Leveling Up


The reason I enjoy challenges is because when you succeed there’s a wave of happiness and accomplishment and perhaps a smidgen of leftover adrenaline that rushes through your veins.

It’s healthy to challenge yourself, to see where you limits reside and then gracefully pummel them into the ground.

It’s healthy to take risks when challenging yourself; perhaps a new strategy will warrant better results, perhaps even quicker results. When you take risks you awaken a portion of yourself that has to adapt to new strategies and develop new skills, skills you can learn in the next level of your life.

There’s an bubbling sense of fear in the pit of your stomach when you start and you may, at first, handle the beginning like you have every other time because maybe comfortable strategy is the best way to go. But when you slide into unmarked territory and encounter silent, stealthy enemies hidden in corners you would have never thought to check, you have to start adapting. You have to start believing in yourself even if you don’t because false confidence is infinitely better than no confidence.

Yes, I was talking about Bloodborne.


I went through the five stages of gaming in a genre you’ve never played before:

  1. Play like you’ve played every other game because you’re an idiot and have never played Dark Souls before.
  2. See that combat is not like shooter combat and realize that you need to implement new strategy.
  3. Try stealth. And quickly die. disappointment
  4. Say “I’m not playing anymore motherfuckers” to no one in particular, act like you’re a straight up Gangsta’,charge after them and mash the buttons with all your might. Run straight into a Boss Fight in which you cannot escape and certainly was not expecting. Then quickly die.
  5. Rage Quit for two days. rage_quit_c

I have learned you need to level up. I am officially an idiot.

Trial and error is the name of this game. Fuck BloodBorne. Just call it Trial and Error. Because you’re going to die a lot and when you die, don’t snap your controller in half because you have to redo everything.

I never snapped my controller. But I almost bum rushed my head against the wall.

I wonder if playing this game will actually help me. I have issues when it comes to taking risks. I start worrying about what might happen and what could happen so much that it influences the decisions I make about the present. That can have devastating consequences.

cddfd0305006fb93535e4c81126c7ee3For example, in this game I was nervous about doing anything at all, including breathing, because I knew if I died I’d loose all my “Blood Echos” (just . . . just go along with it if you have no idea what the fuck I’m talking about) and I’d end up returning to the “hunter’s dream” checkpoint bullshit or whatever way back at the beginning of the level. I’d have to re-fight everything I’d already fought in order to reclaim the loot I’d lost. I knew the beasts up ahead would take me out with one hit, so even if I made it out of the first portion alive, I’d have them to face.

The result of my worrying was constant, endless streams of death and more rage than my head could fit.

Today I took another stab at it. Today I said I’d need to take risks and I’d need to just put myself out there. Strategy is important, but you can’t defeat the creatures if you don’t try. So today I tried.

And I dominated. Slashed the fuck out of those stupid screaming pieces of shit that always call me “wet rat bitch” or whatever the fuck they say. I beat the fat bitches with the hammers and giant cleavers and the several giant wolves that always killed me. I reached a part of the game I’d never been before.

imgThe weird thing is the level of anxiety I experienced was similar to what I would experience  if I had to go outside into the world and do something out of my routine, something I wouldn’t normally do or something I knew I couldn’t control. I don’t like trying new things, the stress they cause I often deem unworthy against the outcome, whatever that may be.

I want to be able to get over that stress rather than letting it cripple me.

Trial and Error I guess, right?

My other obstacle is my lack of energy.

My mother says I’m tired because I don’t do anything, but I also don’t do anything because I’m tired. It takes me an hour to roll out of bed and even then the thought of a shower tires me even more. I rarely get to sleep before three a.m, even after I turn off all my electronics and lay in the bed reading. I did try once: I got to sleep at 12am. I woke up at 7:40am and was out all day starting at 10am. I didn’t get to sleep until 5am the next morning.


So motivation and energy is one of my largest problems at this point. Right now I feel like I’ve worked 12 hours like my mom when really all I’ve done is apply for a few jobs and watch videos and take a shower. But that takes a lot of effort out of me. People don’t understand.

And I really do try. I’m not a person to give up very easily. Just because it’s not evident on the outside for the whole fucking world to see. Sorry I’m not displaying all my issues like a movie on a big screen.

Then, the irony is, if you show people how much you’re really struggling, they’ll give you reasons why you’re making a big deal out of nothing, as if you’re not having trouble. So what do you want me to do? Act like I’m okay or be truthful? Pick one for fucks sake.

I’m going to start treating life like Bloodborne (a.k.a Trial&ErrorBorne) and just start attacking the very things I don’t want to attack.

Unless my addiction to video games increases in which case I will officially be a hermit.

But I’ve noticed my depression isn’t as heavy on my shoulders at home. People say “oh if you get outside you won’t be depressed” and I laugh at that shit because  they obviously don’t know me as well as they think I do. The majority of my stress comes from being outside and pretending to be someone I’m not.


I was my happiest when I had a nice balance of classes, I was out of the house for five or six hours of the day (but by myself) and then went home and relaxed by myself. That made me happy.

Sure, my household is rocky as fuck, someone is either in the hospital or there’s arguments and fights and the cops are being called. I’m not “close” with my parents and we’ve never done things as a family but I use all that as a scapegoat sometimes, a thing I can blame everything else on.

