Archive for #5

What did I do?

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on July 10, 2013 by Johnny Broken

I haven’t been “religious” for a very long time, and it’s arguable that I ever really was legitimately religious in the first place. Grew up in a Catholic family, and just sort of followed along as directed to church and private school and whatnot. I had been losing interest in the blind faith I’d been brought up on for years by the time my Satanist phase hit, but the thing is, I’ve always had an interest in all things mythological.

These days, I call myself a pagan, if anything. I don’t follow any regular practices, but I like to think that I’m significantly more open minded than most when it comes to whatever someone can have faith in, as long as they don’t try to push it on me. Hard to say what I believe as far as what’s out there though, as the only thing I’m certain of is that there is a “high power” out there and it hates me. But I do like reading up on as many different concepts as I can, which probably stems from my longstanding fascination with the mystical and magical.

So let me just get this out of the way now. Yes, I want to believe magic is possible. Real life is too boring for EVERYTHING written about the supernatural and magic (or magick, whatever) to be completely fake. To that end, I have been building my own collection of magic related books, but I don’t have anything like the musty old tomes of wonder you’d see in a movie, mind you. Though I would give an arm to get something like that. I figure that if I keep sifting through enough crap, eventually I have to find something that actually works.

Anyway, I had a point for bringing this up and probably losing most of you as soon as I said magic. But I need to set up a little more context to my mindset nowadays and at the time.

Another thing to keep in mind is that for as much as I generally don’t like going out in public or to parties or to commonplace events (like sports), I do like my niche crowd stuff. Geek conventions, Renaissance Faires, concerts, people I know doing things I find fun, that’s the stuff I will go out of my way to get to. And since I was a kid, one of the things that bugged the ever living hell out of me is knowing that there’s something that I WANT to go to, but for whatever reason, I can’t make it. That’s when the feeling of missing out hits me.

Back when I was dating #5, there was a double date night set up. My friend #6 and his girl were already at their place, and #5 was there too, waiting for me. But the weather forecast that night wasn’t the greatest, and I didn’t have a car that night for reasons I can’t quite remember. So as luck would have it, my getting out to this double date depended on my mother. Which wasn’t happening because of the weather. To put it lightly, I was furious. After an hour or so of arguing and yelling and angsting over the situation, I was at my wits end, which gave me an idea.

I’d been reading about how to invoke spirits, and considering how distraught I was at the time, I figured it was as good a night as any to try. So for the next, well, I don’t remember how long, but I spent a good long time offering up an improvised and heartfelt prayer (yes, oddly enough THIS would be the first time I ever really meant a prayer) to whatever ancient spirit of evil was listening. I don’t remember what I asked for, if anything, but I do remember offering up my soul. When I couldn’t think of anything else to say to whatever demons may have been listening, I shambled off to play some video games and left it at that.

I basically blew off the whole ordeal, if not outright forgot about it, until a few months later. Half asleep on the way home, I drifted on the road, and was abruptly knocked out of my daze by the sound of metal scraping metal. I whipped around to notice that I had actually drifted into another car. Jerking the wheel straight, I started to panic. Oh god, I thought, I was going to be in trouble for damaging someone’s car or my own car or something. Fearing the worst, for whatever reason this time, I felt the need to offer up a prayer to whatever benevolent force might be listening. I’d go to church for the first time in years and I’d turn my life around if nothing ever came of that horrible metallic scraping noise.

I got home, and couldn’t find any damage on the car. The next morning, no one woke me up for an explanation as to why someone was calling about damage to their car. Relieved to no end, I decided that if I had just experienced some divine intervention, I was going to follow up on my end of the bargain. And yeah, I made it to a mass within a few days for the first time in a long, long time. I want to say I did feel odd for a moment as soon as I set foot inside the church, but I think at the time I figured it was just, y’know, feeling awkward about being in a church. Might have had something to do with my having spent months coming up with crazy stories to tell my classmates about how I worshipped the Devil.

