YUKON

 it has been five years since i last wrote anything to myself. five years of keeping all these words rattling around in my brain like loose change. now finally, i need to spill them - because if i don't, my brain will keep playing the same old playlists of love stories gone wrong.

here's the pattern.. i fall for people who aren't great for me. some i loved too much - though, honestly, maybe i was just in love with the version of them that i made up in my head.  others, well, they looked good on paper - stable, respectable, the "parents would approve" type - but they never reached the deeper parts of me. 

and then there were the ones, who love me more than i loved them, which sounds flattering until it feels like being cast as the lead in a play you didn't audition for. because the truth is, just as i’ve built versions of people in my head, they’ve built versions of me aswell. they’ve loved the idea of me—the dream girl they projected onto the blank canvas of my existence. but ideas aren’t people. inevitably, the fantasy collapses under the weight of who i actually am.

people in my life have said i don't let them in, that my walls are too high.  but here's the thing - walls don't just appear out of nowhere. you build them after too many people treat your open heart like a tourist attraction - snap a picture, take what they want and move on. of course my walls are up there. of course my door stays closed. how could i possibly fling my door open for someone who doesn't even understand the view on the other side? i don't want someone rattling the doorknob, i want somebody who knows the password. 

so i retreated into music. for years, i have been listening to lana del rey like it's a scripture. not casually, not as background noise, but like a lifeline. her poetry became my cathedral - tragic, cinematic. i clung to the lyrics because they mirrored the contradictions inside me - romantic but ruined, hopeful but haunted, fragile but stubbornly alive. i didn't let the other voices in because i didn't want the noise, i wanted resonance. i was holding on to hope, that one day something - or someone - would vibrate at the same impossible frequency. that one day i will meet another ethereal being who understood that love is not a feeling, it's a whole damn aesthetic. 

i want genuine connections and unconditional love - the kind that sees behind mistakes and flaws and still stays and never wants to change anything about you. i want to be present and real. i want to plan future travels to unknown, but be also just as excited to come back home. 

for so long i thought these were just prayers i whispered into music. lana sang it to me when i couldn't say them out loud, lyrics holding me together when i had nothing else to grip. i followed the songs like breadcrumbs, pebble after pebble, holding on to hope that somewhere out there, someone was walking on the same path towards me. 

and against all odds - someone did.

they don't just step into my ether, they live there too. they don't just watch me glow from a distance, they burn at the same frequency. all the pebbles suddenly make sense, all the songs feel like prophecy.

for so long it was me humming the melody alone, wondering if anyone would ever hear it. with her it's different. she catches the rhythm instantly, no hesitation, no guesswork..

all those years of illusions, rehearsals, making myself little, changing myself to fit the stories, all those echoes in the dark - they make sense now. they were just the prelude leading me here. to this moment where the fireworks don't fade and the music does not stop. 

for the first time it actually feels like it's only just the beginning.

and with her, i don’t just hope it lasts—
i know it will.

out of retrograde XD

I don't normally do this, but I had the oddest dream this morning.

  I was at a festival with bunch of people with colourful hair. I didn't know them, but we were friends in my dream. It was bright sunny day and it felt warm and carefree. I knew I was at work and I was about to start my shift. I was combing my wet hair in front of an huge pizza oven. I brushed out a huge silver hairball and tossed it into the oven. 

I watched it playfully dance around in the extreme heat. It started to take a shape of a little bird - a sparrow perhaps. I was mesmerised and thought how cool that it happened. 

The hairball bird took more and more  shape - it looked now like I had actually thrown a budgie into a fire. For a split second I was startled. 

Like an arrow it shot out of the oven towards the sky. The bird had turned into turquoise  and brilliant scarlet, vibrant and glittery. It was the size of an eagle with golden plumage and shimmering. 

I witnessed it disappearing into horizon as fast as it had appeared, thinking 'Was that a fucking Phoenix??'

