“We are stone shaped by the force of its abuse;”

“Waves crash down, unrelenting, unending. We are stone shaped by the force of its abuse; colossal mountain ranges eroded to jagged shorelines; aged cliff tops, decrepit and helpless; earthen cadavers now ripe for mining to the very core of our souls. Or so we would have you think. Magic is willpower. Willpower is magic. Self-knowledge is the key to the perfect control of the will. After destroying the decades of our youth, after being crushed under the pillars of heaven–the bonds we make and the bonds we break ever come crashing down.”

Thou, “By Endurance We Conquer” from the album Summit

Mental Illness and Mass Shootings

Oregon Killer’s Mother Wrote of Troubled Son and Gun Rights (The New York Times)

From what little detail is given in this article concerning the recent mass shooting, it seems clear that the shooter in Oregon had an extensive history of mental illness. Once again, everybody is “up in arms” (pun absolutely intended) on either side of the gun rights debate, as is what always happens after one of these now all-too-familiar tragedies. Nobody ever seems to have much to say about the mental illness aspect that is present in nearly each one of these cases.

My personal experience has confirmed what I already believed, that the way mental illness is perceived, addressed, and handled by today’s society is in need of drastic change. The way mental illness and those seeking help are treated by social programs and government bureaucracy is in need of drastic fucking change. And, while I absolutely support the 2nd Amendment and believe Americans are entitled to the right to legally obtain and possess firearms, I also believe their need to be measures in place to prevent these firearms from ending up in the “wrong” hands, whatever that is defined to be.

People with certain severe mental illnesses, myself probably included, should be regulated in some manner in relation to handling and possessing potentially deadly machines. Cars, guns, rocket launchers, forklifts, armored tanks, Mexican firecrackers, whatever…REGULATED. I made the personal choice not long ago to sell or give away all of my firearms, for my own safety and for yours. Too many nights spent in a fucked up head-space with the barrel of a .45 in my mouth, or days spent in a misanthropic murder fantasy. Not everyone with similar problems has the capacity for such a personal decision, and these are the times when a governing body is meant to step in for the safety of the people.

Nothing is so black and white as we make it.

Here is a link to an article with more information about the nine deceased victims of this tragedy.

© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Fuck You, Government.

I’ve been trying since February to get help from the government with my mental health bullshit that’s been rearing it’s ugly, destructive head most of my life. Since then it’s been nothing but bureaucratic red-tape clusterfuck inanity. After another extended period of no communication on their end, I called today and found out benefits were denied nearly a month ago, but nobody bothered to send me a letter. Social service programs are specifically designed for cases like this, where mental illness symptoms are a significant detriment to successful interaction with society. As in, unless I get the help I need and start fixing these issues, I am liable to flip out and start physically harming hapless, brain-dead members of society. This is why motherfuckers bring a shotgun to work one day.

Fuck you, Government. >:[

Take a look around, man and watch our worlds collide!

Title from Buzzov*en, “Shove” from the album …To a Frown

I learned something interesting at my head shrinking session a couple days ago. Apparently, the current medical knowledge of the last decade or so indicates that anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medication has little or no effect on bipolar symptoms, and in many cases can actually exacerbate manic symptoms and trigger manic episodes. This according to a psychiatric professional, so I would assume the information is legit.

So, basically this means the last fifteen years or so of having the entire spectrum of SSRIs and whatnot flunge at me was, as I had come to suspect, doing fuck all for me, and in fact is partly to blame for the constant headcase fuckery cycle of recurring bullshit. All clinical terms, I assure you.

This is one reason I have such a distrust of doctors. Plus they keep trying to harvest my organs for their secret black magic rituals. Just kidding. Probably… 😉

© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

…down on the floor, scratching for more…

Title from Fistula, “Smoke Cat Hair and Toenails”, from the album Vermin Prolificus

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Manic as fuck. This has been building. It’s a frantic race to nowhere. A deranged rat on a hamster wheel. The sedatives aren’t working (“I think I can handle my sedatives, bro…” -Charlie). Cyclical thought experiments. Running through my past transgressions. Recall, revisit, rewrite, restore. This is why the lines get blurred.