An indeterminate amount of time after I walked into a church for the first time in years, I was talking to a friend from my time with the public high school’s theatre group, and a female friend of his came up. I vaguely remembered her acting very oddly around me, and I asked my friend about this. He was antsy at first and didn’t want to talk about it, which of course really only increased my curiosity. Eventually I got an answer out of him, which only made things… worse. His female friend, who was kind of devoutly religious, was apparently terrified of me because of something I said to her, possibly regarding the Satanic Bible. Other people were able to verify this story, though no one would confirm exactly what I said.

The thing is, to this day I have absolutely no memory whatsoever of EVER talking to this girl. Never mind saying anything so dramatic that she’d be scared shitless of me. As a favor to my friend I never approached the girl about it, but if nothing else, this whole ordeal did add significantly to my dark and mysterious persona at the time.


*scans up the post*

I seem to have been rambling on here for a long time already and I haven’t even gotten to what actually freaks me out about all this. So tune in next week, same evil time, same evil blog, for other two stories about things I don’t remember doing and my rather offbeat theory about what really happened.


And this is why I hate planning

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on June 27, 2013 by Johnny Broken

Well… long story short, I had big plans for last weekend, but things didn’t go as I’d hoped. Umpteenth suicide attempt, if you’re curious. I had intended to make the attempt Saturday night, but I didn’t even get that far due to an impromptu minor car wreck earlier in the day. Which is why things are a bit later than usual this week. The specifics of my plans or how they were thrown off aren’t really important right now, and my lack of reacting quick enough to use the wreck to my advantage has me too depressed to explain them any further anyway. So I’m going back to what I had previously intended to post this week.

Many moons ago when I was but a young lad naïve to the ways of the world, like most my age, for all intents and purposes, I didn’t care when I ate, what I ate, or how much of it I ate. I was a chubby kid growing up, but I figured that was just how it was. I mean I hated my relatives for teasing me about it, yeah, but there were some kids at school just as pudgy, if not more so, than me, so I took it as normal. Some kids were athletic and fit, I wasn’t. That’s just how it was. Didn’t really cross my mind that I had any control over this for a long time.

I think my heaviest was around 185 pounds. And considering that I stopped growing at 5 foot 5 and a half, it wasn’t a good look for me. (I apologize if you don’t use American measurement systems. Math and I have never gotten along very well, so I would be the last person to try to convert that to stones or grams or whatever measurement system you use in your neck of the woods.) Now you might be wondering, “Hey, haven’t you said that you’re 5 foot 6 and a half?” and you would be right. Quick story!

I was born with a bad case of scoliosis, and I forget the exact numbers, but something like a 1.5 grade to the curve of your spine is normal. They recommend surgery at like 2.5. My spine was at like 3.2. So as a reward for my extremely screwed up genetics, I got two steel rods inserted next to my spine to straighten it out. And when I finally made it to my grandmother’s for post-surgery recovery, I had this weird feeling of vertigo walking around the place. Then it dawned on me that I had literally been straightened out, and was thusly about an inch taller. The disorientation came from everything being an inch lower than I remembered. Bit trippy, getting used to that.

Anyway. When reality finally sunk in and I realized, “Damn. I’m fat.” I began a lengthy period of trial and error to determine how to best lose weight.

One of the things that I had to plan my life around when I was growing up, was that I was frequently sick in the stomach. Granted a lot of this could be attributed to my nerves even as a little kid, but my parents were also fond of a late night snack back in the day. Hungry? Have a bowl of soup. Or some cereal. Or a sandwhich. Then off to bed in less than an hour. And of course, by the next morning. “Oh, you don’t feel well? Hmm. Ah well, we’ll get you some medicine.”

I saw a TV show somewhere along the lines about healthier living that advised to stop eating before you go to bed. And the exact numbers escape me, but the rest of it was something like you really shouldn’t eat like 2 hours before you go to bed. Sound plan, I thought, and I’ve abided by that rule pretty much ever since. And guess what? Almost immediately after I started watching how late I ate, I all but stopped getting such a frequent upset stomach.