What the internet says:

• Dream of hair coloring indicates that the career will be successful.
• Dream about washing hair indicates the continuous troubles will be over which makes you finally heave a sigh of relief.
• Dreaming of combing hair smoothly indicates the current troubles or problems will be successfully resolved. The troubles will be disappearing away.
• You may have dreamt of cutting your hair and then burning it. This signifies your current self letting go of your previous identity.
• A bird in a dream means work. If one's bird looks beautiful in a dream, it denotes the quality of his work.
• An unknown bird means profits.
• The appearance of a phoenix in your dreams is about rebirth and new beginnings. It brings good news of positive times coming into your future. Phoenix represents transformation and eternal life with its constant renewal. This can signify the end of something in your life and the start of something new.
• Blue represents truth, wisdom, heaven, eternity, devotion, tranquility, loyalty and openness. Perhaps you are expressing a desire to get away. The presence of this color in your dream may symbolize your spiritual guide and your optimism of the future.
• Orange denotes hope, friendliness, courtesy, generosity, liveliness, sociability, and an out-going nature. It also represents a stimulation of the senses. You feel alive! You may want to expand your horizons and look into new interests.

When the Phoenix comes into your life, make no doubts about the powerful message it brings. It comes with a strong message of hope.

The Phoenix comes to reassure you that you will rise from the ashes. And, not just that!

This spirit animal comes to guide you out of despair, to offer you a second chance.

As such, this bird is most likely to appear to you when you are down and out. At such times, only a miracle can save you. The phoenix spirit animal is that miracle!

Also. Venus entered Taurus 10pm last night.

Royal Mystic Tarot said: 'Garden of Eden energy. This is where your belief of prosperity universe is continuously conspiring in your favour.
Your faith manifests your future, so it must be bigger than your fear.'

It is, according to everything... sHoWTiMe

Gingerbread recipe

Somebody out there might need this. So here goes a dope one, an authentic one - not that grocery store cookie crap. 

Tinkered to perfection by me. With a hint of nostalgia. 

• 600 gr dark brown cane sugar
• 400 ml Canadian maple syrup 
• 250 ml boiling water
• 2 tbsp sour cream
• 4 tsp lemon concentrate
• 3 eggs
• 2 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp salt
• 900 gr flour

Spice mix

• 4 tsp ground cinnamon
• 4 tsp ground ginger
• 2 tsp ground clove
• 2 tsp ground bitter orange peel
• 2 tsp all spice/pimento 
• 3 tsp ground cardamom 
• 1 tsp ground nutmeg
• 2 tsp ground coriander

For starters mix all your spices together. And make sure you do get ground ones, because grinding some of these guys is a nightmare (I learned that the hard way naturally).

Then take large thick pot and heat it up. Pour all your sugar in there, but avoid stirring, that might make sugar lumpy. Keep an eye on it, sugar has tendency to burn really quickly and that would make ginger bread bitter. 

When the sugar starts melting add boiling water (I'd recommend taking it off heat for a moment). Super carefully, boiling sugar reaches mad temperatures, stir with a long wooden spoon of some sort.

Add maple syrup and spice mix. Simmer for a good few minutes for spices to get the heat. All that should look like black lava and smell heavenly of course.

Hard part is now over, relax, congratulate yourself for not burning yourself and/or sugar. Take the pot 

off the heat. Let it cool down completely. Meanwhiles mix together flour, soda and salt; have a glass of mulled wine, chill. 

When sugar syrup has calmed down add sour cream, eggs and lemon concentrate. Mix everything together. Now it is time to add flour mixture to the syrup. Don't drop everything at once, nice and steady. If there is a kitchen aid mixer near by good! If not, use yer muscle - eventually you have to go in there with hands anyways. Put on some funny animal videos and work the dough, really give it some muscle. It should eventually be smooth, non sticky and super elastic. If it crumbles or doesn't stretch properly, you haven't worked it enough.

When that splendid christmassy loaf has reached desirable texture wrap it in cling film and shove it in the fridge. For the next 2-3 weeks. I mean some would say over night is fine, but I tend to get real anal about my spices, so the more the merrier.

All that should give roughly 3 kilos of dough and ginger bread cookies up until April. 

I made a test run and premiere for Christmas today and these boys were lit. After sitting in fridge about 10 days they were almost as good as it gets.

You're welcome!

...not a Grinch this year innit

happiness

Cup of coffee is the first thing that reminds me happiness. I made one just now. There is something soothing about the smell of coffee in the morning. For the rest of the rushing world it  marks the beginning of the day, the wake up call. For me, the opposite - I have hours for myself and my thoughts.

