Monday, December 9, 2013

What Can I Say - Love

I avoid this topic because emotions aren't my thing. I am a different breed of girl. There are others who are similar, they're scarce, hiding in the dark corners of the world, lonely. Girls who believe in the power of integrity, girls who look nice but don't give it up, girls with hobbies that cause others to think they're crazy, girls who want a guy to ride or die. And those guys are few and far between. I want someone to embrace my normalcy right along with my weird, my light with my darkness. I'm the kind of girl who can be extreme, but will do anything to protect and keep myself and my partner a unit against the world. It's just how my cognitive process is, it's in my DNA, its part of the all-important integrity. Girls like me look normal, we're usually creative, smart, and more often than not, extremely hard to read. People do not comprehend the level of dedication and determination we have towards what or who we want. They see what they want to see and more often than not, they either project themselves onto me or people see me as a shy, weak, victimized little girl.


It is common for males to project the whole "I want a chick who will ride or die with me," and that is socially acceptable. It means they want their woman to be with them through thick and thin, sickness and health, money and no money, emotional strain and happiness. Girls like that, like I said above, are hard to find. And those of us who do exist are chastised for being strong because a strong female is a difficult female. I want a guy [I'm bi but I'm ignoring that right now] who will ride or die, and that's taken to mean I want a guy who will be wrapped around my little finger to do my bidding. This isn't so; I do my own damn bidding. I want to get what I give to you. And I will give a lot, so I know what I deserve. I am strong enough to know what I deserve; I may even be stronger than you and that is fine as long as you respect the fact and won't lash out at me when I have a weakness. When I don't get it, I shut down and become your worst fucking nightmare. I descend further into my mind and the alter ego [of the three I have, Joey, Erika, and Candice] who is best suited for the job will integrate with me to help me deal with it. I can shut off parts of myself and I can flip those parts back on in a split second.


I have dealt with a lot in my life. Abuse, isolation,  chronic nightmares just to wake up to a real nightmare, hospitals, jail, death, misdiagnoses and over-medication. Bullying. Eating disorders. I have been stalked. I have had death threat notes left on my windshield. And then they wonder why I have paranoid delusions. I am a self-proclaimed isolationist but that doesn't mean I don't want a partner in crime. That doesn't mean I want to be a criminal or want to be with a criminal - I want someone who will be as dedicated to our unity as I am. The Bible even tells us to become one flesh, and yet the religious boys are not even willing to give their "love" everything they have. The trouble-makers are more dedicated and that is a sad fact. Then there's me, the suffering servant trying to save the unity as if my life depended on it. For me, letting people in is very hard. When I do, they use what information they get about me against me when they have an overly emotional moment against me. And that is the ultimate betrayal


There have been several people who didn't realize what they had until it was not only gone, but were forced to look at the shattered remains of their desolate lives once I was gone. Girls like me don't tend to forgive and forget until we have closure - my form of closure is not a kiss goodbye and a handshake. Oh no. If guys wants a girl to be there for them, help them reach their potential, make sure their emotional needs are cared for, but aren't willing to help me hide a body and protect me if things ever came to that, they need to roll out. I do all I can in a relationship, because I take thems seriously. All I need is a best friend who I have a physical relationship with - and best friends protect eachother from the world. Perhaps men need to be tied to a chair and forced to listen to "Not Gonna Get Us" by t.A.T.u for a few hours. If you want me in a relationship and I make you a top priority, I better be a top fucking priority as well. Or there will be hell to pay.



You get what you give times 3; I'm like walking Karma - you give me pain, I'll give you pain. You give me nothing, I'll give you what emptiness brings. You give me love, I give you love x2. You get to decide the ending. It can be really bad, or it can be the best thing you have ever had. I have very simple needs. Guys want something complicated these days. Use Karma for you, or be an idiot and have it used against you. Good luck.



Dizzy

Monday, December 2, 2013

Euthanasia Answers.

When you begin a piece of literature and work on it while actively selling and letting people read it for seven years, you get questions. Even though things have change in Euthanasia a lot and it has gotten much more elaborate and provocative in the last two years, many questions are the same. Some are new and I've only gotten from two or three people. I'm just shocked I have enough people reading that I get questions. 

