myself to a 12 pack of beer over a 2 day period, trying to give myself a break for a day or 2 between 12 packs.  If I drink more than 6 beers in one day, I am limiting my future intake the next day, and I won’t let myself buy more.

I still get loaded and type, but now my mood is so different.  I’m dealing with a lot of shit, and a lot of unresolved feelings, but I feel as if I am slowly stumbling out of some kind of haze that I have been living in for the past 3 to 4 years.  It’s not just the alcohol, it’s the experience of how different I am and felt before I started drinking to begin with.   It’s not like I am a life long alcoholic, I just started using it seriously after 40, and I’m 46 now.  I used to hate alcohol because I knew it was put in place as a sedative to get people to stop doing ALL OTHER DRUGS, which is pure and total bullshit.

I’m not just for marijuana legalization, I believe that all kinds of psychedelics should be legal too, because humans were given this huge brain to use in ways that our current proper and prudish society are literally SCARED TO USE.  After reading authors like Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert, I realize that there is great potential and discovery in using these drugs to stimulate parts of the brain that were probably created because humans were doing that shit millions of years ago to begin with!  Of course, if you are a hardcore christian, you might believe there is no way this planet can be that old.  That’s why I can’t get along with christians.

I have read studies about using LSD to cure alcoholism, and there are times I have to wonder if I inflicted that horrible disease on myself just to figure out how to cure myself later.  I compare that theory to the way that I suspect some plus sized models have a goal point to reach before they get weight loss surgery and start the process all over again.

I have a lot of crazy theories, and none of the education required to truly experiment with them.  My most intense theories are the ones I have about how one develops a fat fetish to begin with.  That thing about body recognition and a need for a super feminine form is a pretty good one.

Ok, now I’m rambling, and going off course.  This post should have ended when I used the term “over a decade” out of respect to the title. 🙂

 

 

mr hyde

0

now, i am buzzed.  i am coming back because after a really full day of activity, i realize how much the earlier writing exercise helped me.  i was given a little time on my own upon waking, and the thoughts were racing about everything i had experience during the last episode of online activity that literally had me concerned.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dr._Jekyll_and_Mr._Hyde_(1931_film)

i was trying to restrict the use of links to outside sites while typing, but this is the reference to the title, for those who are culturally challenged when it comes to real cinema versus hollywood movies.

i realize that while my behavior in this one little forum was really inexcusable, unprofessional, irrational, and made me look like a crazy person, it had some kind of purpose.  a part of me tries so hard to recover memories from dreams every night, but during the day, i can only collect scraps of memory that were lost for a few hours because of the drunken condition i was in the night before.

i believe that my little experiment with alcohol needs to come to an end, eventually.  candy has left as a direct result of my use of alcohol, before she realized that it was a trigger that caused her to be a total bitch, and both of us were not totally aware of it at the time.

i have wondered if there is some correlation between her inability to control that impulse, and my own inability to control my alcohol intake when i am facing an extremely painful situation.  i don’t mean emotional pain, i mean physical pain, that i don’t choose to inflict on myself, but is inflicted upon me by my prior abuse of my entire left side.

one should not need a hip replacement before the age of fifty, but here we are.  i could get all kinds of pills, but i don’t even try, because i know that it is a road that goes somewhere i don’t want to go.  it is extremely ironic that someone who admits to being an alcoholic has severe hesitation in even trying to get serious drugs.

if anything, alcohol was a very risky experiment on it’s own.  i have to pull myself out of some compulsion to keep drinking when i decided to start writing this.  or, i was so unnerved by my own behavior recently that i had to take a look inside for a moment with my writing.

i know i was wrong.  i know i was irrational.  i know i was insensitive, and completely out of control.  a part of me seems to know that i was going to go there, and allowed it, which means that i still take responsibility as the more sane partner in this strange inner struggle with just one chemical.

i only started using alcohol on a regular basis shortly after turning 40.  i’m 46 now, so this is year six.  while some alcoholics count out how much time they have been sober, i am counting down how long it will take for me to be able to consume this one chemical without being a slave to it.

rather than abstinence, a part of me knows that i can control it, but unfortunately, i have to go through some kind of period of complete upheaval, much like “rock bottom” but without homelessness and bankruptcy. 🙂

i guess there are advantages to being a fully functional drug addict.  i choose not to get on the pills, for good reason.  i can’t just walk into a store and buy pills.  if i could walk into a store to buy weed, i would not have started fucking drinking to begin with.

i started to experiment with alcohol because of this horrible episode with my best friend and weed dealer.  he got on crack and/or meth, and he started to orchestrate my weed deals with his crack buys.  i don’t think he will ever understand how much it influenced me when his wife threatened to call the cops on us while i just bought an ounce of weed in freaking louisiana…

i stopped talking to that guy, the best friend from high school, because i had such built up resentment for his disrespect and his lack of consideration.  he started to use this beer can crack pipe in my car after i told him not to smoke crack in my car.  he doesn’t understand the seriousness of that offense.

just because i’m a pot head, doesn’t mean i can tolerate a crack head.  he used to keep one of his wife’s name tags on him to stab holes in the side of a beer can after denting it.  then, he would place a few cigarette ashes over the holes, and carefully place his precious fucking crack on them, and smoke it through the hole you would drink through.

that shit is pathetic, and intolerable.  what’s worse is the way he would act after smoking crack.  he would be all paranoid and start turning the lights on and off, and then looking out the window over and over.  i hated it, and told him he was doing it, but he was oblivious.

now, i realize that the moment i allowed mr hyde to get out there and log in, even in some obscure, dying forum, i was out of control.  i am grateful to all those people for helping me to realize and understand, through totally predictable behavior, that i was out of control.

it’s wild when you can do an intervention on your own damn self.

today i typed over 3000 words in this blog, and then i added a clip to the clip stores that had already been prepared days earlier.  then, i went to big wonderful wal mart and did grocery shopping.  then, i came home, had a few beers because i was still sore from the rains days ago, and got online.  rather than going all manic crazy person on some forum, i came here.

i felt compelled to point out some things that i had learned about my own behavior.  if i ever allow myself to get drunk to a certain degree, and then go into forums where i already have issues with people, it is a catastrophe waiting to happen, and i should try much harder than i have recently to prevent that from happening.

i learned some kind of fucked up coping mechanism when candy was gone for eight months, and i learned to lash out online to help myself release all kinds of negative energy.  i used to only do it on facebook, but this one little tiny forum seemed ok to fuck around with, and somehow, a part of me let drunk me go in there and go fucking crazy.

now, i realize the value of that experience.  i still feel badly for anyone who might have taken anything really personally, but i am pretty sure they just wrote me off as that crazy alcoholic mean guy.  i think that’s what some part of me meant to allow to happen all along, to snap myself out of some tendency to focus on one tiny spot online like some kind of magnifying glass and burn a big hole there, in some scorched earth policy that makes me look like some kind of monster.  mr hyde is a fucking monster, and on those few occasions i am allowed to see it for myself, i realize the degree of severity as to how much i am losing the battle with alcohol.

i am willing to admit it, but i have other alternative coping mechanisms, like writing.  i can’t even fucking read straight while drunk, but somehow i can manage to type.  that shit is scary.

there was a time when i stopped smoking weed completely, and started substituting vodka.  candy doesn’t remember it, because it was before she got on lexapro and ended up in virginia.  there was at least a six month period where i totally stopped smoking weed after nearly twenty years of consecutive use every day.

i continued to watch candy smoke it, and i continued to purchase it, but for that period of time, because i wasn’t smoking, i didn’t have to pick it up as often, and i didn’t have to deal with my wonderful crack smoking best friend, and i didn’t have to worry about some kind of domestic dispute that was launched because i tipped my friend enough money for him to buy and consume crack.

somehow, time passed, and eventually, candy took off for that first period.  candy has left for a four month period and then an eight month period.  she was fortunate enough to receive counseling to help her see her triggers, and therefore, she was mature enough to create a compromise to deal with my temporary use of alcohol.

even if it seems like a long period of time, six years is nothing when compared to 46.  i allowed myself to dip into this little interest after years of hating alcohol, because i realized how much that industry probably lobbied against marijuana legalization.

there are so many industries, to take a little side trip, that will want to prevent this.  first there are police unions.  i am not attempting to be racist here, but there is no better way to incarcerate more african americans than to bust them with some weed, and i continue to wonder how that racist prohibition continues to this day.  i have read text that indicates it was more suited to lock up the mexicans at first, but it worked so well with the african americans that they said “what the hell?”

