I have been more aloof as of late than usual, and admittedly a little off. Events continue to transpire and breathe life around myself, and I have watched things happening for a long time, bemused. Figurative train wrecks and deceptions mesh in a sea of intangibility that we all stumble through, and I feel it pass into my lungs sometimes, constraining me. Lately, I have been semi-withdrawn into my own consciousness, quietly watching the world do the things the world tends to do, while I conducted a good measure of self-reflection. In such endeavours I have successfully marked personality traits I no longer desire or never wanted initially.

Whether it is the conscious effort or it is some deep, dark automated mechanism within the confines of my confusing and ultimately fogged mind, I feel changes begin to manifest themselves in small increments. Tendrils of some design begin to worm themselves around the confines of my thoughts, overlapping and digging, swimming and rising. Whatever seed has given root, its vines are now in motion and I feel different. I feel worried and generally concerned, but curious and resolute. 

I feel metamorphosis.

It is not clear to me what lies beyond this period of transformation, but I have great hope it is for the better. Despite the things others say to me, praising me for my perceived inner strength, I must be stronger for the times to come. I must cast aside my doubts and insecurities. I have a very powerful mind but a massive sector has been in depravity for such a long time that I fear I may not quite ever return to my former level of brainpower. In effects to change such a thing, I currently believe I have mentally forced a series of transformations onto my own consciousness to accelerate my growth and jettison me forward into my next incarnation.

I was on my side in bed last night when I properly outlined the different phases of my mind, the stages of evolution I have passed through.

The first was my early childhood. Up until the age of eight, while I lived in London and my first year in America, I was a bright and colourful child, with adults commenting that I should be pushed into a career of acting. I was obsessed with video games and fantasy, occasionally writing nonsensical stories but otherwise above my classmates. Around the age of three my stepfather came, and around the age of six his dark presence in my life began to show its effects. However, despite the troubles he brought, I was but a child, and I was a relatively happy one, or at least tried to be.

My next incarnation began about the time I was eight and a half and lasted until I was thirteen. Having achieved a greater level of sentience, combined with the sheer level of time I had with which to be abused, I could no longer take my suffering in stride and I constantly fought with myself to find my happiness. Things at home degenerated and became much worse. These were the darkest, unhappiest years of my life. I contemplated running away. I contemplated a lot of things. I tried to run away once, to a particularly humiliating result. At school I was a carefully-concealed nervous wreck, trying to fit in with my American classmates but unable to due to never being allowed to see any out of school (besides the one or two errant visitors who soon never returned). I never had the opportunity to connect, truly connect with anybody. I couldn't learn how to act with my "friends." When I was finally accepted into a group as I was eleven, I felt the odd man out, unable to identify with them at the time, grateful for friends but still unable to comprehend how to act in public. I had no social skills whatsoever. I embarrassed myself repeatedly for years and filled my head with such humiliating memories. The abuse at home was at a years-long crescendo, and the effects began to blind me. 

As I turned fourteen, I lost my faith in Christianity and turned my back on the God that would punish a child in such a way for no perceived wrongdoings. I was suicidal, but at this point I began to demonstrate darker potential for homicidal proclivities. The more physical, painful attributes of my time at home began to fade, but the psychological and emotional hurdles were as painfully high as ever. Until I turned seventeen, I was in a form of darkened enlightenment. I struggled to maintain my grip on the positives in my life. When I turned fifteen, Arie Brooks entered my life, and she has always been one of the most defining characters to indulge of my world--the only three more effective outside my family are Rachel Horne, Rebecca Dornburg and Jace O'Bryant (although Chris Arceneaux gets a worthy mention). She introduced me to higher levels of thinking and to Maynard James Keenan. A Perfect Circle's "Thirteenth Step" was a healing quality to me. I played it religiously for months upon months, even after the painful events that separated Arie and myself. I look back and realize that I was still a child, albeit moving quickly out of the situation. I think of myself as a fifteen year old and cringe slightly, but as I was sixteen, I matured fast. Rather, as I considered myself extraordinarily mature for my age throughout my life, I more or less gained the social skills I had lacked so much, gained power amongst my friends and became someone people liked. I realized that becoming an outcast was just my nature--after many years disliked and hated by my peers, I embraced the title because it was no longer a necessity. I came to be loved by them, particularly for my morbid, dark fascination with the evils of mankind.

I shall continue this once I am done at work.