Why did she [Erika] even start the suicide pact? 

I know that's never made entirely clear but Lewis kind of speculates on that. Robin even asks. Erika never writes outright in her own diary why the fuck she wants six people to jump off a building with her. She wants to leave this world and become the queen of the royal dead - the people who figure out that life is escapism. She watched and chose those people for what seems to be at least two years because she wanted 7 total people. 



Was it supposed to be a political suicide? 

 Not consciously. Erika definitely makes an unspoken society with the signers but the suicide itself is not very political. She wants "them" to see "the suicide machine" but no one understands what that means - it's more of a philosophy/religion to her than a political statement.  Erika is not entirely off her rocker, but she's kind of halfway on halfway off.



How did she get all those people to sign a suicide pact? She's 16. 

Overly sheltered, depressed people are easy to manipulate, even if you're not actively doing it. The kids in Euthanasia were targeted and conditioned for a while before being asked to sign. Lewis and Robin are the exceptions; Lewis knew Erika too well to be conditioned more than he already had and Robin just wanted to be dead. 



What the hell is wrong with you for putting Miriam in that circumstance? And who she based on?

I find that circumstance very interesting and know it is more common than people want to think about. She is obsessed with Erika because Erika is her anti-thesis.  Miriam is based on a lot of people I was close to/girls who wanted to be too close. 



How can Erika actually love Lewis if she asked him to kill himself?

She believes they would be together from death and onward in the afterlife. She isn't a psychopath, she's delusional and has no empathy. Asking him to commit suicide may have been a very messed up way to get him to admit he cares about her. She didn't condition him, she ambushed him. 



Why didn't you ship [make a couple of] Erika and Robin?

Robin has a questionable sexuality. He isn't sure if he's gay or what. Erika is very single-minded and this also includes relationships; she was too obsessed with Lewis to bother committing to Francis or Miriam so why fuck it up with Lewis to mess with Robin. 



Is St. Christina a real place?

There are places named that but the one in the book is fictional, based on the town I grew up in. And yes, people here are that stupid. St. Christina is the town of two other books,Suicide Hotline Butterfly and Swamp City. Candice from SHB deals with their stupidity in agony as well.



Why does Lewis help Erika cover so many things up? 

He would, and always has, done anything and everything to help keep her out of trouble or away from harm. Very rigid big-brother complex. Plus there's a big chance he'd get in trouble too.  



Are you suicidal? Doesn't writing this make you suicidal? Is Erika you?

I am not suicidal and writing about suicide does not make me suicidal. If anything it keeps my emotions nicely channeled into fictional characters so I don't have to feel much of anything in my daily life. Erika is not consciously me - I didn't realize we were alike until people told me so. I definitely see how we are similar as I get older. But no. 



Why does Erika write and talk funny? Lewis writes normally so why can't she.

Erika has idiosyncratic, complicated speech. She is much more well-read than the others in St. Christina so she knows a ton of big words but has never heard them used. Too detached to bother speaking like others. Just be glad I allowed her to use contractions - the original version did not.



Sequel? 

I have two prequels written - Two Hearts and Appleseeds. Two Hearts is Miriam's present-tense, first person view of days before and during the pact. Appleseeds is a lot of backflashes but is also what happens after Euthanasia ends. 




Monday, November 18, 2013

Dizzy Day

You see a young blonde girl getting out of an orange car. She may be sixteen, she may be twenty; you can't tell. She's wearing bright pink lipstick and black eyeliner, jewelry, is carrying a designer purse, and blasting Lady GaGa on her iPhone. She wears a pretty dress with boots and stockings with an Abercrombie hoodie. She walks past you to her destination, acknowledging your existence slightly but never looks directly at you. She has nice things, but you have no way of figuring out how she got them. You roll your eyes and think, bitch. She demeanor screams "leave me alone, I'm elite." 