then of course there are corrections unions.  all the people that make a living keeping all those locked up “animals” under control.  you know they don’t want to let anybody out any time soon.

then there are the investors that continue to maintain and build new private prisons.  free enterprise and capitalism lead to some kind of inspiration to continue to be the incarceration capital of the world.  if you break down the actual incarcerated population, you would find racial disparities that make me think people have ample reason to protest in furgeson.  i begin to want to compare the naacp to naafa in effectiveness, political agenda, and main focus.

maybe the recent investigation into that little police department was just a small step in many other changes that really, seriously need to take place in the future.

wow, it was so easy for me to be distracted.  so much injustice in the world, that so many people find so easy to ignore.  there is a little tiny track in the back of my mind that keeps track of shit like that, and maybe i should cut it loose so i don’t get so pissed off in forums that do not have anything to do with my own personal issues and aggravations.

bringing up how many times and how long candy left is relevant.  without professional therapy to deal with those events, and my behavior during, i am pretty much forced to seriously analyze myself when i pull something fucked up.  at least i am not getting locked up in the process.  if i do have “abusive tendencies”, i still seem to have some ability to redirect them in the least destructive way possible.

while my “social reputation” could be damaged by such outbursts, this forum is so obscure that nobody will see any of it anyway.  even if the moderator of the forum where i went off decided not to delete some of my horrible rant, i am willing to bet that the forum may be more active than it has ever been because of my participation, even if they are talking shit about me.

unlike so many sociopaths, i rather seem to enjoy gossip about me that i can’t see.  i don’t have any other means to express some kind of narcissistic megalomaniac personality, so i can achieve a level online that i really would not prefer to attempt in person.

i don’t think i am sociopathic, i think those guys are the ones that look like mr perfect until they get you alone and then use intimidation to keep you from “going to the cops”.

i tend to go totally crazy online every once in a while, then feel badly about it for a day or two, and then analyze the fuck out of myself for allowing myself to log in at all while that intoxicated.  it’s one thing to watch that television show “cops” and wonder why drunk people actually attempt to fight several cops at once.  i think there is a correlation between a virtual environment and that real life environment.

i think that if i am a troll down deep, i do it as “myself” instead of being anonymous.  one would assume that while i am using an identity that is readily available in other locations, i am taking a big public relations hit every time i pull this crazy shit.  in reality, i am just remaining relevant for just about the only thing besides candy that has ever made anybody ever notice me.

wow, the anatomy of a troll.  i don’t want to be a troll.  i am a good person.  i am really nice to people in real life.  i give people a lot of leeway in traffic, and i don’t have road rage.  i am so very patient with candy that most people could not even imagine, even when she is not in a good mood and totally goes off for almost no reason without being as drunk as i am when i do it.

at the same time, i have this ability to be really, really mean.  i can use minimal observations to create the most insulting or passive aggressive statements, and the worst part is, i am not even trying.  it just comes out.  it’s one thing if i was having to focus to be so mean, but it’s so fucking easy.  it comes to naturally to me that it scares me at times, and it should, if i want to be a better person over all.

i have to wonder if i have made it to age 46 with so many issues without being arrested or going suicide by cop because i have this ability to express my negativity in a relatively controlled environment.  even while totally intoxicated, i know the difference between being highly insulting and making terrorist threats…  i just don’t do that shit.  i came close to doing it at my very worst, when candy was gone, and i regret being that fucking creepy to this day.  those events contributed to the creation of a drunken character that i am forced to understand is just an extension of myself, down deep, and i don’t like it.

while candy was gone for eight months the last time, i went through an extraordinary transformation.  i had never been mean online, i would never imagine cursing people out, or making broad accusations, or calling people out for being fucking liars.

something happened when candy was gone, it probably started in the first four months while she was in virginia, and then when she want to boston, i experienced a total recurring nightmare.  candy has informed me on more than one occasion that i could have gotten her back much more quickly, but a part of me was trying so hard to let her go because she left for the second time.

i don’t think i have gotten over that period of time in it’s entirety just yet.  i think that there are lingering resentments, and while i used to be obnoxious and mean online to cope with her rejection, there is still a part of me that resorts to this behavior, and now that part of me is taking innocent online victims in the process.  my behavior in that forum is reprehensible, and i know it.  i understand though that i needed to go through that, and put other people through it in the process, in some selfish attempt to figure my own shit out.

while i would feel really bad for “using” people in some online forum to achieve this end, i also have to remind myself that they are a bunch of selfish, deviant, agenda driven motherfuckers who don’t give two shits about what i did, or who i am, or what it was all about.

maybe i needed to finally cultivate a selfish side too.  i was always too forgiving, to accommodating, too selfless.  i may have been the nice guy for so many years, even over a few decades, but i guess eventually it fucking wears off.  it’s ironic, how many women would like a nice guy, but they will tend to reject them over and over without even realizing it, because they are awkward, and don’t know how to look like mr right.  the guy who knows exactly what to say is the one you need to worry about.

while i used to be really nice, there has been some obvious modifications, because while i was still working through unresolved feelings of candy rejecting me in the past, some bitch came along and took me for nearly $300 and trashed a hotel room that i was nice enough to get for her while she was here.  being nice can get you fucked in the ass, and now i wonder if it’s all about candy’s past rejection, or the way that people have been fucking me over all my life, and continue to fuck me over to this day, and i am just not fucking taking it anymore.

my focus and fixation on this one little forum was just as potent and relentless as my participation here right now in this blog.  this leads me to believe that i wanted to type and type somewhere and be reminded about how i am typing in the wrong place, to a bunch of fuck heads who could never begin to understand it, even if they were offered the entire back story of this blog itself, because they don’t really fucking care.

every once in a while, you run into someone who sincerely cares.  they care enough not to offer unsolicited advice, or tell you where to go to find some social interaction that you have already said you are not interested in.  somewhere, buried in time and space, is our personal audience.  i have this image of the future, and i have no idea how to make it happen just yet, but because i can visualize it, i know it is inevitable.

i am motivated by my dreams, because when i was in high school, i had a recurring nightmare about having to repeat a year of high school.  i got busted with a joint in a cigarette pack right in my front pocket and was suspended.  i received the call from the school board, set up a hearing as my father, and never told them, so nobody showed up.

because of the traumatic way that the school administrators reached out to my parents, they had no interest in attending any hearing to be further humiliated.  i am reminded though, with the wisdom i have now, that it was wrong for them to confront me without legal counsel and try to bargain with me to rat someone out to save my school year.

i chose to repeat an entire year of high school instead of being a fucking rat.  maybe that was the beginning of a process that created so much real world experience that i would end up a hermit troll, making big statements online because i can no longer be partying it up when i have to take care of the one person in this reality that means more to me than my own life.

i had this anorexic looking undercover cop attempt to seduce me, to bust the best friend that i would later abandon because he smoked crack in my car against my wishes.

i found the love of my life, and told her that i would give up an open relationship because i had finally found the woman that could make me forget all others, and then she left me, twice.

i take responsibility for my part in all of this, because i was trying to do the right thing for the future, and for her, and it blew up in my face.  i can understand so much better why i would go to some obscure forum, attempt to befriend people, and then go the fuck off on them when they disappointed me exactly the way that i predicted they would.

a part of me knew candy would leave, both times.  i refused to acknowledge it, and continued to test her, because she tested me.  we were stuck in this loop of daring each other to just break up and get it over with.  we were miserable, but we loved each other more than anyone else in each other’s lives.  what a tragedy.

it’s no wonder we end up together now.  candy had to forsake all kinds of new, wonderful friends, because as much as most of them said they understood, they really don’t, and they never will.  they never really knew her, like i know her.  they will never know me, like she knows me.

i have given most of them every reason to hate me for the rest of my life, and the only one that really matters has attempted to let me know on so many occasions that she forgives me.  it is really beyond my own belief, how she could tolerate so much shit, from someone so currently insignificant, and still forgive me.  she is the closest thing to jesus i have ever known in this lifetime, in my 46 years.

i realize that i had to “blow up” again, just one more time, to teach myself a lesson.  i’m buzzed now, but i refuse to enter that state again after seeing for myself what i can do under it’s influence.  i am not worried about damage to “reputation”, because i am notorious for being such an amazing, incredible dick head.

i have had a busy day.  i can feel the energy draining as i have produced all of this potentially meaningless and incoherent text.  i have actually put up a new clip today, along with the shopping, and i should promote it, but that kind of takes care of itself when you open up to four different clip stores, all hungry.

i have created more work in the last few months than i have in the last few years.  candy has been so cooperative, that one might think that nearly breaking up that last and final third time opened both our fucking eyes.  i know i can’t get so fucked up.  i have somehow restrained myself today, because it is after midnight and i could not even finish the sixth beer.  that is a move in the right direction.

all of this focus on this blog at this time is not due to my interaction with the forum recently.  i believe that the opposite is true.  i needed to create that distraction there, in order for me to realize that i needed to redirect my writing back here.

now, i create photos and videos as a ‘job’ and i can release excess energy in my writing instead of bugging candy or any useless forum with my manic rambling.  i can redirect it here and get “writing practice” too, and it isn’t wasted on emails to empty vessels or groups with endless agendas…  it is all mine… 🙂

 

 

alcoholism

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I got an impulse to write a note here, after months, and after abusing anything resembling “writing skills” by making a nuisance of myself to a few people online.