Suddenly, focus. Something intense, white hot, piercing, and its all that there is. It envelopes from the inside out, wraps tentacles, consuming. It is all that there is.

It is gone. And there is nothing. Less than nothing.

Fractured psyche, rearranged. The protective cover of scar tissue. Healing. Growth. Change…

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© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

“In the someday, what’s that ‘S’ sound?”

Title taken from Nirvana, “I Hate Myself And Want To Die”

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I’ve read several posts of late stating September is Suicide Prevention and Awareness Month. I recently blew the mind of a mental health social worker by dropping the term “suicidal ideation” during a clinical assessment. He went on to coyly suggest that, as “suicidal ideation” is a term most people are apparently unfamiliar with, I had perhaps researched various mental illnesses in an effort to make myself seem more symptom-afflicted than I actually am. Fuck you.

I think about suicide nearly every day. Not always in the sense of serious contemplation of a final solution for myself, although the rare particularly bad period might have me going that far, mentally. Usually it is just the casual acknowledgement that suicide remains an option, a way out, as sort of a morbid and deranged comfort blanket. Usually, I just have the thought, and then shrug, and then move on with my day.

But, as someone who does display symptoms of suicidal ideation, and in the spirit of this time period apparently set aside for awareness of such, I will say that being unbiased and non-judgementally supportive of The Afflicted is about the best and only thing one can do to try and prevent potential suicide in a client, friend or loved one. Reducing the stigmas surrounding mental illness will go a long fucking way towards reducing the chances that a person in suffering will pursue a final solution to their pain. Showing support, empathy, kindness, and simply being “there” for a person is the best way to make them feel safe and secure, and to foster an environment wherein they may choose to open up and ask for help when they need it.

Beyond that, it really isn’t up to you. It isn’t up to anyone but the person who is suffering. We as damaged people must have the desire to seek a way out of our particular suffering. All the support and awareness in the world won’t save a person who is unwilling or unable to change. And, sad as it is to say, someone who is truly fixated on taking their end into their own hands will not be stopped. Those of us close to him saw the warning signs and interrupted several attempts, but in the end my “brother” Branden found the end he wanted.

Fuck, what a downer of a post, huh?! Maybe I should include a picture of something adorable, like a drunk monkey…

🍸🙊🍺🐒🍻

There ya go… 😉

For anyone who needs it, the website for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention is https://www.afsp.org

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© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

So, you’re just gonna come back around here, show your face again like nothing happened?!

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It’s been just under six months that I’ve been completely off any sort of psychiatric medication. The last set of meds I was on triggered strange and terrible bouts of manic insanity, and I wanted to get back to an unmedicated baseline to see what that felt like. At no time in the last six months have I felt any better or more stable than before, though I have had a fair share of days that were much worse: my experience with mental illness, much like my experiences as an active drug addict, is that just when you think you’ve reached your lowest point, life is about to show you just how much more fucked it can be.

For the most part, however, being completely off psychiatric medication for me does not feel all that much different from how I remember feeling while I was on psychiatric medication. Which, in my mind, confirms my suspicions that the meds I’ve been on in the past have done fuck all to address my symptoms. They seem to work for a short while, but then…

I have an appointment this week with a witch doctor or shaman of some sort to discuss the possibility of getting back on some type of psychiatric drug regimen. I will obviously be taking the doctor’s opinion and advice into consideration, but as it stands I am honestly torn about whether or not I want to start back on that shit again. The idea of finding some type of relief from some of these symptoms of insanity sounds rather fanfuckingtastic. However, with each past experience with psych drugs I grow increasingly doubtful of the effectiveness of medication at all.