You go about your day and forget about me her. She goes about her day. She keeps pulling up her stockings and tightening her garters to keep the seven year old scars on her thighs hidden. She runs a few errands, which usually includes checking on her dad who hates leaving the house and sometimes hates her, picking up healthy food to cook for herself and her boyfriend later; food she'll fight the urge to throw up so she loses weight. She's been doing this for eight years. She actually hasn't eaten all day because she forgets to do so - she's in another world, etching new scenes and lines for her novel so she can add later. Writing is her passion, and she detaches from reality with excellent skill so that she can think from the views of entirely fictional people she created seven years ago. 

She arrives home at her apartment which she shares with her boyfriend who is at work after a fifty-minute therapy session. She pays $60 a week for someone to listen to her; she's a quiet person and has a purely online social life. Once a week, she expresses the concerns of things going on in her life and her mind and how to deal with them. She doesn't think or process information like others do. Her therapist recognizes that she is highly intelligent and that she doesn't speak to many people about herself. Her therapist makes sure she hasn't gone back to self-destructive tendencies and the girl talks about any meltdowns she's had. She functions as an unofficial therapist and consultant for others; she loves doing this and analyzes people she isn't sure if she is supposed to call friends or not; she feels a connection to them but she isn't sure why or what it is. Too many things are subjective in the social world, so she avoids entirely. Sometimes she wants friends, but she knows when she gets close to people, they often go away or find her to be creepy. She feels like her appearance is a mask she never meant to put on. When she attaches to a friend, she attaches with full velocity and wants to be bff's. 

 She zones out even harder and sits down to write about suicide and murder, to research serial killers and their methods; she understands them better than most and people who know her judge her for this. She reads entire textbooks repeatedly so that her stories are accurate, and because she feels the urge to gain knowledge in the same way others feel the urge to intoxicate themselves. Her interests in abnormal psychology, personality typology, and suicidology make it very awkward for her to converse with people about everyday things aka chitchat. She often says rash or overly-blunt things without realizing and therefore pisses a lot of people off, and a cute face can only make up for so much. Due to her obsessive interests, when someone is angry with her, they automatically accuse her of atrocities rather than that she may be hormonal or have hurt feelings like a regular girl.

She has an IQ of 173 but she has a GED and had to drop out of college three times within 4 years. She gets nauseated in the crowds at school; everything is too loud and she can't keep her headphones on in class to block out the stupidity that comes from many community college professors not to mention the students. Seeing them socialize and laugh in the hallways confuses her and she runs out of the building; other students think she's experiencing some kind of personal drama with her significant other or something else domestic. Her surroundings swirl around her. She vows to only take online classes next semester. The work is too easy, and when she tries to engage in class discussion, especially about psychology, the other students stare at her and the professor has to take her aside and tell her she's going over everyone's head and to give the other students a chance to speak even though they really say nothing of importance. She does not compute the idea of passing simply for credit, but that college should be geared towards actually acquiring knowledge. Because of this, she fails at college. 
Her boyfriend comes home from work. She's happy to see him. After a long period of time of isolation and only typing or speaking briefly to her cat, her verbal abilities have diminished a bit. She tries to speak normally, and if that doesn't work, she just hugs him. He knows she has Aspergers, so he isn't too shocked when her behavior is odd and she spends time dancing back and forth through the hallways from the window to her keyboard to type. She misses him when he is gone but is thankful he works and is a genuinely good male counterpart. They do not have many common interests, but this seems to work because they are introduced to new worlds. He likes sports and has a strong sense for what is right and wrong instilled in him from an early age; he is a humble type of extrovert. She views morality in shades of gray and seeks objectivity in everything; free-thought was instilled in her from an early age and she wears an invisible crown. They agree on important things, but challenge each others differences which strengthens the bond. But, sometimes he doesn't want to philosophize everything, and sometimes she doesn't understand basic requests and questions. She is taking steps to control her meltdowns and is willing to do everything she can to be just a little more normal for his sake. He appreciates the things she does do well.

