March 5th, 2023- Waxing Gibbous in Leo

It is to no surprise that I journaled once stating my final

return, only for me to almost 3 months later, return again. It couldn’t last more than one day within my routine. My death cycle has been the loopiest of rides with turns of plenty. I have written quite a few reflective pieces in themselves, so that is beautiful to celebrate. I have began my blog. However, I really want to get back into my journaling where I simply write all the thoughts as they come and as they change. That used to be a beautiful exercise I have quite missed. I would create the wildest statements and thought patterns. I remember in class I would write the most random of thoughts for laughter and attention. Time to shine in front of an audience. It was so easy to do. The whole class struggled with writing a flow of thoughts. I began a movement of random thoughts and then it wasn’t fun anymore.

I remember it as a mixture of kids reading their entries allowed. I recognized the stories that people laughed at and enjoyed. I remember mimicking those behaviors in an attempt for attention and to fit in. I recall equally feeling like a loser, a clown playing a show. I felt everyone’s eyes on me as if they knew I was a fraud. I believe this to be one of the times I betrayed myself the most. I had been writing for 2-3 years before this semester of courses. This particular class assignment was during 6th grade. Prior to this classroom experience, I had been writing short stories, poems, song lyrics for my family and gifts for friends. It was an insult to myself to lower my standard of writing for a punch line. The attention was empty and unfulfilling, yet I craved it more and more every day.

I had switched to middle school and was districted away from all my friends, or the friends I knew. I felt awkward and difficult to truly find friends who understood me in the same manner as my friends from before. My friends of which I had a blood bond over the love of Green Day with. I felt to be a loser unsure of how to be myself and trying to be what they all wanted me to be. Who is they? That is a lengthy list of every interaction that created a negative perception within my mind. I had often been redirected, trained, conditioned, parented and taught to be anyone else but exactly who I knew I wanted to be. Every day I felt like a heavy, droopy wooden puppet. I felt as if I woke up to play a character. A character I resented. It wasn’t so entirely. My true self would peak around the curtain, only to give a glimpse when the threat was no longer present. I found I curated a different character for every person I interacted with. I became whoever they wanted me to be while attempting to be as much myself as possible. It sounds insane and as if I am lying a silly little game. I felt as if my true self was screaming to be let out. I know she spilled out over in the trashiest of ways. The journey to finding myself was disgustingly messy.

Reflecting on how easy it was for the world to gradually chip away and entrap my spirit into a cage. It is terrifying how vulnerable you can be as a child mentally, emotionally, and physically. I remain perplexed at how slippery the slope of self truly can be. The pressures of societal, social and family are too heavy of a weight for children to bear. You can observe how the cycles repeat themselves on a collective scale. My heart breaks for myself, my familia, my ancestry; for my friends and their lineage; for the world that mirrors these themes within movies, music and books.

As I have began healing, walking along my witch footsteps, I am continuously met with memories. Memories filled with pain, a pain only the heart can feel. I reflect on my experiences, some were blissful and some were not. I experienced trauma, however in comparison, I truly can only be grateful that it was “only that bad” and not worse. And yet, the pain, the weight, the depression within my heart ached as if it was the pain of a hundreds upon thousands of millions of tortured souls. What was this sensation I was feeling? It was the betrayal of self.

I betrayed myself every time I allowed anything on any scale to happen to me against my wishes. They collectively condition, educate and traumatize the innocent to mass produce a society of robotic soldiers. I have been able to reflect and recall all the moments within my life in which I betrayed myself. The moments in which that weight of my heart was increased. The moments when the scale tipped and the feather couldn’t balance out my soul.

I have relived these memories, re-felt them deeply within every neuron of my body. They no longer are bound to me, no longer lingering beneath the surface. I have released them back into the earth. I have alchemized them into the healing power of my essence.

The left hand path has taught me the strength in authenticity. The pain of delusion. The power of truth. The approval of society is an empty weak threat. A falsehood planted within the impressionable and open minds of our young. It can only take willful self reflection and self awareness to truly awaken to this truth. Society bred smart, loyal and convincing slaves to feed its’ gluttony, its’ greed, its’ corrupt power. They highjacked spirituality with religion in order to redirect the power of self to the power of the ALL.

To redirect back to my childhood memory.. This seemingly significantly small memory, I have realized was a staple in the misdirection of my life path. I had switched schools and felt even more singled out, weird, detached, misunderstood and alone than I already had felt. The emotions of my alien nature only grew. They continued to snowball into a deep web of depression, self loathing, self doubt, and the pitiful outcast aura. I truly felt as if I was a misfit. I felt the need to be cool. I had trialed multiple attempts to wear attire, hair, make up and all of the above to conform to the vision the world desired. I only desired to belong somewhere. I yearned for acceptance from the world that constantly told me I needed to change.

I had never hated myself when I reflect. I always loved everything about myself, but I never understood why the world didn’t love me, the same way I loved me. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t find family, friends, romantics and professions of people who would “get it.” The masks were thick. And yet I would proudly express my love for the taboo punk/emo/metal crowd. Finding solitude in the genre of the outcasts. I had one foot inside one world, another foot inside a different world, my right hand in another world and so on and so forth. I became too eclectic in all the different versions of myself to gain any form of validation, I was unable to determine which thing was me and which was a version of myself I created to escape from the projections of the world.

This memory of my classroom writing was the moment I sacrificed my true love, my gift, my soul for the world to love me. I have realized that it wasn’t too long after that lecture, that I quit writing almost all together. I would come out of the shadows for specific class projects throughout the remainder of middle school and high school. I submitted a poem to the English Expo State Competition in 8th grade; which I had won 2nd place in my category. (I had been given feedback I did not receive 1st due to the controversy of my poem. Which brings me pure joy). However, in 6th grade, the sacrificial seed had been planted, the first hook into the abyss of my not self sunk deep into my skin.