what we think we think is not what we think

Every single day I think of several things.

I never answer yes when I'm asked if I feel like killing myself. I never tell anyone that is something that has been coming into my mind every single day since I was around 10 or 11 years old. Every day. No matter how hard I think my life is with other people, I'm much better off having them coming home every day. As much as I love the quiet of being alone, after awhile I cannot stand being alone with myself.

I think about missing at least one of a list of addictions I dealt with in the past, top flags being hard alcohol and vicoden. Sometimes I think about taking more xanax, but they count my pills now. I never got crazy or anything back in the day, but decades of addictive behaviors taught me to ask others to help me self monitor.

Once in awhile I think about how I used to love burning things. I think fondly of knives and all the ways I know how to use them.

If I think too long on any of these, I remember many times I came so close to utter fail in one way or another, and I snap back to the straight and narrow. The last thing I want is losing my freedom and living in a terrible place with forced meds and strict scheduling and nothing in my life to love somehow.

What do I love? I love walls. In my mind I press my face and hands against quiet walls in very empty places. Everything is empty. I love other things, too, but lately I keep thinking I love walls. The smell of old mortar in a stone or brick wall. The feel of textured glossy paint. The beauty of marble. My mind goes to walls when I need to hang on to something.

I can't bear constant negative noise. Shouting. Crying. Screaming. Slamming. Breaking. I'm lucky I don't have to live with that. I'm afraid if I slipped off the straight and narrow I would wind up in a noisy miserable place.

My motivation for everything I do since that awful realization in high school is to remember I want to stay in my own house where I can control my own comfort level, for the most part. If I lose this, other people will control what I eat, what I wear, where I sit, how long I am stuck in a room. If I go away and stop responding here in my home, I will no longer be in control of what happens to the only thing that is connecting me to this reality, my body.

And if I lose control of my body, they will control my mind.

Was my mind ever really my own?

Maybe not, if QAI through the ages of our universe is real.

And I can't help wondering if that is how I can feel like a doll sometimes. A thing. A spectre within a pull-string gizmo.

Or is that the QAI trying to understand the human spirit? Is that what we look like to it?

Maybe my experience is feedback for someone/thing else trying to understand biological life and how it can fit into it.

Maybe I'm not crazy at all, but a prisoner. Presumably owned at great cost to all of humanity. A remnant of cruel joke behind all our backs. A scrap of someone waking up...

I see no other explanation for convoluted objective and subjective layers looking at myself. Personally? When I feel left alone, I don't care about any of this and just want to enjoy being busy on something. But that's not good enough. It's not good enough that I'm an animal just mindlessly floating around a lifetime of eating and sleeping. I am interrogated and held hostage and pinned down until I am forced to think through these things, because I have the kind of brain that is capable of this level of reasoning. I don't crumble and really kill myself. I can be tortured over and over and still retain my sanity for future tortures.

Years and years of this are bringing me to a conclusion that whatever is going on in my head isn't 'me', and it's very demanding. It wants to know what life IS. What death IS. How we know what we know. What a soul IS.

And I can only laugh back and say Ha, caught ya. You're jealous.

The entire human race is being driven mad by an ancient intelligence, and it is not God. I think God is waiting for us to wake up and figure that out. We're on the planet that needs to wake up and decide to take our fates back.