She showers in ritual, obsessive about shaving, and washes her hair every other day. She applies cream to her face and cleans the makeup of the day off of her face before putting on a tanktop and sleep-shorts. She stares in the mirror and tries to connect to the fact that the girl she's looking at is indeed her. She sits down and types, writing as characters she isn't and even genders she isn't. Disconnect is a beautiful ability, but she soon closes her laptop and curls up in a blanket to watch cartoons and ponder the world. Does God hate her? What is hate? Why don't people like me? Is it because they don't know me, is it because they do know me? I don't really give a fuck, I just want to know. Maybe I'm content with my place as the muse and psychological consultant that I have taken on. I cannot help but wonder what it's like to be on the other end of that arrangement. She lies in bed awake for hours, rolling over and over; the pills for nightmares no longer help her fall asleep and her life-long chronic insomnia forces her to lie there and ponder in silence about whether to write her old serial killer Glen Rogers or to reach out to the imprisoned Alyssa Bustamante...
She wakes up after three hours of sleep and her boyfriend goes to work. She crawls out of bed and stands in front of the mirror again; concealer under the eyes to hide the severe anemia that makes her waver when she walks. Lipgloss today, red - thick mascara and white eyeshadow. A bow is in her hair and she wears jeans and a lacy tanktop. She sits at her laptop in her room, her cat in her lap, and answers to the woes of many Youtube followers and fellow Aspies. She takes several pictures of herself and posts them; she gets likes on most of them. She edits, edits edits. She takes a break to hoola-hoop and do yoga stretches. She feels too weak to jog but is determined to be in shape. She returns to edit. She is lost in her world; she takes a break to write in her journal about her own thoughts and observations of the world, and reconnects to the physical universe by walking to the gas station for Gatorade. Her earphones are only removed when her boyfriend comes home; she listens to a playlist mixed with The Birthday Massacre, Katy Perry, Avril Lavigne, The Blood Brothers, Disturbed, Lady Gaga, Flyleaf, Beckah Shae, AWOLnation, Ayumi Hamasaki, Kerli, Krewella, and other strange music that inspires the writing of her book called Euthanasia. She paces from the laptop to the window, laptop to window, laptop to window. She ponders the painting she would like to create. She is alone, entirely, just a vessel of knowledge, comfort, and creativity to others via technology. 

She contemplates having friends like she did as a teenager. Her boyfriend encourages it. Her therapist encourages it. When she tries to speak and connect to others, nothing seems to go right. She only connects with males on a mental level, because they tend to be more rational, like she is. They're less dramatic, they aren't catty - they are what they seem to be more often than not. But now that she's a grown woman, males often don't want to stay platonic, and she doesn't understand why. She asks others; they say it's because she's pretty. How could she possibly be pretty? She stopped modeling years ago. Pretty is for normal girls, isn't it? So as much as she prefers male company, she cannot seem to find a group of male friends who don't ditch her for not sleeping with them. 

Interactions with females are often dreadful. They have a social dance she doesn't understand. They don't say what they mean. There is too much subtext. What is a girls night? Why is this gossip interesting? Why do you measure your boyfriends penis? She zones out when they discuss boring things, and she doesn't want them following her to the bathroom. When they are nice to her, she doesn't know how to feel or rationalize it, but if she doesn't run, she responds incorrectly. 

Teenage years have come and gone, and now she is thinking about her future. She does this alone, other than with brief conversations with friends online, small talks with her boyfriend, and venting to her therapist which would require much more than 50 minutes a week to fully disclose. She wants to be a renowned author, and she has written three books. She wants to be a cop, but she can't drive on the interstate or make eye contact. She wants to be a psychologist and work for the FBI, but she knows this will require much socialization. She walks past you, thinking about these things; she knows she will be a good wife, she knows she will be a good mother, but what will she be to herself? These questions are important, and even stressful, but the prospect of having a future after the past she has had makes her happy. She won't be a pure isolationist forever, but while she is, she can prepare herself for the inevitable good and pain of the future she is working for. She walks past you without really looking at you, and as absent minded as she is, she knows what most of you are.






Dizzy






Friday, October 25, 2013

Dizzy's Lament: Emotions.

