I haven't posted in a long time. A few years ago I had a falling out with a member of the Shroomery and I took it upon myself to decide that I would surrender the site to that member and I would hang out in the chat. I have returned now due to our loss. I am devastated as I am sure many others are.
That aside, now that I have come back I am tempted to stay. A lot of things have changed for me and at this current point things are changing very quickly. I had sunk to a very low place; a place that was difficult to get out of. However, I did. I decided to not only try again but to swing for the stars. I applied to graduate school.
I honestly did not expect to get in so I applied to two different departments with the hope that I would get accepted into one program. My GRE score for math sucked and my resume is pathetic. What I did really have going for me was my letters of recommendation. I had three, one from a history professor who had written many books, an archaeologist who works for the national parks service, and a renowned english professor. I had met them all during the highest point in my life which is why they decided to help me.
Much to my surprise, I was accepted into both programs; the history department and the anthropology department. I decided to enter both. I am now currently working one two master's degrees concurrently. I am focusing on the relationship between written and archaeological evidence of the creation of alcoholic beverages in the Middle ages.
My whole attitude has changed. I've been very happy and engaged in socializing with my colleges. I have even been given an office in the anthropology department.
One of the most important things I have learned is to not give a fuck about what other people think. In the past when I was new to this site, I got into the habit of kinda posting in a goof ball sort of way; probably because of all of the crazy midnight madness posting that was going on at the time. Also, I had the attitude that I was going to be rejected by people so I might as well post in a manner that would facilitate that. In fact that was my attitude towards life in general.
But now that I have learned to not give a fuck, I feel a lot more comfortable with being honest and genuine because if someone else doesn't like it they can just go die.
I have also been going to the gym. I have realized that physical fitness is an important aspect in life. A lot of you are younger people and your fitness comes naturally but believe me when I tell you it won't always be that way.
What I find to be the most strange is that I have the memories of events happening: the depression, the fear, the addiction and the focus on petty distractions so that I would not have to think about those things. However, I do not have the emotional connection to them. I don't understand why I was experiencing those things or at least to the level that I was. I feel like one person who in addition to his own mind also has the memories of a different person, at least in a objective chronology of events.
Depression compresses your world down as tight as it can. When you overcome it, that world opens back and you are amazed by all of the positive things that you could not notice while in the grip of depression. Step one to recovery from depression is to realize your own agency in regards to what changes you can make in your life.
-------------------- RIP Acidic_Sloth Sunset_Mission said: "larry the scary rex verily scary when thoroughly vexed invoke the shadows and dust, cast a hex mercifully massacring memories masterfully relocate from Ur to 8th density and become a cosmic bully mulder and scully couldn't decipher his glyphs invoke the shadows and dust, smoke infernal spliffs" April 24th 2011
Edited by Larrythescaryrex (08/28/16 04:54 AM)
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It definitely feels like I've got a million different ghosts of myself that lived their own life separate from the one happening now. I think it's mostly a good thing, it means you have diverse experiences and have grown a lot.
Sometimes it's odd though, I used to live in a 400 year old stone farmhouse on the summers working and living on a horse farm, I remember one winter morning when I was living in the attic of a Victorian house in West Philly, it was cold and I got an inexplicable whiff of honeysuckle and something else that completely took me back, I almost forget periods of my life until something triggers that rush of nostalgia.
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