Insidious Adaptation

Reaching for the air in a sea of raging water. Like wind-torn, sheets smacking against my face. White caps into waves into a drowning pound of Poseidon’s Trident. I know that air is what I need. I know that what I feel is legit. I know that I am doing the best I can, but this dark mass beneath my chin, upholding and at times consuming my body, scares me. At times the water is calm and I am floating above it, relaxed, balanced. The fear of being swallowed whole lingers even in as another wave passes. It is times like these my questions of life's purpose are fueled. I can’t help but ponder in the midst of animosity, negative and condescending tones of other people in the room that what I am doing is wrong and that what happens when they figure out I don’t belong here. I want to eat my emotions as I leave the stuffy room of passive-aggressive peoples, more as I get to the comfort of my own mind where I no longer have to present. I no longer have to nod nor do I have to sit there with...

A bowl of oatmeal, a few eggs, this is what I chose to eat this morning before heading to the gym. A few cups of coffee, because, well, let's be honest, I am up earlier than I should be. Being tired is not a foreign concept to me, for I have either woken up early, or stayed up too late for much of my life. As many people do, I rely on what "science" tells me to do, to help remedy these problems. As a child I wanted to be better than what I was, and eventually into adulthood, I wanted to just be better than. I wanted people to think I was smart, for "look what I told you." I wanted people to like me, but more importantly, look up to me, for I was presenting as a smart person, something I always feared I wasn't. I wanted you to see everything about me that I couldn't see. I was able to take something concrete-ish like nutritional information, and provide that to people with my own unique insight to relate, to comfort, ultimately to persuade you that I ...

Like a box of generic cereal, a title too literal to misunderstand. Instead of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, we have us some sugar and cinnamon squares. Instead of Trix Cereal, we have fruity flavored balls (artificial of course). Instead of Frosted Flakes, we have Frosty Flakes (this one not so different). The words don't leave much to the imagination and are at a cheap price. At least when I hear Boo Berries there is a slight inquisition, an investment,  to buy the product, as opposed to the fruity flavored marshmallow corn cereal (not real). The second gives me exactly what I wanted to know and now don't have to do any searching. Online these days one can find anything they want. From online sales, to researching Saved by the Bell, The College Years , as I recently may or may not have done. Maybe you want to book a flight, or maybe you want to order a human through some, "backpage" website. Maybe you want to steal money, or invest in a currency unknown by most people....

Neither “good,” nor “bad,” yet somehow we still need to judge something in one way or another. We cannot do this with food however, for as I have said before, some nutrient-poor food with a high caloric count, still has benefit to someone. Food is in abundance at this point in the Western world, so we get to be picky. We get to choose what we like, and people can get away with, “not liking the taste of water.” As much as a teeter-totter gets a slight weight shift to go one way or the other, people’s perspectives are only as good as the information they receive. Except, if that isn't accurate, then..? Food provides energy, provides nutrients in their naturally-packed and most-easily absorbed form to satisfy. What happens when we eat foods that are processed where nutrients are removed for various reasons really has more to do with our discontent than it does anything else. Being dissatisfied is why people experience such displeasure with life and therefore respond so poorly. Disco...

5409, 5410, 5411 Every step, closer to a higher number, however, further from who I want to be. A, "relapse" by every use of the in the word. In terms of poor, inefficient behaviors, I am revisiting them, reabsorbing them as my own. The numbers on an electronic, overpriced pedometer, counting steps have been around for a long time. Now, the fitness industry has made it even easier to identify success, if you have done enough or not. Little do the producers of such devices realize, people like me, our mind, is always counting. Our mind is always aware, unlike the electronic device in lieu of a traditional watch, nothing we do is passive.... 6302, 6303, 6304 I can't help but glance. I cannot help but be curious if the progress I feel I have made, determined by an intrinsic value, transfers to the outside world, in these numbers. Have I done more or less than I thought? Unfortunately, it is almost always less, for man does tend to over assume fitness activity and un...

In a former life, telling people what to do, or not to do, wasn't the question, however it was who they gave credit to which meant more. I was consumed by being the one to help, with the right answers, for it is what I needed and was the THING that drove me to be the guy you would go to for those answers. I would read material, the argument to that material, and worse of all, I would find "sales tactics" to entice people that I was the ONE and not "THAT OTHER PLACE." "The other place," was anyone, anywhere, that wasn't me, for I was the one who could present the material in THAT unique way, so therefore if you didn't get the results, I was hurt, worthless, for nobody should ever talk to me again. If you can relate to this mindset, I thank you, and hopefully you are willing, at least in secret, to admit these thoughts, for they do not sound good when they come out. The reason I write them, again, is validation, and to let people in on a few...