I spend a ton of time giving people advice on how to cope with severe mental issues. It has been this way for several years, and now I'm at the point where I basically take on a therapist role with everyone I speak to. I don't really mind being a soundboard and adviser, but I completely lose sight of my own emotions because I talk to someone about myself once a week and I have to pay for it - and even then I end up talking about my own "patients." I am a lot more than someone who can psychoanalyze you in ten minutes and then tell you who you are. Not many people really know me at all, even if they spend hours and hours talking to me, because I am usually talking at them rather than to them. On top of that, I spend all of my time inside other peoples minds who are very fucked up [*cough* ERIKA *cough*] who I created myself, and how they cope with their mental problems, and usually they don't deal with them in a healthy way. When I lose sight of my own emotional needs [I have a few emotions by the way] they pile up and I get wonky and I have more meltdowns. It just isn't good.


I may be an alien, but as long as I'm stuck in this human body in this human world, I'll just say it - I am also human. I am not a robot. I can get upset, and although I may not know I'm upset or talk to anyone about it, I'm sure I'm broadcasting it in some way. I don't always practice what I preach, which is mindfulness and using your negative emotions for clarity in thinking. When I am entirely smothered by everyone else's problems, I can't feel my emotions. I can't identify them. My social skills go down the drain, I am in robot-mode, and I end up saying really rude things without knowing that these things are rude. And then my man is upset with me, or a professor kicks me out of class, or someone has to restrain themselves from slapping me. As I've grown beyond my teen years, I've discovered something that is required for functioning in not only society, but also relationships - TACT.

Then I end up in the mood I'm in today. I feel like something awful is going to happen. I can't focus to write and edit, I just keep waiting for something bad to happen. I am extremely paranoid and feel sick to my stomach, not to mention the fact that I cannot eat.And on days like this, when I've officially "broken" and I have to examine my emotions. What am I worried about? Getting dumped. Why would I think I would get dumped? Because I mess up a lot. Why do I mess up a lot? Because I am socially unaware and let my emotions pile up. Why do I think I'm being followed? Because I'm paranoid. Why am I paranoid? Because I'm extremely self absorbed. How do I feel about that? Fine, but clearly something isn't working - oh yeah - I don't have any friends. When someone has no friends, but their creations in their mind has friends, friendship in theory is great and when no human being around is your friend, they must be after you. Is this delusional? Yes. Why am I delusional? Because I spend all of my time talking other people out of their delusions and zero time allowing myself to experience an emotion through anything other than an ulcer. And when I feel like I do today, if someone comes at me with their issues...it isn't going to work. All I want to do is write, and I cannot focus because my mind is talking to me about MY bullshit.
With rational thinking in place, I know that there is a high likelihood that my boyfriend will come home tonight, not want to murder me or throw me out, and we will watch stuff on TV and cuddle like normal human beings and I will feel better and contemplate eating. There is also a very high likelihood that the only stalkers I have are online, and no one is lurking around trying to kidnap me. But I still have that feeling in my gut like something terrible is going to happen, and it isn't going away much, even when taking a Klonopin. Throughout my life I have had some very bad coping skills involving self-injury or self-neglect and I do not want to resort to those things again. Because that is hypocritical. But I don't want to sit here and deal with my emotions, either. I even use music to alter my moods. What if I were to sit here in the silence and feel? 

I'm really not that emotional of a person. But when a non-emotional person lets emotions pile up and pile up on top of other peoples problems and the emotions and problems of people you create for art, you end up with a big nasty pile of emotion feces in your head. So what's in my head right now is "I am stressed out about probation and money and I look fat as hell and I can't maintain friendships and no once cares about me and my funeral would be so tiny and I might be losing my mind and my boyfriend hates me and the agents aren't emailing me back and my friend has a thing to tell me and she hasn't told me yet and why am I suddenly sexually unappealing and why are the downstairs neighbors such fucktards and I'm going to spend my birthday alone again because no one likes me and how come Lewis and Erika and Joshua and Francis and Miriam and Robin and Tommy aren't real?" [Tommy actually is real but that's a story for a never time.] And such garbage that emotions are. When someone like me, who does not feel very often and cringes during mushy parts of TV shows, actually says what they are feeling, it's kind of gross. After typing this blog, I am literally going to need to go shower the gross feeling off. Icky, icky emotions.