I have recognized a behavior, that has taken place over the past couple of months, that was simply a progression of an embedded behavior that started years ago, with my experiment in addiction transfer.

It is probably obvious what I transferred to, and I think that there is a blog post here from the distant past that goes into very specific detail about the process.  I have to check that, because if I wasted it on facebook I am a dumb ass.

I may have written it in a long, drawn out, mostly skimmed over or completely unread email, to someone who could not take me seriously because I was making the observation while intoxicated.

Over the past few weeks, I made a serious effort to break out of the loop I had created and neatly inserted myself into.  I created a series of “personal ads” on any and every site that would allow for contact before having to pay a membership.

In the process, I came across someone very unique.  She had an hour glass shape, but she had a career that prevented any kind of sexual content from being created involving her.  I got to know her well enough to respect her career enough to tell her never to let me or anyone else ever take nude photos of her.

Over the course of just days, some of the emails got pretty intense.  I got to know things about this woman that she told me most of her closest friends didn’t know.  Before I knew it, I was talking to a person instead of a body.

It had been a long time, since I had serious, in depth, mutually beneficial contact with the outside world.  Over just a few days of talking to her, the energy I expelled was so great that I was distracted from drinking.  After a few weeks of heavy drinking to knock back the stress of taxes and a malfunctioning health insurance exchange, I had started to cause a progression of the drinking that was draining me, and draining Candy as well.

While talking to this one individual, I was granted with a temptation to keep my facilities in tact instead of blowing them away partially with 8-10 Milwaukee’s Best Ice.  I only realized after a few days how easy it was for me to pour myself into my interests rather than kill interest in anything with the abuse of alcohol.

I broke down the exact mechanism by which I was using alcohol to wipe out anxiety, but I needed that anxiety in order to maintain order.  The more I allowed myself to escape a familiar, inspirational form of anxiety, the further behind I got on everything, and everyone.

Candy hadn’t gotten to the point where she was threatening to leave.  She was patient, and somehow tolerating my behavior, occasionally reminding me that it was hurting her, and occasionally blowing up in such a way that made it very difficult to restrain myself from escalating, especially while intoxicated.

Just a few days of some kind of deep, intimate, intellectual contact with another human being helped me to see from her perspective what I was doing to Candy.  She had her own issues to work out, and I was trying to help her with them, because I let her know how grateful I was that she helped me to see things from just one outside perspective.

I had been isolating myself for so very long, based on many contributing factors.  First, there is Candy’s social anxiety.  I would feel guilty to go out every weekend partying with the fabulous people of Las Vegas while she sat at home, exploring a virtual world of “second life”.

While she would not show any signs of missing out to me, I am sure she would feel some kind of disappointment or envy if I casually walked out of the apartment to meet groups of people, while she sat confined by her own anxiety.

Just the thought of what she might feel caused me to start isolating myself.  I removed myself from local groups on facebook, and I made absolutely no attempts to socialize locally.  Every once in a while, I would get really loaded and write some weird 5000 word rant to someone in email, because I was having distress about my first world problems.

That wasn’t interaction, that was a one sided psychic barrage of negative energy, that the recipient didn’t need to deal with.  I would be tempted to attempt an apology to each and every person I have ranted to like this, but I probably apologized at the end of it, knowing that I was in psycho drunk mode.

Talking to that one human being, that I never met, made me want to be a better person for Candy, because from her perspective.  I could see more in depth how my behavior was hurting her, and more importantly, hurting myself.  I knew I was letting myself get behind, I knew I was letting myself and everything I care about slip by as I literally walked right outside of time and space itself, creating a whole reality that only I could see.

That’s the biggest problem with alcohol.  It’s a beautiful drug, with a potentially wonderful high, but once an individual is under it’s spell, it is way too tempting to pass way beyond any reasonable or acceptable limit.  Once the limit is passed, one part of me is sleeping, and a very obnoxious, negative, pessimistic, condescending, arrogant, asshole comes out.

I would watch the television show “Cops” and laugh at the topless drunk guys trying to fight four or five police at once.  I know exactly what is going through that guys mind, and it is depressing to me.  The ride up to that point is fun, thrilling, and mind altering.  The problem comes in when the mind has been altered to a point beyond reason and the ability to see consequence.

The woman I talked to for days eventually burned out, exactly like I told her she would.  I made a comparison to her with a high wattage light bulb, that burns out so much faster than a lower wattage one.  I told her this just days before she freaked out and could not handle the restraint it took to stop being a slut and make a few real friends for once.

I knew it got too deep, too fast, and she was developing feelings for me because I was the first guy who resisted her advances in order to get to know her as a person.  It was not easy.  She has a wonderful hour glass shape, much like the Venus of Willendorf I love to rant about so much.  I told her about this, and of course, she had seen one of those statues a long time ago and remarked how much her body resembled it.

I told her that as a “fat woman”, she had an appeal that remarkably few “fat women” have.  I have this whole obsession with the way that those Venus statues have that shape for a reason.  That shape is extremely powerful, visually stimulating, and highly distracting.  Even guys who don’t think they have any interest in “fat chicks” could easily get tripped up while under the spell of the “involuntary stare reflex”.  The sight of such proportions has to be visually stimulating to more people than most people think, because I knew that the first woman I found with this shape would be noticed instantly once she had a web site.

It would appear that my new found friend had suffered the kind of sex drive that one might imagine could come with such a powerful figure.  She never could figure out why she thought of herself as ugly because she was “too big”, yet guys hit on her mercilessly.  She had impulse control issues, so she would give in, and then feel shame and guilt over it later.  Once I got to know that much about her, it was easy to resist her occasional sexual comment out of respect to her as a person, and the trouble she had gone through with such a condition.

We helped each other somehow, and neither one of us got what our fantasies really would have wanted from the situation.  I know that both of us really wanted to fuck each other badly, and in the back of my mind, I would involuntarily be working out a way for that to potentially happen “one day”.

One day could not come soon enough though, because the second the woman talked to Candy, she started to kind of hit on her as if she was a guy.  Candy is no stranger to that kind of attention, and she resisted any sexual response.  That actually offended the woman, because she had not hit on a woman in over a decade, and now she was rejected.

It’s sad, that the one time that Candy got her hopes up to meet someone that could be a new friend since October of last year, and the woman starts acting like a guy that wants to “hit that”.  Candy could forgive this, but because the woman allegedly felt so ashamed, she had to call off a meeting that would have been planned just days later.  She deleted her email account and her personal ad, but within 24 hours I found her replacement, visited it, and she was already writing me back.

I was disappointed, because here I was, sobering up so that I could focus and concentrate hard enough to “make something happen” after almost a decade of self isolation.  The first visit would have been set up with no expectations of any physical contact at all.  We were all trying to act like responsible adults, and meet as friends, get to know each other, and see what happens over time.  It would have been awesome for a first visit to be completely non sexual, for the sake of Candy getting to know a fraction about this woman that I already learned.

Part of the reason I was so fascinated with getting these two women together was because of their personalities, not because I wanted to see them awkwardly attempt some kind of super sized lesbian encounter.  I really wanted to see the energy exchanged between two women who held the same power, and suffered from some of the exact same consequences, over some periods of time that are literally just a few years off in age from each other.

They had the same trauma, the same issues, and the same heightened sexuality as a result of being stimulated for the first time in a highly inappropriate situation at an age that would create conflicting feelings about an event that should never have happened to them.  I called it “sexually advanced”, because even though it was a result of trauma and abuse, it still happened to them, maybe because they held this power of attraction their whole lives, and a few weak souls who were wrongly given opportunity took advantage of it in the worst way possible.  They would also be conflicted about their abuse, because at times, thoughts of it would feel just as stimulating and erotic to them as it felt wrong and traumatic.