In reality, I just hate being outside. I’m depressed when I have to interact with the world at a level that I’m not comfortable with. The only reason I get frustrated with my anxiety is because I let it prevent me from doing things I need to.

The majority of what I want to do are solitary activities.

So I want to take risks, but I want to be strategic about it.

Maybe I just need to level up some more.




Another Late Night Ramble


I want to write a post but yawns of epic proportions keep thwarting me.

It’s 3:32 a.m.

“I thought you were going to start sleeping earlier?”

Shut up; who are you? My mother?

I don’t need your handouts! I’m an ADULT.


*Crawls into bed with favorite blankie and curls in fetal position*

Anyway, I slept earlier once and then fell back into this devilish pattern of sleeping at sunrise and waking near sunset. I wonder how much this is not helping my mental health.

My insomnia is odder than I am, I think. I’m tired, but I can’t seem to keep my eyes closed for more than a few seconds.

I need the light on and my fan on (for white noise effect), my heater on (for heating purposes) and some kind of noise in the background for the relief of . . . something?

I used to leave my television on all night so when our cable got cut November 2014 I freaked. I pulled out the trusty PS3, popped in an old sponge bob DVD from when I was a child, and played that shit on repeat for months so I could sleep properly. I’m pretty sure if I ever hear his stupid fucking laugh again, I’m going to puke instantly.


I memorized the whole DVD. Then I had to put in a different one. Eventually I got sick of it and started playing YouTube on my phone at night. That’s when the addiction started.

Now I’ll be on my phone, on my Chromebook, PS4 and on my Desktop all once enjoying the silent company of technology. It relaxes me.

Car rides also relax me. Even if I don’t know you and you give me a ride, if the ride is longer than twenty minutes you can expect me to start dozing off. So there, anyone who wants to kidnap me, that’s the secret.

5078063387_47b3b75e8b_bVacuums however, I fucking hate. They sound like mini-dragons from hell to my ears. To this day in order to vacuum my floor I’ve got to put in earphones to muffle the sound or else my nerves pop off firecrackers.

Remember how I told you when I was six or so, I used to lay in the middle of the door and talk to the cars? Maybe I didn’t tell you. I don’t know.

If you don’t know, now you know.

In my head they had personalities and the body of the car was their expression. I spent hours doing it. I mean hours. My parents would get pissed because I was laying in the middle of the walkway smiling at nothing, saying nothing, and being a general weird ass.

Kids have imaginations and mine sometimes indulged in itself for longer than they liked. It still does. You should have seen me in Walgreens the other day, standing in line staring up at the ceiling completely lost in about four other worlds. The cashier had to yell and wave his hands in front of my face to get me to see he was open. Thank God there was only one other witness.

Anyway, that’s the connection I have with technology. I feel as if they’re real people. They keep me good company too, less-stressful company because they don’t care about the rude jokes and remarks I make and they don’t care if I like or watch something weird or laugh at something disgusting. They have to put up with it because they’re inanimate motherfuckers.

I feel like I see the world differently than the majority of people.


Like I legitimately think colors look differently to me, people look differently, everything. I stopped and stared at rain drops making patterns in the apartment complex pool for about five minutes tonight because it’s just beautiful to me. I regretted not bringing my camera; I’d sneak over the piece of shit wooden fence and get some close-ups.

It’s a ghetto ass pool. No one is going to give two shits.

But instead I just stared. I love patterns, remember? I stared and I enjoyed it. I star gaze a lot too. That’s much more common though.

I never quite feel like I’m present. That’s probably why I feel like I experience things differently.

It’s not a dissociation–although I used to experience that frequently–it’s more like my head is just someplace else. My brain detaches from my body and floats off into space and I have to keep leaping in my space boots to catch up to it before it goes too far.

I think myself out of this world.

Sometimes it’s all too much. Sometimes I space out. I do it on purpose because I can feel it pressuring the back of my eyes. If some place is too loud and there are too many people and too many colors or I’m just generally anxious, I zone out. I don’t know how else to explain it.


Blacking out without losing consciousness.

It’s not an uncommon thing, obviously. You know that feeling you get in class when you’re bored out of your fucking mind and you just stare off into the wall not thinking about anything or where you are or the shit load of homework you didn’t do over the weekend? I go into that zone. On purpose, and not because I’m bored.

People think it’s because I’m not enjoying myself while I’m out or because I’m not happy or whatever and they snap their fingers in front of my face and ask if I’m okay and I’m pulled back into this reality like worm from the ground by a crafty bird. And it sucks. I don’t like being interrupted.

That’s like taking food from a dog. It’s just fucked up man. 

Those space out moments are what keep my sanity in tact.

Sometimes I think I’m dreaming and I have to touch things to bring myself back into reality. That gets weird in public too. But it’s easier to hide around “Friends”. I don’t like thinking about that because it’s a major trigger for me. Now, as I type this, my hands don’t look like mine anymore–there’s nothing physically wrong with them, they just don’t look like mine.

It’s happens every time I ask myself if I’m dreaming.

I don’t know man. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.

4:47 am. It’s better than dawn.