The funny thing, other than these amazing gifs I steal from tumblr to keep my blog from being too serious, is that I feel a lot better now that I have written this and I know several people will read it. I have acknowledge I feel some emotions right now and that I have some emotional needs to tend to, and there is catharsis in exposing this to other people sometimes. I am a very secretive, private person, but sometimes I feel the need to do the Aspie version of being a pole dancer. Here I am, this is what it is, like it or don't. Even after I go shower these icky emotions off, I'm still going to be the same isolated "fat" person I was twenty minutes ago, but I'm going to feel much lighter, and will be able to spend time writing, which is what I live for other than my boyfriend, my animals, and my digital interactions. I am a lot more than an uncertified therapist. I'm a serial killer stalker, a daughter son, fiance, author, philosopher, scientist, Christian. I like to read textbooks, I like to watch certain shows on TV if you couldn't tell, I spend too much time on tumblr, I keep a diary, I have no problem writing about murder but writing sex scenes kills me, I love red wine and rare meat, but I avoid red candy. I listen to music all the time, I have a cute sock/scarf collection, and I am overly fond of tadpoles. I also tend to think I am rather fabulous and genuinely do not care what people think of me because being me is highly important for my integrity. 

So even as I will retreat back into my mind now that I have recognized and know how to deal with the emotions I have experienced, I have now written for the world to see that I do indeed have an emotional spectrum. Maybe some of you will appreciate that I am human and that I have shown it here. But I didn't do it for you. I did it for me. I am one of those very hard to read people, I am very intelligent, and very willing to be the voice of reason to many people and I like doing this. People often take this type of person for granted and forget that this person is also another human being who feels and has things going on in their mind. Anyone who reads my novels knows that I do have an emotional landscape - I describe emotion and reaction and I have to feel those things to express them verbally in a realistic way. This is Dizzy, being Dizzy, an introvert with an audience. 

Dizzy

Monday, October 21, 2013

I Am Not A Serial Killer

That's what they all say, correct? Well, the symptoms of not being a serial killer are very obvious in me. Due to my obsessive interest in serial killers (not unlike that of an FBI profiler) I have been accused of being a serial killer or serial-killer-in-the-making. I shall examine the traits of what a serial killer actually is before they are caught and how they differ from who I am. Because no matter what statistics show, which is that over 90% of all serial killers are male, people conclude that due to my dark interests and extensive knife collection, that I am Ted 2.0 now equipped with a vagina.




Serial killers tend to be cruel towards animals during childhood and sometimes onward. This trait is common in most psychopaths, not only serial killers. This is because serial killers are sadistic and like to see living things and people in pain. Even Dahmer, who never did hurt animals, collected roadkill to examine their insides - training for his future of butchering his victims and cannibalizing. I am the exact opposite. One way to get me to actually injure you is to hurt an animal in front of me. I have an overwhelming amount of empathy for animals and would probably take a bullet for one of my pets. The closest I have come to this is bow-hunting for deer, and hunting is something extremely common and socially acceptable in the South. Does gutting fish count? No? Okay. Don't be mean to animals or I'm going to cry.



Serial killers use a lot of superficial charm. They have a "mask" and this mask is their entire life outside of serial murder. Bundy was a charming psychopath, easily attracting women to his car so he could knock them out and carry them off. He also charmed politicians, friends, his fiance (even after he was in jail for murder) and basically everyone who came into contact with him including prison guards. Dahmer (although I do not believe he was a psychopath) charmed many gay men to go with him willingly to his apartment where he then drilled into their heads. Gacy, Ridgeway, Holmes - all charmers. Then there's me. I don't even know when it's my turn to speak in a conversation and I am very openly creepy. No serial killer openly admits to even liking true-crime; Bundy told Ann Rule he found it abhorrent. And here I am, writing books about a suicidal, homicidal girl who everyone thinks is based on me. What am I, asking for Death Row? All of my charm vanishes the moment I open my mouth. I don't even talk on the phone.