Because I spent so much brain power figuring this woman out, and predicting exactly what was going to happen, I was finally inspired in two ways.  First, to break the cycle that I placed myself in with alcohol.  I didn’t really want to see it as a loop, because when you are in one, it is very difficult to WANT to see you are in one.  If an individual is escaping reality to begin with, time is unfortunately a part of that very reality.  Second, because of her insight, I could see myself from Candy’s eyes, as I tried not to get drunk so I could type properly to her.

The loop is easily established because humans are creatures of habit.  We want regularity, schedule, and self discipline.  Alcohol can over-ride the impulse to create order, and the anxiety that is in place to keep us on our toes in a very brutal reality.  While alcohol seems wonderful and magical in wiping out anxiety, it seems to work a little too well on people with my specific condition, so far undiagnosed professionally.

While alcohol is kicking ass on anxiety, it is also taking away ambition, drive, motivation, inspiration, dedication, devotion, discipline, control, and vision.  It takes away the ability to see what it is doing to yourself.  I am very skilled at abusing things, because I got to the point where I could drink the cheapest and nastiest beer I can find at room temp, to avoid making trips to the fridge that Candy could hear, each one bringing her deeper into a level of potential conflict.

Maybe I needed to “sneak around”, and because I devoted myself to Candy, beer was the last great frontier of taboo behavior.  I don’t crave the substance itself, I crave the altered head space.  I enjoy the personality that comes out in the early phases of alcohol intoxication, but that is already an alter ego, who will gladly break all limitations that sober me put on myself.

I kept trying to fool myself into thinking that I could get a 12 pack, and not wipe more than half of it out.  I thought I could stop at 6, saving another 6 for another day, and not even the very next day.  That got fucked up though.  I started getting a 12 pack, almost finishing it, feeling like crap the next day.  Then, I might not drink that day, or, I might finish off the 2 or 3 left, get a little buzz, and get way too tempted to get another 12 pack and start over.  That was progression.  I wanted to keep using it so badly that I was fooling myself into believing that I was trying to control intake, when the drug was controlling me.

All this started because I placed a few personal ads, not because I thought the grass was greener, but quite the opposite.  I created the ads to return to a mind space where Candy was gone for those 8 months.  I could probably feel her disappointment and resentment over my losing control of the beer, when she only came back because I agreed to give up vodka.

From the moment I created the first ad, I could see the exact same patterns in the women that would appear available in my age group.  It appeared that the few I would be attracted to went to a great deal of trouble to explain how unavailable they were, which meant they had baggage, which meant they were self conflicted, which meant they could be highly sexual.

Yeah, I am way beyond the “fat chicks are easy” thing.  I know better.  Fat chicks are actually harder, unless you know how to pick them.  🙂

I spent so much time wondering if I was conflicted about my real agenda in creating the personal ads, because obviously I have a very active imagination, which is something else the alcohol was killing.  It was also pulling my sex drive down just a little bit.  Not too much though, because even though Candy doesn’t want to have sex with a drunk guy, the drunk guy has literally worn her pussy out.

I have to point out, that I was compelled almost involuntarily to write here, after months of no activity.  That gap in time between now and the last blog post is probably the length of time that I was falling down the alcohol spiral of non motivation, and I just allowed it to continue.

Maybe it was actually painful for me to use my brain for a while.  When I am sober, I can tell I will be one of those hyper thinking former alcoholic types, because the abuse of alcohol was partially attributed to racing thoughts and high mental energy.

The effort I invested in getting to know this woman on a deeper level than just a few random fucks behind someone else’s back was invaluable.  The perspective is something I could not obtain from a shrink I could not afford.  Even though she dumped me, technically, even as just “friends”, I could only be disappointed for a little while because she granted me with something that I never would have had if I had not virtually met her online.

So few women have such a sexy shape, and even fewer have the intuition to show it off in full length body photos instead of hiding it away out of frame in endless face photos.

She was naturally going to get an avalanche of response, because that’s what she needed to build her confidence, because of a non existent, failing movement known as “size acceptance”.

Right here in Las Vegas, where there is “bbw shit” going on every other week, there are literally tons of beautiful, sexy, intelligent, amazing fat women who will never even know about it, much less have a desire to expose themselves to the kind of social pecking order that must exist in those types of environments.

Candy isolated herself once she hit a certain size because she was smaller herself once, and she always felt sorry for women that look like she does now.  She can’t go out, even with a group of allegedly like minded “fellow fatties”, because she will project the judgement and shame of her size on every person she meets, even if that was the last thing on their minds.

She is embarrassed and humiliated, to the point where she imagines that some repeated invitations to meet out at some bar with some group were just to ridicule how fat she had gotten.  Yes, if you were not aware, fat women do ridicule other fat women because of their size differences.  🙁  THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS SIZE ACCEPTANCE.  It costs the diet industry TOO MUCH FUCKING MONEY.  It is much better to make fat people hate themselves, because you can make more money on drugs, surgery, and “treatment centers” that shoot people up with God knows what.

Because Candy hasn’t wanted to go out to bars to meet entire groups of strangers all at once, she has felt a sense of rejection that all attention directed to her seems to have something to do with enticing her into doing exactly what she doesn’t want to do.  These strange people have no idea of how humiliating it is to her to be asked to go somewhere, and when she declines, that’s pretty much the end of interest in her.  We have been in Las Vegas for almost 2 years, and no model has ever appeared with Candy Godiva in that time.

It’s no skin off my teeth, I am perfectly grateful and content just to work with her and only her for the rest of my life.  I just thought it was very ironic that in a city that is allegedly buzzing with bbw activity, there is at least one SSBBW who did get left behind.

I guess I drifted just a little, which means I have to wrap this up, because I have shit to do, and now I have to re-read all of this!  It is easy to see why alcohol has been so tempting for me.  My mind really works like this.  I think like this.  It is sometimes difficult for me to stay on track with just one subject, because I see connections that always lead so very far away.  I am still trying to figure out how to exploit this talent to my advantage, and it’s not even about money, because obviously I am not too concerned with that.  What irony, I live in Vegas, where everybody is trying to screw everybody else over, and I don’t give a fuck about money anymore.

Wow, what an observation.  I am not on alcohol either.  I have often said on facebook that I think I get even weirder off of alcohol, because there is some part of me that I have pushed down for so very long that I have to get used to being that person all over again.

Part of the person I used to be, was a model recruiter.  Even if I don’t give two shits if I find a single model in this awful, God forsaken place, I will at least try.  It has helped me to overcome another compulsion that was hurting me and my relationship.  The grass is not greener.  Another good reason for creating personal ads was to see all of the trauma and human debris that has been discarded for decades, sometimes for very good reason.

I wanted to see the horror and disappointment I would be faced with, having such a specific preference, being so very old, and knowing that I am actually “picky” even though I am attracted to the type of women most guys claim they could never be attracted to, but jerk off to secretly, thanks to me, and my super morbidly obese porn.

Yeah, it is going to take some getting used to, this part of me that I was literally drowning in ice beer.  It is only just coming to the surface, and I have placed personal ads at ok cupid, fet life, plenty of fish, saucydates, connectingsingles, myfreepersonals, and datehookup.  I have openly admitted to being in a relationship (where they even allow), and my only ambition there is to make new friends.

I may have fantasies, and one day a few of them may actually come true.  They don’t rule me though, and I am living with an ultimate fantasy that I never thought I would see again when she left the last time.  I was driving her away again, because I wanted to escape my isolation into a secondary alcohol induced isolation.

I believe that I wanted to take control of my decision to isolate myself, as painful as it may have been, by sinking into a state where I had to isolate myself from Candy for the periods of time that I was drinking too heavily.  That probably makes absolutely no sense.

By creating all of this attempt to be social (and no, facebook isn’t social, it’s fucking fake social), I was able to find just one person who actually read most of my ranting instead of ignoring it.  Unfortunately, I did not mean to create feelings in her that would have caused her to need to reject the friendship, but I hope I was able to teach her that she can find a guy that is just as interested in what’s in her head as he is about her massive, ginormous cup size…

I had my own fantasies of course, and Candy had to know it, as I awkwardly attempted to lure the sexiest woman I found locally on ok cupid right into the apartment to meet with us as purely friends with no expectations.

If I was so fumbling and awkward this time, I have learned.  Candy knows that I will not be isolated any longer, and she also knows that as I set a better example for her by not drinking at all, I expect more out of her in facing her fears too.

