Far from the divine experience I had envisioned and hoped for, my death merely had me dismayed in red light for a bit and reappear at the bottom of the staircase. Dismayed and doubtful I felt lost in a carnal sense – as though my inner bad was overflowing and getting the better of me bit by bit.

Fighting to keep my composure, the will to supersede the intense feelings of being alone, without a core I can gaze upon whenever I am insecure – without a safe haven and just the innermost bestial sense of rottenness burrowing in my intestines. I could puke, if it would only help.

A part of me is missing and all I wish to do is do that ‘death’ thing over and over until I actually die.

Self loathing is definitely getting the better of me and I am overtaken by urges to engage in self hatred, self harm and justified suffering.

I fear that I will be laying in that room with that cat that does not replace her, and just lay there waiting for enlightenment. Until I inevitably succumb to the dark within me that is the embodiment of depraved behaviour such as binge drinking myself to sleep and smoking whatever I can find.

Another woman won’t help. The pain of the memory is too great and forgetting her is impossible.

My entire existence is based upon becoming the man I need to be for her, and having become that man and having found her let me think that I had reached an end.

Now everything is rearranged and twisted.

My purpose is somehow escaping me, and if only I could latch on to my previous positive thinking I would get ahead of the curve.

Step by step my depression increases. The room in my mind is pitch black by now and all I want is that blood red couch and some blood red wine, maybe even ponder on slicing my arms blood red.

That last thought was a bit too much and had me hit bottom.

If there is one thing that sobers me up, its hitting rock bottom and luckily I feel elated a bit. Its like a spontaneous reaction I get when I have gone too far with myself and I snap back into a more clear reality.

From experience I can say though, that my mind does the trick, but the body and spirit need aid. Liquid and ethereal aid. Convincing of the reality of the positivity by going through its negative.

I test myself through pain and discomfort to make sure that what I think is really true and within my grasp before I run with it. Somewhat of a prank I play on life for doing the same on a regular but slower basis. This way I know what I want and am confident in it. Sure.

What plagues me is my sarcasm about it. It always gets me. The disbelief in my own tests. Forever testing the tests that are testing me and are testing my patience on a second by second basis.

I fear that there is not enough belief in myself and my actions and that might yet be another death of me, but for arguments sake – I live an eternal life now, so what is there to lose?

It seems I can die here and reawaken to my own stupidity, irritation, wonder, excitement, dismay, narcissism, violent thought, self-loathing, bewilderment, enthusiasm and love for this tortured life I currently have, endlessly. It’s like the floor just fell out and I am drifting in a clad space. Somehow of my own design. A game I am meant to play, but suck at until my former feeling of divinity is reinstated.

I think it wise to engage in the awareness of my self loathing – the problem with it is that I don’t know when to stop or how to stop it. This pit is so expansive and my yearning to experience the lesson to its fullest has me wanting to just say ‘yes’ to it.

So here I go, I am saying yes to loving out my fears in this ethereal/physical form so I may triumph over it. So I might find her again. So that the barriers dissolve and all that’s left is me and her in a connected field of mind.

Simply so that the source of the loathing is extinguished and I am free once more.