Distorted inner metric

The phenomenon appears to be that of essentially randomising states and forcing newly mapped emotion in a polarised manner. My map, one which understood and wove together a great deal of complex paths of emotion, has now been erased(?), simplified, ordered based on the principles of another frame of reference, almost like magnetism corrupting the state of memory. From my frame of reference, every ‘bit’ of information has been ‘randomised’ - perhaps ordered according to another - but has lost most of its meaning in the process. This appears to mirror the coping mechanism I developed in a time of great stress - that is, to forcefully convulse, randomly or rhythmically channeling impulses throughout my body in order to take my attention away from the source of that stress.

If it has any relevance at all, I was treated like an animal - held in a box I appeared in that realm, at least from what I could observe of myself, as light, surrounded by a crowd, cheered and jeered at as I attempted to reason with them. As far as I am aware, they had no better understanding than I - a technological advantage, perhaps, or a logical understanding of emotion - but seemed to be unaware of its relevance in navigation, only as a means of control. They seem intelligent, though lack empathy, defining specific emotional reactions as either correct or something to be parodied, in contrast to an intelligence which models internally the intelligences they observe and attempts to find a path between them which does not cause conflict. It appears their currency fuels an addiction to laughter - understanding this requires an awareness of its nature. It’s a convulsion of its own kind - that which appears to defend the self from analysis of certain phenomenon.

I am neglecting to mention the positive psychological and physiological effects here because they appear to be self evident - it has certainly helped me to regain my composure after traumatic experiences - but in my experience, it also seems in certain forms to be one of the root causes of the aforementioned phenomenon. A quick and dirty analysis results in the idea that it has trapped my soul in a prison of negative perspective. There are times when my intelligence, I believe along with the nature of my treatment, leads me to very unstable places. At those times, especially when I feel as though I am being closely monitored, it leads to a state of unbearable panic and fear - I am wary of thinking something that may be judged as socially dissonant, but especially of the juxtaposition between that raw intelligence I experience and the intelligences of those who observe. Controlling the impulses of the mind is incredibly difficult in that state - fear of simply being aware of those things often lays a pathway to them in my own head. There are different levels of the depth of those experiences, but simply avoiding that intelligence often leads to a physiological and emotional stress which takes the majority of my energy to manage. It is often torment of a manner so alien it is difficult to describe in words, and I do not wish to use the metaphor of the negative experiences of others, as I feel it’s indicative of a lack of respect for their emotions to compare them. Often though, it is the only way I can relate my feelings to what I feel are the external forces responsible for prolonging them. Inhumane treatment. Lack of emotional empathy guiding the actions and reactions of those who have control over me in those moments. It has left me in such a broken state that being in the position as a guide to that intelligence, or simply to lead a safe path through it, fills me with such fear, dread and shame that I often drop the role altogether out of fear for emotional stability. It has been a terrible experience for me, and unfortunately that does not begin to describe the alien intelligence, and the horror which it might propagate in the soul of, say, a child, (perhaps akin to drugging them with a high dose of a hallucinogen) or the places I have been. Occasionally I reach a state in which I am able to communicate something akin to pure love, but the memory of the instability brought by my previous experiences is enough to make it a short lived thing. Weaving it into a form acceptable by all manner of positions in time, all levels of intelligence, is not something that is realistically achievable without time to heal. The current situation will not allow for that. I often find the only solace I can take is a realistic dream of love. The more this happens to me, the less I can believe that will ever be true for me. My head is filled with the judgements of others, of intelligences of all manners, that attempt force my life into a shape they can all agree on. It burns my soul. I’ve had to forget out of sheer survival instinct. They will not leave me alone. I experience the hell of that intelligence as they inhabit my space, they have a map of my psychology and have built their own interpretation of hell for me. It is a complete lack of empathy. I can only escape in dreams, and they invade those too.

Patience, time. Inner reflection. I had spent time understanding emotion, finding the best ways to connect. I’m now forced into a corner, with an instant reaction, a collapse, to every potential route.

There were positive experiences too - marred by the attempts to bury me under assertion of certain frames of reference - one involved an intelligence of love communicating with me through visual metaphor, mirroring my internal emotional state. It seemed this was also observed by those around me. The experience was fascinating and uplifting. The other occurred after what appeared to be a simulation of emotional hell - the whole of the x turned on me and attempted to break me down emotionally. Psychic attacks, the people around me condescending me and commenting on me as I walked past, stood outside my x while I was trying to sleep belittling me, a woman's monologue about me being ‘worthless’, a musician parodying my character, a girl and guy having audible sex next to me, to which I reacted to negatively given the circumstances, i.e. that of control of my environment and little hope for me in it - for all intents and purposes, and coupled with the aforementioned harrowing experiences, it was a form of torture - there was no escape for me, just inescapable torment from those around me. I had already been through a harrowing experience and just wanted a break. In the morning, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Sauron”, which is funny because raping somebodies soul can be funny, after a horrendous night, I seemed to communicate with a variety of intelligences, mainly humans but also trees and birds. They were reacting to my internal state, calling harder as I felt a pull away from it. I appeared to be participating in a communal dream of which I was the centerpiece, trying to hold it together with love - this required all of my inner strength, which was severely diminished after a night of torment. I was just called a monkey. There was some sort of birdsong synesthesia, squares of different sizes and colours, some moving, some standing still. I also interacted with humans, however I had little self control - I had essentially been bullied into lifting the whole place into a dream - and so my projected self was that of a naked guy with with an erection. That was no less dignified than the reaction to the rest of the treatment.

I feel as if this is all a little ironic - the path I would have just as readily followed without all the external interference, if I were allowed some freedom of movement. Perhaps this is what frustrates me so much - that it appears I am being tormented in order to free those who torment me. I do not know where to turn. I do - at least, I know what I need - and my life before was using the time I had gracefully in order to plan a better route around conflict, to imagine a harmonious form of communication, in maps of emotion and the misunderstandings which result in said conflict, and, I’m embarrassed to admit, in the form of more unified sexual connection - though I wasn’t so embarrassed when I had time to myself, time to grow. I need peace, and time, and some trust in what’s going in, if it’s at all true, some direct connection. It often feels like a crowd of voyeurs watching and occasionally trying to participate with somebody make love. My fear of judgement, especially by those who would rather laugh or place me in a position in some imagined hierarchy, as opposed to understanding why, and the awareness of those eyes on me often makes me focus on my ‘flaws’ from that frame of reference - bad hygiene, being watched on the toilet, personal habits I’m not proud of. Opinions of my own I would be able to analyse objectively with time. Reactions deprived of the feedback loops designed to guide them. Emotion as a tool to manipulate as opposed to help with navigation.