i was in my early 20s working at a record store in helsinki. we were out drinking and i annoyed some guys who walked by with rude comments. i liked to provoke people back in the day. so one of them asked aggressively \”what did you say\” and i repeated it right to his face. LIGHTS OUT! he got me with a good shot and i stumbled out of a daze from the ground with a few friends around me who told me what happened.
i had a black eye and my boss told me to take some time off. this was good because we now had more time to rehearse with my band. but i was quite depressed and broken from all the drinking and fighting. so i got some councelling from some youth center or something. they even did acupuncture on me and i told them my troubles.
a lot of stuff had me weighing on my soul for years. but i buried it all somewhere in my subconscious with booze, music and girls. i worked to buy cds, books, guitars and lived on beer and junk food. even drank at work and cranked up the music when there were too many customers in the shop. since i was paid by the hour, i didn’t give a fuck about how the company was doing and none of the employees wanted to play chart toppers like we were instructed.
then i left to england to pursue my rock star dreams. fell in love with an american fashion model girl via myspace and felt like everything was blooming. but i really struggled with these dark moods that seemed to come out of nowhere and at worst, made me want to crawl in a whole somewhere to avoid all humans and cities.
these dark moods bled into my work and relationships and gigs. i had it all but was fucking it all up at the same time. one moment i was the life of the party but even then i was a little too much and a little too often. and the brits sure like their drugs. so i went to the united states to seal the deal on my fame.
but i just couldn’t seem to appreciate how beautiful and exciting my life was.
things would always implode somehow and ended with me leaving and abandoning everyone. guitar case, backpack, train, notebook. more songs, more poetry. new destinations. new lovers. new friends. i became real good at starting again. my life became a poetry book, turn the page, keep writing. i told everyone i will die at 27 when i am famous.
well i got to 27 and i still wasn’t famous. i was a broken down hunk’o’junk. so i got more help from therapists, psychiatrists. i got evaluated by these wannabe experts and they said i am bipolar and anti-social or whatever and have some kind of borderline personality disorder meaning i don’t have a consistent identity and my moods shift erratically due to some chemical imbalances in the brain. what a bunch of horseshit i thought.
so i plodded on. kept doing my thing. new places and adventures. rinse repeat. but my songs were getting better. i still sucked too much for any kind of commercial success but in my own head i was a misunderstood genius. i made money with music and battled my own demons.
i also got into more esoteric practices and methods which i would discover from the spirituality and self help books i was always reading. i seemed to live a kind of double life. me and the people i knew vs me and my own worlds of music, books, movies. i just couldn’t seem to bridge the gap between the two. and i liked both worlds.
everytime i met a new therapist, they would always ask the same stupid questions. it felt like talking about swimming where i was the only one who had ever actually experienced the wrath of a real ocean. they knew all the techniques and read all the swimming books but had at best dabbled their feet in the kiddie pool. they had no idea what i was talking about and all i could do was show them how i was feeling. of course they believed everything i said because that’s all they are going on.
there was no precision in their questioning. they were always poor listeners. just babbling on about their own bullshit and unproven theories meant for kumbaya slaves, not artists and free thinking ubermensches like me! they were too easy to bullshit with my own bullshit.
what do you really want?
why are you really here?
these are the kinds of questions that need to be asked. i demanded more structure and inspiration from my therapists but they could never provided that. not one. even the famous ones like jordan peterson are fools and liars.
therapists are too focused on the past and trauma. and even the ones who can help you get some goals down usually do it from a standpoint of getting this dude back into society working a job and living a normal life. FUCK YOU AND YOUR NORMAL LIFE!! i’m outta here.
goals are good. but dreams are even better. stop boxing me into your stupid labels. and no i don’t wanna talk about my pointless issues week after week without ever actually getting anywhere because you just want to keep me paying for your woowoo services. thanks but no thanks!
you gotta break patterns if you want to be a healer of man, make your patients expect the unexpected. tell the whiny bitch to close her eyes and relax. then throw a bucket of cold water on them. but do it intellectually! then you will start to see some results when people reveal who they really are not just what they say.
for therapy to work the conversations have to go deeper and last longer. focus on one thing and stop rambling like a lunatic. their job is to keep you focused and on track. i always felt the therapists are my patients yet i am the one paying for it. i have given up on these old people who sit in their chair all day singing in the babble choir.
nowadays i just look for the hottest, youngest female therapists i can find and challenge myself to seduce them. funny how they always have a waiting-list for new clients meanwhile the old washed out ones never do. i found one where i live who is also teaching kundalini yoga. i’ll let you know it goes. we have been exchanging emails but she is apprehensive to my charms. i told her my spine serpent needs help.
they need to be trained in nutrition, movement, ethics, breathing, art, sexual energy and business. otherwise it’s just boohoing and they love that because it keeps you coming back for more boohoing.
don’t ever trust psychiatrists. they don’t mean well. they are evil people who want you to take their demon pills so you can go back to a life of servitude. like all doctors. EVIL PURE EVIL!!! when i meet my psychiatist i go their to study satan.
if you really want to be free, get healthy. take back the power. you are your own king//queen. read and study the great masters. learn skills that help you express your truth. share your discoveries. talk to people. stand up for what you want to say and use that as a filter to get rid of the flakes you don’t want around. but encourage your naysayers to criticise you to test your own assumptions. get out of the factory or accept your fate.
prioritize your own needs: sleep, sugar, water, exercise, purpose, plants, compassion, fun. without these you are fucked and fighting a losing battle. don’t get married or even date until you have your own affairs in order. otherwise you will be living in a house you can’t afford and with a wife you hate and kids/pets who just annoy you because you are so god damned exhausted. this is a death sentence and a sure path to diabetes. everything you do will become a compromise and you won’t have the energy to take back control of the steering wheel. you are fucked for life. but even then, there is always a way out…
it all starts with your own thoughts.
they are the building blocks to your dream life.
start now or you wil never win.