WTF Is The Bitter Buddhi?

One morning, high on psychedelics, I went on a rant, God knows what triggered it. It took me years to track this down, because I thought it was lost forever in Facebook Messages.... but alas, somehow it made it back to me. ❤️

Birthing the Bitter Buddhi

08/02/2017

Here’s a real doozy: how am I cheating on myself? All the abuse I saw my ex do TO me is just a reflection of the abuse I'm doing to myself. This is so messed up, you guys! I'm f-in’ Googling, "How to learn to love yourself,” because apparently I don’t have a clue. Are people everywhere just doing this? Did I just somehow get passed in the giant universal email about self-loving? And since I supposedly don’t, is that why everything seems harder for me, or is everyone out there getting slaughtered by their own versions of tough life lessons which have nothing to do with the lack of self-love?

And are happy, peaceful people really, or are they in an illusioned, glorified version of auto-pilot? I guess there's nothing wrong with a glossed and glazed-over look if I can tell myself I’m at peace within which therefore makes me at peace with the world around me, even though it’s ugly and cruel and a force only naturalist writers find intriguing. Well, apparently, I need to take a blurb out of Positive Patty’s Book of Life Rules because I’m doing something very wrong or my karma is just catching up to me. “Yes, I’ll take one glazed look with coffee, please.”

Look, I was raised by fanatical Christian, nar-co parents (a narcissist and codependent), which taught me the most fucked up way to love, and how to live in fear because my sin nature from Satan made me a mere, insignificant human who will never live up to Divine standards, and by the way— it was Eve’s fault the human race fell, and so therefore women should find their place in the world, which is in the kitchen, with a shut mouth, making dinner while cleaning out the garbage disposal. Gee, Type A breeding ground much? And this certainly couldn’t be where my perfectionist tendencies stem from.

So because I’ve been so fundamentally flawed since birth and under the most extreme illusions through fabricated falsities, means every piece of happiness has been a fraud, a fake, an imposter of my own creation only perpetuating the debilitating cycle of self-disappointed and ridicule. I mean, how the hell is one to go back up the rabbit hole we so expertly through ourselves down? I’d ask Alice, but you notice she hasn’t been around answering these kind of questions. In fact, what do you think happened to her?

While we all know there is natural beauty and joys in life, along with great memories with friends and family that are irreplaceable. But that’s like drawing stick figures under rainbows with guitars and Kum-By-Ya lyrics on canvas supplied by Ed Gein. I mean, would we all just smile and marvel in its Crayon-64 Color glory, and we should just take the horrible truth that Auntie Em is really under the rainbow, and pin that on the pink elephant holding the talking stick?

The realistic view of this world is a raw and blatant one, and once again, with something so unchanging, the brain must cope with yet another trauma, that reality is a place filled with pain and anguish based on simple facts n stats. Numbers aren’t negative, and they don’t lie. That’s non-negotiable space for change, even for a cup’s half-full support group. Where are they selling these blindfolds that promote inner peace? I’m gonna have to get me one of those things.

So those of us who have been waitlisted for these fantastic Gucci blindfolds, we must cope with the bitter truth by creating pink fluffy walls with Care Bear wallpaper around an unforgiving world filled with people who generate turmoil and trash, perpetuating human suffering and the depletion of natural resources. “But think of all the good things life has to offer, too!” Sure, let’s wrap it all up in a beautiful bowtie birthday suit n try not to look at it, topped with the perfect, "life is good” sloganeer bow or some inner self-peace bullshit, smile agenda motif that's all just selling the same bullshit Microsoft is trying to sell: I'm as good as Macintosh. And we all know its not; life ain't grande; and whoever said, “Life should be easy,” certainly didn't mean you should be navigating it easily. They meant we deserve goddamn deliverance from it in an easy fucking way for a change.

Satirical Synopsis:

I think I got it, ya’ll: So by the time I get through all of these smoking mirrors and lying politicians; find a job in a collapsing economvy, pay off my student loans, recover from PTSD and Narcissistic Abuse Syndrome from a sadistic ex-gangbangin’ narcissist of an ex-boyfriend, the aftermath of fucked up parents who offered me not a lick of good advice, and clear the air from a life filled with the all-consuming cloud of alcohol and drugs, maybe then, MAYBE THEN, I will have the energy, smile, and good attitude to say, “Yes life, I would love to find my zengasm or some other bullshit illusionistic propaganda you’re selling this week, on sale next to the Thin Mints and Samoas!

Go ahead and sign me up for reoccurring, bi-monthly shipments.”

I gotta start blogging.