And of course there’s the obvious stuff like cutting back on junk food and soda and the like. And then exercising, well, at all, in my case. But things weren’t progressing enough at first, and my hardcore sweet tooth wasn’t helping either. And then I got that previously mentioned back surgery which was like 8 or 9 hours on the operating table, and 6 months of recovery. Now I would like to point out that when I was barely able to move because my back had been cut wide open so my spine could be fused and bolted straight with two steel rods, the LAST thing on my mind was how much I weighed. At the time I had been growing my hair long, so I admit I was focused on that, but I really never noticed during my recovery that I was dropping weight like crazy. All in all, I lost like 50-60 pounds during that whole ordeal. And I was absolutely thrilled. My hair was long! And I was THIN!

And, oddly enough, this was also when I started dating a girl who was… hrmph, I’m trying to think of how I can phrase this so I don’t sound like an asshole, but I’m at a bit of a loss. So screw it. When I look at the opposite sex, I mentally file women my age into three categories

-Attractive. This encompasses “hot” girls who are thin or toned or curvy in all the right places or whathaveyou. See also, Out of My League.

-Average. An average girl can still be incredibly good looking, but she has a few extra pounds. Theoretically, averages girls are in my league in the dating pool.

-Big. This should be self explanatory. I’m sorry, but I do not find this attractive. And if I lost the weight, so can you.

Now the girl I started dating around this time, let’s call her #5, who also became the aforementioned longstanding girlfriend, was attractive. Well built. Pretty. On the other hand, the girl I dated for a bit before her was a bit on the pudgy side. Big boned, if you will. She was nice, but I will be honest, she’s one of the girls that would not be the first pick of the dating pool. My point here is that once I finally slimmed down enough, I was able to get a desirable, attractive girlfriend. Call my perception of life warped if you will, but a lot of what and how I think was developed through crap I actually went through.

And at that, we are to be continued! And you can relax, I’ll be here for a while. My plans take some alignment of the stars level arranging, so it’ll be some time before I try anything major again.


Been a while…

Posted in Updates with tags , , , , , on May 16, 2013 by Johnny Broken

Do people even do the blog thing anymore? Eh, I guess it doesn’t really matter at this point, as it’s struck me that I have a lot to say and no one to say it to. Well, I do technically have people to say things to, but if I said a lot of what’s on my mind to anyone I know, I wouldn’t be talking to those people much longer. I don’t exactly fit a manly mold. I like to think I fit a gentlemanly one, but well, I guess I’ll leave that up to you to ponder. Among other things, it’s mainly a combination of not wanting to get funny looks for talking about destructive urges, and not feeling comfortable discussing guilty pleasures. So I guess that makes you the lucky one.

And you can breathe easy, I won’t be talking about comic books or video games or offbeat shenanigans for a while. My life has been on a bit of a downward spiral for some time now, so, I don’t know. Maybe this will be therapeutic or something. So let’s get a couple general things out of the way before I start rambling on about the random things in my life that depress, anger, and fascinate me a lot more than they should.

First off, I imagine you might be wondering what exactly I meant by destructive urges and guilty pleasures. Or you might not be as far as the former goes, and you’re thinking that I drink or smoke or make with the recreational drugs. Well, I don’t. I hate the taste of beer. I can’t bring myself to drink in front of my family because my mother and father are the tea-totalingest of tea-totallers and that just stuck with me. I admit that I do like some of the less throat incinerating liquors, and lame drinks that guys aren’t supposed to drink in public. But I also really don’t like being hungover. So that cuts that out.