I won’t force her to do anything she doesn’t want to, but just for a few days, Candy wanted to meet this fucking woman.  The one thing that kind of pisses me off is that this woman hurt Candy more than me, because Candy never even saw this shit coming.  She is talking to a woman about meeting up on sunday just to talk at first.  Then she is being told that she is too sexy and she will cause this woman to embarrass herself if she makes a move that she allegedly could not help herself from making, because she wanted to fuck both of us that bad, and she could not be patient… 🙁

I wasn’t even trying to fuck the woman from the first damn visit, but in my extreme self examination with her, she got pulled into something that was way too deep for her to handle.  It would surprise you to know that she has a career in a field where she has to work with people.

I know it’s in the back of Candy’s mind, that some day, maybe…  As long as I am not the horny, pushy, sleazy guy who is pushing hard or forcing her into it.  No, I am making new friends… What happens from there is up to her.  If i get a raging boner I do have 2 wonderful holes and a multitude of fat creases to use to relieve that condition, that happened to be owned by a woman I really never thought I would still be with, much less living in Las Vegas with, and defeating alcoholism with.

I did slip just the other day, when this woman broke up with “us” before ever meeting “us”.  I was disappointed that I caused Candy disappointment, because I knew I was never going to be smooth enough to pull off what I probably was trying to pull off in the back of my mind.

I hate to say that there is an equal exchange thing going on, but Candy hated drunk me.  She knows that drunk me is a manifestation of my issues with abandonment, anxiety, insecurity, and isolation.  She knows I can’t isolate myself, which is why she actively participates in my attempts to make new friends, even if she has serious anxiety about it, because she knows what I am capable of when I am not drinking…

I know I will probably still drink occasionally, but I will see it as a “slip” and not a “habit”.  By habituating the regular use of beer, I was making it a part of a loop that caused me to allow everything I care about to decay and atrophy.   I know that Candy is aware that there is a great energy shift going on, because if I even raise my voice while talking to her at this point, she has to say “energy!”, to remind me that I am psychically impacting her.

Oh, that’s another thing.  I had totally been downplaying the psychic thing because it’s something I like to think about, and fantasize about having, but I am endlessly frustrated by the way it always happens in a way that looks like coincidence instead of intuition.  I like to imagine that I use calculation to determine the future from using data of the past and present.  I have to imagine that occasionally, there is a calculation that is just too close to call, so maybe there is actually something to the small nudge that some kind of inner intuition can create.

Alcohol was also destroying intuition, because it interfered with an ability to calculate probability, and visualize consequence.  Visualization was also highly distorted.  All of this shit feels really awesome when you are “drunk”, but if I get drunk as often as every other day, the residual effects that alcohol has will still continue to influence me even when I appear to be sober.  Damn my studies in neurology!  I have to go!

complexity

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I wanted to write, the last post being created from a perspective that had not yet completed a specific objective which required multiple prerequisites.  The stress of that upcoming change, decision, or action caused ripples in the time before it, extending months.  The planning that had gone into it was set into motion years before that.

I signed in, signed up, and shopped for my plan.  The plan would be free, but I didn’t quite know it at the moment before taking the actions.  I had employed some type of psychic accounting in order to prevent liability, but I had taken it to such an extreme and I probably did not need to.

A moment here or there, sober or intoxicated, taking a peek at subsidy calculators and the current table of poverty guidelines issued by the same people that think one can live on 700 a month.  I could have worked it out much more skillfully, but some frantic, manic, procrastinating, lazy fool chose to take over for a bit instead.

I still haven’t done the research, but a part of me even chose a specific number as an income target.  It wasn’t very well thought out, except some simple math showed that I would have to make one amount in order to maintain bills, maybe save a little, and still have the reserve capacity to make big payments in order to sustain a business model that even I believe is unsustainable.

It takes money to make money.  Even if I had a crazy plan to make as little as possible and still keep everything going as if nothing was wrong, there would still be times when I know I would have to come up with 500, 750, maybe even a cool grand at different points in the future.  As it stands, there are only two main expenses to my entire business model.  Hosting and payment processing.

Without having to file a thousand little receipts I can just pop out those two and the rest is small change.  I just don’t spend money.  On very much at all.  Ever.  Sure, a few bad habits have somehow slipped through the cracks.  Cheap cigarettes in the hopes I’ll quit, cheap beer because I don’t drink it for the taste.  A 22 year old vehicle that I somehow prevent from completely disintegrating before my eyes, and a body that insists on working without intervention from a cruel and malevolent medical complex.

I don’t spend money with some ignorant assumption that I’ll just “write it off”, because when the predicted income level is below a certain point, there is not going to be very much cash to throw around in the hopes of “writing it off”.  In other words, if you know you aren’t going to make a specific amount by purchasing any product from the use of that product, the purchase isn’t a write off, it’s a loss.

Maybe my past experience of getting burned in Orlando by that mystical creature Alexis did more help than harm in the long count calendar after all.  I mistakenly trusted her to access my credit, thus destroying my credit for that 7 year waiting period for everything to just disappear from the credit report.  During those 7 years, one can become quite disciplined in not depending on other people’s money to maintain regular expenses or splurge on what I like to call “stupid shit”.

All those years of avoiding collection efforts, waiting for time to pass, and finding rental accommodations that did not depend on excellent credit really taught me some valuable lessons.  To this day, I couldn’t get unsecured credit if I tried, and I have made it that way on purpose.  I didn’t use any identity protection “service”, I simply made sure that while my score is actually considered “good”, I do not meet at least one of the criteria for being easily granted credit.  I also monitor it myself with an alternate service that is free, except of course for all the ads that are actually paying for it.

There was a built in incentive to be super cheap when you know that the money you have stashed is all you can depend on, and there will be no “safety net” because the credit done run dry and the parents are dead, well, one of them.  It provides quite an incentive to view money as “time” instead of seeing it as all the shit you have been told you need on television.

When I went through my last severe depression, I was prepared to release all possessions and live on the street for a while, just as an experiment.  I was impressed and disappointed with myself at the same time as I got the job that prevented homelessness at the last minute.  I was impressed because I didn’t think I could really pull it off, but I was disappointed because by getting that job, I was abandoning my “plan B”.  I didn’t have the balls to be homeless.

I was too selfish to let go of everything I had created and maintained online, even though, being homeless didn’t mean being “host-less”.  I could still have existed comfortably on the digital plane even as I was sleeping in a 20 year old van.  Hosting is just over $50 a month, rent was $450.  I was ready to trade down and allow my physical self to exist in limbo in order to maintain my digital presence for as long as possible.  I didn’t have the balls to go through with it.  Getting a job, making some cash the old fashioned way, was actually easier for me than just being a lazy fuck and panhandling until I got disability.

It didn’t help that shortly after Candy’s first departure, I made a friend in a guy named Mark.  He was 59, and he had been homeless for about a year after coming to Baton Rouge from Chicago.  I met him the day after he moved in to an apartment upstairs, just after getting his back payment from social security.  This was probably in the second week after Candy left.  I would need to review the video footage to make sure, but I don’t think I started making little videos with him until after a month.

He was very abrasive, demanding, insulting, intolerant, somewhat racist, homophobic, unpredictable, unstable, alcoholic, and addicted to Tramadol.  He was a real Archie Bunker type, but add the severe alcoholism and drug abuse.  I was at a very low point, and I don’t think he saw me for more than an hour of any day sober.  The times he would see me sober were when he nagged at me to drive him somewhere after waking me up by phone or knock on the door to wake me up before I could start pounding vodka.  Even then, I had to constantly resist the urge to down beers with him that I told him not to open before we would even return “home”.

He shared quite a bit of information about exactly how to “be homeless”, survive, even thrive.  The information was geographically specific because he had spent the prior year learning these things right in my own backyard.  If I saw him on the street at some point before really meeting him, which I very well could have, I would have refused to acknowledge him, while being aware of his presence just in case he pulled some shit on me.  I have a sneaky suspicion that I had seen him too, because he was familiar, and I would have faded memories of those times when I ran some errand and had to avoid “those people”.

Even with his encouragement, and offer of limited support in this venture, I couldn’t go through with it.  The alternative was to cut my hair, shave, bathe for once, and wait to start drinking until AFTER I went to at least 3 places in person to drop off a resume and fill out an application, if they even fucking let me.  Instead of basing my search at the time on typical want ads, I created ever widening spheres of physical distance I would have to travel for each “zone” where I applied.  The closest places weren’t interested at all, but things started looking up when I hit about 3 miles out…

That decision changed a whole lot of future shit.  It changed where I live right now, how much cash I have, what computer I’m using, if I still owned that van, and in a way, it has changed who I actually am, “right now”.  This changes over time, I know, but that was one of those pivotal moments when I had a distinct choice about how to proceed, and the choice I made led to a future that I am more than satisfied with.