A warrior? Not with these pink headphones, I took them from my wife.  The safety of steel, the warmth of artificial heat, the comfort of familiarity, the thrill of competition. The sanctuary for all those who are lost, and the temple other can go to to build their bodies into gods and goddess. The woman at the front entrance, she allows the chosen ones to enter, keeping out those less-fortunate, the ones who are on the outside of this club, these steel, shed walls, not allowed to share in this warmth, in these moments of mental anguish and battle. All ages, all types of people, all walks, social placement, all allowed to walk amongst one another as long as they abide by the laws set forth of the club's owner. Though this monarchy has its ruler, it also has its warriors, and here, amongst the people, they seem to take charge, holding the ability to raise the people on their shoulders, only to be the ones raised up in the minds of the congregation, or at least that is what the...

For something to make sense, the mind has to adapt it in its own way, interpret it in some absorbable form that makes sense. To think of a concept like water and ground above and sky below  for instance,  doesn’t make sense, however a manipulated, drugged, or altered state of conscious can start to question or alter what was once concrete rules of  consciousness, a very Inception -driven concept.   Just like depression and anxiety, the two most common mental health diagnosis, impact their hosts; like roots of a plant reaching out growing towards the source altering states in the process.   Suicide, to a non-accepting person, is ridiculous and against all understanding, for the most logical of thoughts says that by dying there can be no solution to the actual problem, you are side-stepping only to end all, the positives with it. The thought of killing someone else, in a rational state of mine, again, psychotic, or requiring extreme stress to ensue, but we ar...

Why must it be like this? Why can I not just have my cake and eat it too? Why must there be this tether to the middle preventing me from going too far in one direction, no matter the motive, yanking me back with a painful reminder of my imbalance? I only want to eat a little more, or workout a little less, things that my logical mind knows it has to do, but the other part of me, my emotional side, says “no.” This battle, like two divorced parents fighting for custody simply to spite the other, weighs in my mind like a stone unmovable. No, I will not wake up one day, skip the gym and lack anxiety about getting fat later, and no I will not go to the gym excessively and not be fatigued or consumed by old behaviors, no matter how much I romanticize a return to the 2-hour gym sessions twice a day. Neither of these will occur, nor will I ever rid my mind of this part of me, as apparent as my own personality. In fact, it is my personality, my temperament even, for man does not compartmentali...

The call of a donut, the freedom of a bag of chips, the nostalgia of holiday cookies, the bulk of a bag of candy, all things that once were, are no more.  It was in the first Matrix where I learned how ignorance is "bliss," and once you give it up, the consequences that ensue. For me, the problems that obtaining nutrition knowledge caused was the loss of innocent pleasure food once brought about resulting inn a sort of sadness. The reminders of boxes of cereals, bowls of ice cream, or bags of candy, all enhancing a good time. I loved the textures, the smells, the tastes, of food. Real food too, real ingredients as well. I like them all, though I tended to seek more stimulation thus averting from satiation, for they all do something different to the brain, preventing any lackadaisical boredom.  The problem is that early in life, due to what I believe to be a combination of environmental components and genetic predisposition, I relied on food for something else, some...

In a house recently purchased, heated to comfort, in clothes recently cleaned, with a sippy-cup full of organic cream and milk, while a pure-bread dog sleeps at the foot of a recently purchased couch, as a 55-inch TV displays the high definition cooking show, a child, healthy in both brain and lungs apparently, throws down her baby in what her parents can best describe as “boredom.” This child’s evening has not gone so well thus far, from getting picked up by a mom whom is understanding, healthy, beautiful, from a day care that is caring, loving, intimate, this child demanded stimulation due to having an abundance all day. It appears to no longer suffice merely haveing people listen to what ever jumbled sentence a 2-year-old’s mind can put together, but she requires stimulation as well. No longer does mere existence excite the family, but discipline and progression past fits of tantrums are the new standard.   An evening of ups and downs the child seems easily agitated by thin...

The standards that once sufficed as a remedy for a deeper problem, a missed attempt to resolve, no longer enough. A “higher” standard, a “better” person, more resolve, more passion, essentially all driven by more will. Our will? The same will that led us here, this place of necessary resolve, a recognition of a fault that needs altered to avoid further consequences imposed by ourselves? If WILL could get us there, then why, again, are we here? Why must we even have to state a claim of needing to change any external part, if the internal desire and will to change was enough? Why must me make this bold claim of change, when in actuality, we change nothing at all. We presume that the next time we want something, we will say no, we will reject that desire with such a will and determination to alter ourselves, that the formerly problematic desire will cower to our wills, run away crying at our demanding self. We demand change, we will it. Yet, here we are, another year, a few ...