Besides, I’ve grown rather fond of some of my imaginary friends. Some of them. The rest of you can fuck right off! 😉

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© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Musings on a Wednesday: Randomness and Observations

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– There’s nothing like the smell of wet cow ass in the morning. It smells like…well, like wet cow ass.

– Must be a leak over my bunk when it rains heavy, because I slept in a wet spot that I am 98% sure I didn’t make. Okay….82% sure.

– Is it oxymoronic to despise someone you’ve just met and otherwise know nothing about, based solely on their apparent association with a hate group? I feel like it kind of is, but I also feel like I’m kind of okay with that.

I don’t have to know a KKK member to think they are a piece of shit.

— Lady Mary

– Getting paid to do a whole lot of nothing for eight hours and then being rained out for the last two make for an easy workday. But an easy workday is not necessarily a “good” workday. Because FUCKING BORING!

– Somebody should start a cell phone service marketed specifically to the oilfield and pipeline that gets decent service out in all these B.F.E. locations. Since it’s for the oilfield and pipeline, they could overcharge like crazy and motherfuckers will pay it. You could make MILLIONS.

– I often consider murder as a preferable alternative to finding ways to coexist with a deplorable person. Then I think, well, that isn’t very Buddhist of me. Then, I double check which direction the blade on my pocket knife unfolds, in case I need to open it quickly.

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– The worst thing about using a freshly-pumped portable shitter is having the chemical water splash back up from a “projectile” and coat your undercarriage with filth. Well…that’s maybe not the worst thing, but it’s up there…

– So many many things in this world piss me off. You may have noticed. But few things piss me off more than unsubstantiated arrogance and swagger. Perhaps it has something to do with the apparent “fact” that those who actually have something to be cocky about generally are conversely humble and gracious. The motherfuckers that strut and cackle usually don’t have shit to back it up. Usually.

I will not do what the tick tells me to…
… I will not do what the tick tells me to…
… I will not do what the tick tells me to…
…I will not…….

— The Ryan

– Some days, when a person or situation disrupts my delicate sensibilities to the extent that the Others take over before I can practice “letting go,” I end up in a downward spiraling snowball of scorn and loathing that grows to consume the entirety of my consciousness to the point that I can only see the destruction of all existence as a solution. I feel only hatred. I can no longer see through my own perspective and headspace to determine if this is simply a byproduct of my sickness, if my anger and sense of apocalyptic hatred is just and warranted, if anyone or anything even deserves to fucking live, to exist. I say lay waste to the wasted. Be done with it.

Fuck money, fuck friends, fuck family! Fuck pussy, fuck drugs, fuck sanity! I don’t give a shit! Why?! ‘Cuz ignorance is bliss! Right?!

— Flatbush ZOMBiES, “Bliss”

– Sometimes I like pie. But not apple pie. Unless it is green chile apple pie. Seriously, yo…that shit is bomb.

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– No matter who you are, no matter what it is…music fixes everything. At least until the song’s over. Then you might actually have to do something yourself to keep shit fixed. But, fuck that, right?! ;-D

One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain…

— Bob Marley

– The moment I am writing something, it is the most brilliant and insightful thing ever committed to paper. The moment after I write something, I despise it with the fury of one thousand suns. I feel like I am not alone in this.

– I am stuck at the crossing of what is essentially a different version of the same fucking train I spent forty minutes trapped by a couple of weeks ago. I know this because of the graffiti. Or because I only dreamt this before, and now the shit is happening for real. And I have no data connection.

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© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Cessation of All

It has been this consistent thing of late where I see a living thing and recognizing that thing in its perpetual suffering and mortality depresses me in horrific existential crisis to my fragile core and all I want to see as a cure is the cessation of all existence.

© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

i am the chasm

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i named her heart
after a black hole sun
but the truth is
the void is in me
as dense and suffocating
as the ache in
my fucking guts.
i am the chasm
which consumes all things
with a hunger
ravenous
never replete.

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© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.