My decision to occasionally rant and rave about this and that over the course of the last six months may have been an indirect effect of the pressure and stress brought about by my fear of missing another mark.  Doing it all wrong.  My occasional visit with my sometimes evil, insensitive, alcohol induced alter ego hasn’t helped very much.  I was in such a panic over having to pay some crazy new monthly bill, that I somehow created a plan that I don’t think I allowed myself to be fully aware of at the time.

I picked a number, and I was so very amazed to see that it was less than $100 off from what I was “hoping for”.  I know that the number itself would not inspire very much celebration to a lot of people, because it is a very low number.  I am astounded that I am able to maintain the reserve that I have while working at such a low margin for almost an entire year.  I know I was sabotaging myself here and there when it came to making money.  I could have encouraged someone to get off their *ss and help me out a little more often.  I could have taken the massive reserve of unused content and add it to two websites that have not been updated in over two years now.

I didn’t do any of that though.  I got lazy.  I wonder even now just how much of it was intentional, and how much of it was following along with a plan that I created when I was too intoxicated to even remember it on a conscious level.  I never even bothered to do more research to find a much more exact number, or even a slightly higher number that would have still created the same result.  Full subsidized healthcare.

I may have created all of this knowing that as a regular earner of one amount, I will be penalized by a lack of subsidies in such a way that would probably not seem fair or proportionate to whatever financial pain I may perceive as an individual who has lived, saved, and been very comfortable with an income level considered “%100 poverty”.   I haven’t really worked out the math, but a part of me glanced over at the federal table of poverty level income at one point and I realized that I might not have gotten much of a subsidy at all if I had made as little as 5K more that same year.  In fact, my worry was that making one dollar more than some cut off amount would lead to me making one higher amount, and then being forced to pay out so much over the course of a year that I still end up at poverty level income anyway.

If I have to just give it all to them, why even try to make more than a certain amount?  It was difficult to even try writing that out without using specific numbers in an example, because I didn’t do the fucking math myself.  I just kind of guessed that there would be some kind of steep cut off for subsidies way too low to be realistic or reasonable.  So, I went for a target income, when considering expenses, would end up at a point where I do not exceed the federal standard for %100 poverty level by more than 1K.

That was a crazy sounding plan, I know, it seems crazy as I type it.  It was convenient that I worked that one full time job the year before last, and I noticed, that without the W-2 from that job, the desired target income was not that much more.  It seems even more crazy to me that I would have a serious anxiety about making “too much” money.  I should have been adding it up with each statement all through the year, but I was just making general estimations based on quick glances at deposits.

Now, I’m “here”.  I enrolled by the deadline.  I almost didn’t, because the state exchange that I used was going bat shit crazy on sunday night, and I just kind of gave up because I knew monday was the deadline.  I am talking about a state exchange, not the feds.  The feds site is such a piece of shit that they keep extending the deadline for them…  Nope, my state has an exchange, and the site almost fucked me over because I had to do this big complex application, but the site shit out before I could put my “free” medicaid plan into some arbitrary fucking shopping cart.  That shopping cart shit almost fucked me out of enrolling in time, which would have cost me an additional $95 as a “mandate tax”.

I was lucky that I felt compelled to “double check” and go back to the site on the day of the actual deadline, because while the site did say I had “enrolled”, it still forced me to do the shopping cart step, threatening me with potential non enrollment, even though I “digitally signed” this big ass document that took at least 20 minutes to fucking fill out.  I came up with the term “entrolled”, because I thought I was enrolled but because that shit is already more fucking complex than taxes, it is almost impossible sometimes to know for sure.

I shouldn’t complain, but it was stressful.  It fucked up this whole tax season procrastination thing I had going.  I would have made estimated payments through the year based on estimations, but I never knew just how close my fucking estimation would be to what I ended up with.  I didn’t know until I was forced to do all the fucking work of filing my taxes without actually filling out the fucking web form…

I would have procrastinated to do all that shit until at least march, but now I have already been forced to do it, I have all the numbers, and as long as I don’t have a deposit or buy any business related shit, I was ready to do fucking taxes before fucking christmas.  That is fucking bogus.  Oh well, it’s done.  I was also super thorough and honest in giving my future psychic prediction of exactly to the penny what I will be making in 2014 too.

I have always thought it was amazing that psychic accounting will soon become a regular term in our vocabulary, because according to the form I filled out at the state exchange I used, I have to honestly predict my income for next year under threat of fraud and perjury.  It’s bad enough I had to do my fucking taxes before christmas, now the assholes are going to threaten me to psychically call to the dead and ask exactly how much my fat porn is going to make next fucking year.

Wow, mood change there!  I can bitch and complain about having to figure out taxes to the penny months early, but it is a genuine “first world problem” isn’t it?  I mean, the alternate me, on a timeline where I never got that job, would probably not be too worried about being hit up for a mandate tax that he would not have to pay because he would not have an income to pay taxes on.  Although, I am curious about the details of that potential alternate reality, like, would I still be liable for a mandate tax even though I did not meet the minimum filing threshold of income.  Maybe I didn’t do more research on that detail because I didn’t really want to know, or I just don’t give a fuck because it is so detached from the future that ended up taking place.

Either way, here we are.  I am not homeless, and I somehow tricked Candy into coming back willingly. 🙂  I have endured the year 2013 with a local move, and the first year payment to process visa on the websites.  That was a lump payment of 750 right there.  It does take money to make money indeed.  All the while, I was making less than $1000 over what my government declares %100 poverty level.  I keep typing that phrase out, because after enduring the alleged hardship of making that income, I still have money in the bank.  Am I “poor” because of my income alone when I am still “comfortable” and actually have “savings”?

In fact, I seem to have everything I want and need, and the only pressing things I still really want are not going to cost any money.  If one of my final goals is to get a specific certification, it is up to me to make it happen.  Money is not an obstacle to education because I would find a cheap way to have someone else pay for it without going into debt.  If I want to gain yet another type of certification that I don’t want to get into, there are very defined steps for me to obtain that “license”, and because of the very thing I have been complaining about, I may now start a process that will not even cost anything.  I will finally have a “doctor”.  That could be scary, because Mark taught me some stuff about handling medicaid doctors too… 🙂

This latest experiment in living just over poverty level has been educational, not only in showing me that I could do it, but also in changing my perception of poverty in general.  It is ironic that I chose to sit down and write on christmas day itself, a day which represents a loop of disappointment, resulting charity, disappointment, repeat.  As a I phase out and watch local news, a part of me would be involuntarily touched for a moment by the generous act of a charity group handing out toys to poor children.

After a moment, I would realize, that I was just afflicted on a subconscious level by a phenomenon that has been created as a direct result of corporate capitalism and blind consumerism.  In other words, if christmas did not exist to begin with, poor children would not be denied that specific positive event, created to raise the bottom line of retailers across the board.  There is a desire, as a human, to allow myself to just flow with this feeling of charitable propaganda, because I want to feel for the children, to see them happy.  The logical side of my reasoning has to ruin the party though, because I am quickly reminded that this entire system has been created out of a new type of greed and sophisticated marketing and propaganda.

I don’t need all the shit on television, I don’t need this or that specific thing, I have not created a ritual involving this or that over priced “treat”.  I have a very short list of very specific things that I would choose to have in my life, but I would let go of those things with little bitterness if my hand was forced and shit got out of control.  For example, there does exist a price point where I would say “fuck this, I quit smoking!”  While it seems like beer is going up and up, I am fortunate that my prior experimentation has not left me physically dependent, so even if I still enjoy psychological exploration of my intoxicated alter ego, it is not a daily habit, and a habit that can be scaled back to such infrequency that I would begin to miss it altogether, if all the assholes that sold beer passed some price point that I am not quite sure about this second.

The only thing I can’t do without is a person, and I lost her before, over and over.  There is no amount of money that could keep her, or lose her.  There is only my bad choices that could lose her.  I am lucky that one of the only bad choices I have even been tempted by was alcohol, and I am very fortunate that she was able to make a compromise to allow occasional use of a lesser source of this chemical.  Trade down from vodka to beer, and attempt to restrict intake to a point that leaves me much less intoxicated than I used to get on vodka.  Every once in a while, there is a breach in my own security, and a part of my own self attempt so live dangerously and push my limits.  Both with myself, and with her.