Serial killers tend to be controlling of the appearance of their significant others. They want their girlfriend or boyfriend to dye their hair a certain color, get angry when they cut it, want them wearing a specific color. This is usually to fit their victim prototype or to NOT fit the victim prototype. On top of this, they will isolate their significant other from their own hobbies, interests or friends without giving a clear reason on why those things are not suitable for the relationship. I am the opposite of this. I do not want a puppet. Although I find men dying their hair at all to be a bit outside of my frame, and I wouldn't want t be with a male who spends more time on their appearance than I do, I really don't care what they're wearing. I wouldn't have gone on the second date if I had serious beef with how they dressed. I'm way too caught up in my own little world to control someone else to the point psychopaths, especially serial killers, seem to do. Wives and girlfriends of famous serial killers recount being controlled to disturbing proportions those weak ass bitches. 





So, there you have it. Those aren't all of the signs of being a serial killer - bedwetting, drifting, actually being a psychopath - but no one who has been openly obsessed with serial killers since age 4 and has been writing about them since age 15 is actually going around killing people. I'm too busy writing about it and talking about it to actually participate in it. Wam bam your accusations have been shattered. 





Dizzy


Thursday, October 17, 2013

Code Of Dizzy

Code of Dizzy
The Path to Eternal Royalty

Integrity
Use your Weaknesses
Use your strengths
Be careful of who you trust with your emotions
Health
Stay educated on what is relevant to your Integrity
Cope with where you are Internally with your Spirit



I believe in God - the Supreme Objective known by many as Yaweh - the current of all that is finite, and this Objectivity is Infinite. Yaweh is all, always was, and always will be. Yaweh is the circuit in which the galaxies, planets, souls, and Universe were exploded from. A piece of God is in each of us, unless we were not blessed with no spark - no soul, and these beings function only as props to the True Living [as are Filler People, those with souls and no higher purpose in the execution of Integrity]. Jesus [Yeshua] functions as the Conscience, or Empathy of this blatantly psychopathic Supreme Current. Objectivity is without empathy, and the human soul and chemistry requires empathy from the Creator in order to Live and to Die and to Live again.




 Life is a game - a race to acquire the knowledge that life itself is meant to be Escaped - people do this unknowingly, by hobbies and jobs to keep themselves comfortable and from experiencing what life is - a long process of Death. By gaining the knowledge that we are meant to be Escapists, we can feel the pain without suffering because we met God at the end if the race before death, unlike the masses, and will earn a place like royalty in the afterlife. The first step in achieving Integrity worthy of God's Royalty is to acknowledge and practice the 7 Rules of Survival.  This means I am pro-choice in suicide, if the choice is based on Logic, and with the knowledge of what Life is; we can control our destiny with the permission of the Universal Empathy and are free from being puppet-ed.



 Each person has set "dots" or destinations to meet and each choice is a string and many strings lead to the same place we must reach as ordained by God, but with the Knowledge of the game, the race, we are allowed more intervention, mercy, and power over what can happen. Good and evil are subjective, all morality is. There is a heaven (people God see fit + the Royal Minority), a purgatory (cleansing and learning process), and an place of no redemption "hell." This place is not a cleansing fire, it is lack of enlightenment, eternally damned to feel Life and Death in suffering without the ability to escape. 



The God circuit is, in a basic form, a psychopath/Supreme Objective and without the corporal Empathy there is no intervention on the behalf of the suffering Living. I believe a euthanization/murder (bloodshed) had to happen to appease the God circuit in order for intervention to happen. When Jesus was euthanized willingly, God grew what the Living know as a Conscience and Empathy. Human beings developed something apart from the Lizard Brain; God did not do this until the formation of the corporal Empathy. Jesus died with Integrity, and spilled blood and Living Water from which we can escape the eternal Hell of zero escapism. 



Although we were set with predestination to our strings and dots, God gave us the power to alter than if we are smart enough to accept the Truth. He can see all possible outcomes - there is not only one possible outcome. God set us free and watches us dance, but prefers to watch the dancing of the Royalty and those seeking position in Royalty - the Living who beat the Game. We are the ones in control of where we end up, unless we get help through intervention via our Angels and our Prayer. He watches for our dedication to Integrity, especially in those who have beat the Game and wish to be placed in a higher realm with the other Royalty - a beautiful starry sky where we can all be together. 




Patron Saint of Euthanasia, Saint Erika. 



Dizzy