The priests and shaman of my primitive culture have diagnosed me with Major Depressive Disorder (with Psychosis), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and Social Anxiety Disorder. Yes, I am a sexually dysfunctional psychologically damaged emotional cripple. The mundane details of ordinary life, on the rare occasions I am capable of considering them, seem to me so trivial, inconsequential, and lacking in significance that I am forced to wonder why we bother with most of the empty meaningless things we fill our lives with. I must be reminded to eat. I must be reminded to shower. Shaving seems so meaningless that I have not taken a razor to my beard in over a year.
I suffer from from insomnia, nightmares, and recurring dreams that sometimes intrude into waking life. I have PTSD flashbacks and triggered intrusive thoughts over which I have no control. Some of these memories have been manipulated by psychopaths who subjected me to psychological torture while on hard drugs, having lured me on the pretext of helping me with my emotional problems only to do far greater harm. Intentionally. At least some of the trauma I remember from being tortured is real. I do not always know where my memories and delusion begin and end. For all real psychological purposes, every memory they put in my head looks feels and smells just like a real memory and carries all the power to influence my state of mind as if it actually happened.
I believe I am the reincarnation of somebody important. I believe I was called to prophecy by God himself and every second I am not speaking is a crime in His eyes. Yet I do not know how much to say. There are unspeakable secrets in my mind. I had an out-of-body near-death experience in which I believe I met Krishna in the flesh. Krishna called me to His own house in Heaven and I chose not to go. I was worried about hurting those who I would be left behind. I should have gone. When a top-tier Deity of infinite compassion invites you to do something easy and fun, putting an end to all your troubles with a happy ending too good to be true, I advise you to do what He says. I had telepathic communion with the Goddess Tara. A disincarnate Buddhist Lama called "Rinpoche" who insisted his identity remain secret lived inside my head for three months. I now believe Rinpoche was a manifestation of Budai.
Or maybe I was hallucinating, having delusions, hearing voices and talking to myself. In the social consensus definitions of mundane reality here in the U.S., I know that I am insane. I also know that our psychiatric hospitals and homeless shelters are full not only of the broken and lost, but of deeply spiritual sensitive souls born to be spirit healers, shaman, sages, priest poets and prophets but they do not fit the mold and we throw them away. We break them with the very chains they were sent here to free us from.
Yes, I spent eight days in a psychiatric hospital. My memories are not in chronological order anymore. Some things which has been long forgotten are now vividly remembered. Other things I used to know are gone, wiped out of my mind forever. I recovered repressed memories of every traumatic experience that ever damaged my psyche and interfered with my emotional development. My personality has been broken and re-assembled. I experience surreal significant synchronicity that looks and sounds like seeing signs and omens. I believe I had a higher calling as a spiritual teacher and I blew it. Now I want to teach the world about Poison Karma.
So here it is. Sacred text or insane manifesto or something in between. Maybe something like the self-healing therapy journal of broken man on a long hard journey back from chaos and darkness. Judge as you will or not at all. I am an unreliable narrator, the Loneliest Warlock, victim of poison karma.
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