I know it is wrong, I know I don’t need it.  I know I would always choose her over it.  I guess that is where the term “guilty pleasure” comes from.  There is a part of me that argues “I’m a grown man, if I want to get really fucked up on some ice beer now and then just cut me some slack!”.  It is not that simple though, not nearly.  It never is.  Compromise is a very delicate and complex thing.  Both sides have to give.  I am grateful she has bent to the degree that she has, and while there has been one dented wall incident from a thrown mug (not at me thank god), she has shown remarkable restraint when I have chosen to take my ice beer intake one can over the line.

I can’t make excuses, I can’t even really talk to her about it, because it makes her too uncomfortable.  I have to assume that I am “alcoholic”, even if I don’t feel like I am.  Even if I don’t crave alcohol intoxication every day, or every other day, or I let it slip for 3 or 4 days so my resistance is super low, I still seem to thoroughly enjoy the initial intoxication, and once afflicted, I am driven to push further and further.  I think that is called “binge drinking”, but it is nowhere near as severe as my little relationship with vodka was.

I still “use and abuse” alcohol, like some kind of explicit street drug.  I deny myself for days, sometimes really just “forgetting to drink”, sometimes getting it while out, knowing that I won’t be running errands for nearly a week and I want to take a little trip to fuzzy reality land just once before I have to go out again.  I can’t purchase a “30 pack” because at some point I might allow myself to consume more than 12.  If I get a 12 pack, I have to put 6 in the cooler and give Candy the other 6, or I will most probably get up to 10, maybe opening number 11 but not being able to finish it, leaving a sorry sight of 1.5 beer total the day after I got a fucking 12 pack.  I could have gotten loaded twice, but instead, 5 beer me said “fuck that shit I want to get fucked up!”

It is hard to figure all this shit out at times, if it’s not one thing it’s another.  I felt like writing for a bit, and I came up with the title complexity before I knew for sure i wanted to write about.  I didn’t even get into some stuff I was thinking about when I first started, like trying harder to apologize for all my ranting and raving about weight loss surgery.  I thought that subject was limited to drunk me being stupid, but it appears that frustrated sober me before mandate compliance was using distraction and misdirection yet again.

If I seem so skilled at tricking myself into this or that behavior, I have come to another theory, about how I may be able to re-align my thinking and goal orientation in such a way where I actually “forget to drink”, or even better, procrastinate from drinking.  That’s a thought.  I was using alcohol while I was committing the act of procrastination, but maybe, I can turn some shit around so that I am literally too busy with some other shit I would rather be doing to be tempted to take a trip to that place where I hang out with a part of myself that I hate but am fascinated with at the same time.

I wondered myself why I would feel compelled to hyper post all over facebook when intoxicated on alcohol.  I would ask myself “who am I talking to?”  I think I might kind of be talking to myself there.  I have reached some point where I only get loaded about twice a week, the second time is not as severe as the first because I am still dreading the last time.  This last time I did it, I noticed something about it that was already turning into a habit, a game that I was playing with myself that I wasn’t fully aware of as I was doing it.

Within 2 days after one of these binges and facebook rants, I would slowly begin to remember things that I would have typed, as well as music and news articles I may have posted.  If I posted photos, those will come back to me later too.  One of the reasons I avoid facebook after a drunken rant session could be related to this fuzzy memory game I have been playing that I didn’t “remember”.   When I use terms like distraction, misdirection, and even regression I might be minimizing the actual phenomenon.

What started out as using alcohol for escapism and avoiding reality has definitely evolved into something else.  It is still not habit, it’s not every day, I don’t consume alternate substances not meant for consumption that contain alcohol, and if there was just one beer in the fridge it would not be appealing to me in the least unless I went out and picked up a sufficient amount to “peak”.

It is kind of ironic, that I will take on the responsibility of having a problem with alcohol, but at the same time, I am forced to reconcile with the fact that occasional alcohol intoxication would be acceptable, if it was mild and I didn’t have to push it to the point where I am starting to have trouble walking and typing.  Even worse, it would not be so bad if there were not a part of myself that has a limit, but it is a very very high limit.  I noticed that I stopped taking diphenhydramine to enhance alcohol altogether, because I literally can’t type at a much lower level of alcohol consumption.

I realize that this problem would not even be as “bad” or unacceptable if it wasn’t compounded by the past trauma and experience of my partner, who resents that fact that she can’t keep multiple forms of alcohol to make cocktails with because I might raid it.  She is ok with alcohol consumption, but not alcohol binging.  That is very ironic, because she occasionally enjoys a food binge.  We have had to fight against co-enabling by making very distinct compromises.  The complexity of love… 🙂

I am running out of steam, I don’t know how or why I got over 4500 words, but hey, I won’t be drinking.  Not tonight. 🙂

 

forced addiction transfer or FAT

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It has been quite a while…  Even now, I want to do something else, so maybe for once, I can keep it short and sweet…

I have been drifting off into never land with all my wild thoughts and potentially irrational assumptions for a long time.  I have decided that I may have to return to this activity, even if a part of me wonders what it is all about after I have created hundreds of posts that are tens of thousands of words long, and then delete all of it and start over again…

A part of ‘this place’ is going to be about ‘me’, and another part of it is going to be some serious shit that I seem to come up with involuntarily and almost compulsively bombard Candy with to the point where she literally has a head ache…  I need to put it here, and stop giving Candy migraines…  And, stop bugging people on the face book… 🙂

I have had a ‘bug up my ass’ for a very long time about the ‘weight loss surgery’.  I have read extensively, comprehended partially, and asserted my opinions rather randomly, for a long, long time now…  None of it seemed to really make much sense probably, and I was too lazy to even go back and re read any of it myself.  I am sure I would find some of it brilliant, some of it stupid, and some of it just drunk rambling nonsense…  None of that matters now, because it is gone… All of it… Maybe a part of me thought it was such shit that I had to start over.  I believe a prior post addressed the possibility that I created it all just to delete it years later and confuse the fuck out of anyone who even noticed any of it was going on at all…

I have googled the term “forced addiction transfer”, and I welcome you to do the same.  It is ironic, at least to me, that as I google this term, I am ‘obesity biased’ because of my prior experience and rather confusing sexual fixation on super morbidly obese human females.  It should have come as no surprise that as I attempt some feeble research on the seemingly random string of words, I find several references to weight loss surgery.

I thought for a second I might be re-inventing the wheel, and I would have found some result, somewhere in that very first page, where those words were strung together, and google would even provide a convenient bold type on those words and a short paragraph before and after them.  As it turns out, that wasn’t the case.  Maybe if I dug just a little deeper before bragging about my discovery on face book, I could have found other connections to this phenomenon that have been very well documented and carefully considered in some random ‘fat blog’ somewhere on the internets…

I saw ‘junk food science’ come up, of course, a professionally written, beautiful in all of it’s effort and eloquent in the writer’s style and thorough investigation.  Of course that writer would dive into this topic, because they are such a logical match of psychological phenomenon.  My own issues with self discipline, self control, addiction, and compulsive behavior would help me to understand more about what the words “addiction transfer” actually mean, from a very real perspective of experience and pain.

I may have written about and deleted previously issues that I developed when I became worried about the legal liability of using one drug and subsequently switched over to a more legally acceptable one.  This would have pleased ‘society’, but unfortunately, the woman that I consciously or sub-consciously choose to love would not be able to handle this change on a deep emotional level.  Her prior experience with users of this legally accepted alternative caused her great emotional distress, up to and maybe beyond what one would call “PTSD”.   What was worse than her having this condition was her own lack of understanding of it.  If she could not get to the bottom of what was making her such a bitch, all I could do was evolve, adapt, and attempt to compromise.

There could be no compromise between two people who both refused to give up their ‘drug of choice’ just because it was emotionally inconvenient for both of them…  This caused much greater pain and tragedy for both parties, and I acted out in ways that I have not experienced for over a decade when I felt someone ripped me off and stole my money, my credit, and my very “artwork” for a year’s time.  Of course, later I would realize that all of that mess was my own fault because of my bad decisions and young dumb judgement…  I paid, I learned, I matured, I moved on.

One day while watching Dr. Phil of all people (it’s almost painful to even type it), I saw him say that you can’t break a bad habit, you can only replace it with a constructive activity.  The way I interpreted that was, the ability to switch over from one bad compulsion to another bad compulsion is “addiction transfer”.  Switching over from one negative compulsion to a “good” one is thought to be “breaking a bad habit”.  It is painfully, blatantly obvious that in order to really solve all those issues entirely would be to figure out exactly what about the human mind causes some people to be more compulsive than others, and then, how do we specifically address compulsive behavior and “addiction” without being clouded by greed and a desire to mold the media’s message in a way that we create a “rehab society”.  Rehab from sex addiction, rehab from drugs, rehab from behaving badly.