I tried smoking a looong time ago, possibly cigarettes but probably cigars. I don’t remember my exact reasoning for why I even bothered trying, but I’m fairly certain it was something along the lines of, “Eh, why not? Might as well see what the big deal is.” My girlfriend at the time (heretofore known as #5) . Heh, my last “real” girlfriend for that matter, probably had something to do with my logic. I can still remember how angry I was when she said she started smoking just to fit in, and basically forced herself to get through the pain and get used to it to be able to inhale properly. And geez, there’s some purely unintentional innuendo in there, but no, this is purely talking about cancer sticks. So yeah, that pissed me off. And I hated the burning sensation myself. So while I actually DO kinda like the smell of some kinds of cigar smoke, I loathe the feeling that my throat has been coated with ashes. So no, that’s not it either.

And an even longer time ago, I did try something of the recreational pharmaceutical (my gods, I spelled that right the first time) variety. It was something smoked , and while I don’t remember what it was exactly, or feeling much of any difference afterward (probably because I didn’t inhale right) I do remember be chided thoroughly for how “oooh, shiny!” I supposedly acted at the time. Which wasn’t freaking true. Because I was freaking coherent the whole freaking time. So that whole fiasco was strike 1 against me making with the wacky weed in the future. I did dabble a bit more, but ultimately never really agreed with the point, to be honest. I value having a clear head and being able to brood and dwell on my hate of, well, just about anything. Can’t do that if I’m buzzing or drunk or high or whatever.

Strike 3, and 4, and 5 and pretty much all the way up to my current “@#$% THIS!” attitude levels towards drugs, was a story from that same girlfriend at the time. Yes, I know this was years ago. Yes, we broke up after like a year and a half. And I can safely say that I’ve kinda hated her for like the last couple years and really do wish I never met her. BUT. All she had to do was tell me the wondrous tale of how she lost her virginity. I don’t care about her, per se, anymore, but the elements of the story itself infuriate me like you wouldn’t believe, and it’s just stuck with me. So anyway, she had a hipster hippy boyfriend, got high for the first time with said boyfriend, passed out, and woke up no longer virgin. Kind of simple in premise, but that has angered me ever since, and probably will to my dying day. That is the main reason I hate rape culture, hippies and stoners. I cared about her, if for a brief time, and she was so blasé about something that should have been so meaningful in a positive way, nevermind that she was fucking raped by her supposed boyfriend at the time. I just… can’t believe people are capable of such things. And yeah, I know that’s saying something, considering what I’ve done, but well, dammit, I’m Lawful Evil. Even if I do hate most people and things on general principle, I have a freaking code of ethics. Even evil has standards.

And yeah, that whole disaster has also given me an immense intolerance of classic rock by proxy. Y’see, she passed out to Led Zepplin. Which has given me such a blinding hatred of that band, to the point that I won’t even say the name out loud. (Which angers some people I know in real life, when I am forced to refer to the “musical act that shall not be named.” Granted no one else I know has any idea why I hate them, but still.)

So yeah, that’s not it either.

Tried going Straight Edge (which means, generally speaking, no drinking or smoking or drugs, period. Or if you want to be a real killjoy and go hardcore straightedge, you can add various meat products and possibly sex to the list too. I think that’s how it works, anyway. I really don’t have to worry about the whole sexlife thing, because I don’t have one. But I AM a carnivore.) for a while because of the previous reasons. But, well, I got bored with it. Too many people I knew at the time wanted to drink far too often, and I get left out of everything enough as is.

So what’s left? As you may have guessed or even figured out by now, I’ve been various levels of suicidal on and off for the better part of the last half of my life. Hell, I can remember being like 11 years old, content with life as an 11 year old could be, and just suddenly wondering what it would be like if I took the knife I was holding and slashed myself with it. My own death just, well, fascinates me. Planned a lot and tried a couple times; crashing into something vehicularly, the whole re-direct-exhaust back into the car thing, slashed wrists. Too much of a coward to go through with anything major though. But I do have the scarred wrists to show for it. So, yeah. Pretty much back to thinking about it right now, which is largely why I’ve come back here.