It troubles me to know, deep down, that this rehab society has turned to the “dark side” where obesity and the compulsion of over eating is involved.  I realize that there is so much more money to be made so much faster by cutting someone open rather than digging into their mind.  It is also painfully obvious to me that the total lack of interest in digging into the ‘obese mind’ is due to the fast cash to be made by desperate people who are willing to have perfectly healthy organs cut out and altered in order to control behavior.

In my personal experience, as I sit and type this, I am stopping myself from wasting time entirely by playing a long, complex, and involved video game.  When I decide to sit in that game, I am stopping myself from bombarding some useless and pointless face book page with random thoughts.  When I am particularly distressed, this behavior can even begin to creep onto others with emails and little posts on this or that “thread” of conversation that I am not really invited to join.  In doing all of that, I would also inadvertently be avoiding the thought of drinking alcohol, because I seem to really enjoy getting intoxicated on alcohol just past the point where my partner is comfortable.  The ‘compulsive’ aspect of my behavior is simply that I won’t restrict myself from it’s use entirely, but when I do allow myself to have it, I know there is a certain point within a certain level of intoxication where I will want to consume more than I set out to before I started drinking to begin with.

Candy would argue this makes me “alcoholic”, and I could agree that this is a problem.  At this same time, I am not physically dependent on alcohol because of several reasons.  It is not my “drug of choice” to begin with.  It is a drug that I turned to in an effort to use “addiction transfer” in a positive way to reduce the legal liability of using my real drug of choice, which is a plant, which is a true tragedy in and of itself considering that it is not physically addictive.  I do not have a “craving” for alcohol when I do not have it in my possession, but when I do get it, I tend to get enough so that I will have two “doses”.  The internal test once I have it is if I can stop myself when under it’s influence from digging into that second day’s worth, eliminating the second day’s total potential effect, and therefore, taking the second potential day of it’s use away from myself in the process of violating a rule I made for myself while sober.

I realize that this is very similar to the way that Candy gets chinese take out.  She would typically buy enough to have two day’s worth.  The problem is, she would actually consider having two huge servings on the first day, and maybe just a little left over for a second day.  Candy can’t get the same “rush” on a subsequent day because she will always consume more than half on the first day.  While she makes the accusatory assumption that I am just “an alcoholic”, she is engaging in the very same behavior, and over time, this behavior would contribute to her potential immobility, and shortened mortality.

When considering “addiction transfer”, and my own ability to guide my compulsive behaviors into activities that could be more constructive, positive, and beneficial for my own future, I have to consider that my addiction transfer “technique” is voluntary.  When I consider just how many things I have turned to in order to satisfy some compulsive behavior to do something “too much”, I realize that there is no one substance or activity that could “be enough” to ever really solve the appetite of the compulsive mind.  The simple realization of this helps me to guide that energy towards areas of my life that need improvement, and obviously self discovery.

In a way, I realize that my recent use of the phrase “automatic addiction transfer” seemed to switch on a light, and give me ideas about how “rehab tech” has remained the same forever without having to evolve for the changing marketplace of “brand new addictions” coming along left and right.  Abstinence is the only conclusion by a rehab society in a phase of our history where obesity is the new “moral panic” for whatever reason, and the media creates more and more obesity hysteria as they cash in on advertising products meant to “help”.  All the while they ignore one inconvenient pathological factor to obesity, ad 36. The “fat virus” that you never hear about on the news as you hear people rant about obesity on a daily or weekly basis.  That is another post entirely, but it kind of fits in, as I am already tempted to wrap this up, but realize it is way too in depth to cover “right now”.

I am lucky that I was able to fight any form of compulsive eating behavior from an early age.  I was “chubby” when I was a kid, but I started working from the month that I turned old enough to work, and that amount of activity and a few small changes helped me to reach what would be considered an “average” weight.  There were several motivating factors for this, the very first would be “girls”.  Because I realized at an early age I was attracted to women who are “larger” to say the least, I felt that I should make myself as physically appealing as possible in order to increase my probability of successfully meeting and of course fucking some really big fat chicks in my life.

Until I reached a certain emotional plateau, I didn’t realize that my super fat sexual conquests were actually compulsive behavior as well.  Even through three marriages, I never met someone that I could really place a deep emotional attachment on until I was in my 30’s.  Once that emotional attachment took place, I could voluntarily become monogamous even though I had the option to remain in an “open relationship” like some old creepy “swingers”.

I just didn’t want it anymore.  I didn’t enjoy searching for, flirting with, seducing, fucking, and filming other women anymore.  Once there was a real emotional connection to someone I had never felt, everything changed.  I would still be afflicted with other compulsive behaviors, but screwing any big giant fat woman who let me would no longer be one of them.  I believe that was a form of “automatic addiction transfer”, because I went from one compulsion to fuck all kinds of fat women and film it all to put on my website, to a much darker, much more difficult, and much more emotionally tedious and impossible task of really pleasing just one woman.

When I came up with the idea of “Forced Addiction Transfer”, or FAT, it was out of frustration and the great sense of pain I feel when I realize that people who modify their otherwise healthy, working, cancer free internal organs in order to change just one compulsive behavior are being used as test subjects in order to embrace forced addiction transfer as a viable way of extracting money from obese people.  Notice I did not say “as a viable way of curing obesity”, because the cure for all obesity is in the head, not in the gut.  People who dig in our heads are very expensive though, and they take a long, long time.  Bariatric surgery is so much cheaper in the long run, yet it obviously has greater profit potential up front.  Surgery is to make money, not to cure obesity.

Surgery creates what I believe is an inhumane psychological condition of forced addition transfer, or FAT.  This is why it is so well documented that many post surgicals become alcoholics, or drug users.  Without addressing the underlying causes of compulsive behavior, it appears to me, an uneducated “sexual dimorphist”, that initiating forced addiction transfer through any surgery that restricts natural ability to “eat” is simply piling on.  This creates an even more intense need to fulfill the compulsive behavior through another avenue.  The choice will probably be made early, in the first few weeks of adapting to having a compulsive behavior that cannot be fulfilled without greater pain, misery, suffering, complications, and maybe even death.

This is why in my opinion, any surgery to address compulsive behavior is going to have horrible long term effects.  These effects will not simply be felt by the ones who have had the surgery alone.  The singular decision to have surgery will effect everyone connected to the individual, because all acquaintances will be forced to adapt along with the individual to this cruel experimental rehab technique.  We live in a rehab society that survives through it’s consistent message of abstinence.  By selling people surgery as a “cure”, we are telling them that they are beyond all hope of psychological help in addressing their underlying compulsive behaviors.  Because they are both the perpetrator and the victim, they must be punished, even if it means executing the cruelest possible punishment on one’s self.

If the entire rehab model works on abstinence, it is particularly cruel from my perspective to encourage people to become “surgical anorexics”.  While I watch media, I pay particular attention to those who attempt to discourage anorexia with a straight face.  If we live in an abstinence based rehab model society, then we must encourage the super morbidly obese to become anorexic to “fix them”, even if it means forcing them to become anorexic through surgery.  I don’t know about “most people”, but I think all of this is sick.  I have to hope that my own obesity bias doesn’t contribute to a feeling that I was more right than I ever wanted to be when I saw this strategy as “shrink’em or kill’em”.

I have been typing the words “obesity conspiracy” a few times on face book here and there as well.  While that is a topic that could not possibly be covered in just one post, I would like to associate this one issue with that larger “system”.  While it is easy to dismiss anyone who hypothesizes the existence of any alleged conspiracy as a complete nut bag, there is so much data to suggest that “something is going on behind the scenes”, that it is almost impossible to ignore.  It goes a lot deeper than medical device manufacturers that made a whole lot of quick cash and now want to sell the obesity division because the profits are down after this “low mortality rate” surgery started killing people one after another in Los Angeles a few years back.  I’m sure they would not mind dumping the division before all the class action suits come in as well.  After a few more years passes, they will.

Forced Addiction Transfer theory is very real, and it started from the minute some surgeon figured out that he could cut out some guts, make some cash, and the “patient” or “test subject” would lose weight.  For as long as this type of human vivisection has existed, studies to figure out what happens up to five years after having surgery were only just recently released.  The results were not quite as “cure” as the medical community wanted, and that is why you have seen the effort to sell surgery toned down considerably.  It still exists, but now it is limited to those who can “pay up front” and those who are not paying at all.  The ones who are not paying at all have much higher rates of complications and death, because this is just the excuse a doctor needs to eliminate one more social security recipient.  Sad, crazy sounding, and hopefully for all of us, Not true at all…

 

 

 

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