It takes me back to my childhood, its aroma leads me to those mornings, when sunbeams sneaked through the curtains and there is not a worry in the world. I can’t wait to run to the kitchen and sit down with my parents to have breakfast. I loved Saturday mornings, whatever happened during the week, nothing changed these small things. Like pancakes on Sundays. To be fair it was never just pancakes, Sunday was the day of baking. I didn’t particularly like cakes then, but never the less I enjoyed baking with my dad. I loved how he experimented with recipes and had this small smile under his moustache, when he nailed it. As if he was glowing with pride but he was too shy to own it. There were so many times, when I was so proud of him, I never said it, as he never did, but I know now, I should have. The things that were unsaid then, are still lingering in the air and want to come out. 

On weekends we often went to countryside with my aunt and cousins. My cousin was my best friend even though we have five year age gap. Our summerhouse was amazing for couple of kids with vivid imagination. I must specify, that it wasn’t exactly a cottage, the house was cut off from all the civilisation. The nearest main road was roughly four kilometres and nearest shop definitely not walkable distance. It was old yellow farmhouse with barn and sheds in the middle of a deep forest.  The house belonged to my great uncle, my mom and aunts used to already play there as kids, guess that place had been around for generations and had tons of great memories within its walls. 

We ran through the forest and fields, we climbed trees, we built forts. We were ninjas, we had army of soldiers. We were Indians, we were cowboys. We nurtured baby birds and chased lizards. We had campfires and picked hazelnuts in autumn. 

I was afraid to go to outhouse in the dark, because my cousin’s ghost stories. And the fact that he kept locking me in the thing constantly. But I wasn’t mad at him, everything was an adventure, when I finally got out, I spent hours looking for him - the Great Escape had already turned into hide-and-seek. I looked up to him, like he was my own personal superhero, I had unconditional love. 

As I grew older I ended up less and less in that forest wonderland. Along with myself, my best friend had grown up and forgotten how to play as well. I sure hope he too remembers everything like it was yesterday. These are the memories kids should have growing up, being anything they ever imagined and run free. 

My summers at my grandparents were the opposite from the island. When my aunt was a strong believer of letting the children play, my grandfather demanded discipline and hard work. He thought that was the only way of getting ahead in life - waking up with the sun, doing your chores, lunch, back to chores, working until darkness comes. His generation had it rough and it sure was the only way to get by. This intro to summers at grandparents might have started off gloomy, but quite the contrary - it had its own beauty.

We had all the vegetables and fruits imaginable growing  in our climate zone right in our summerhouse. I loved casually picking a plum from a tree, sitting in a cherry tree and munching or sunbathing behind a raspberry bush. When granny was preparing lunch, she told me to bring stuff from garden. I pulled fresh potatoes and carrots form the soil, picked tomatoes and cucumbers for a salad. I can still taste it. I remember what are the flavours of vegetables, when they haven’t travelled thousands of kilometres to get to our supermarkets. I miss the realness of freshly squeezed apple juice and scent of those asymmetrical giant tomatoes. 

As my grandfather was rather convinced everybody needs to work, we had quite a few conflicts, when I was growing up. I had always been the hedonist and a dreamer. I wanted to be in that scenery, but I didn’t want to turn this bliss into a burden. My only way was to escape. Escape to the limitless void, that I filled with books, thousands of stories, mysteries, fantasies. I read sometimes three books a day, I could never get enough. I didn’t have any friends there, nor was I missing to have any. All I wanted to do, is lay on the grass, in the middle of the blackcurrants and gooseberries and hungrily consume stories. 

I started off with summers, yet all the favourite parts take place  in winter. I find it fascinating how beneath the frozen ground and glistening snow, is life ready to burst out. Everything is just constant cycle of waiting and growing. Nothing really dies, its very much alive and idling. I loved winters -  even the darkness. The calmness and silence assured me, everything will once bloom again. Winter is like guarantee, that next step is no doubt spring. I might have liked it even too much, perhaps I have been most of my life in the winter-phase waiting for spring to come. 

My favourite memory is a particular winter I stayed at my grandma’s a month or more. I usually didn’t spend more time than couple of weeks at my grandparents in winter time. It was before I started school and that year my dad was helping out my uncle cutting down some trees in the forest. They stayed out until dark and  I spend all these long days with my grandma, just the two of us. I don’t remember much, what we did, I guess I had to be only four or five that time, but I remember the feeling of warmth and coziness. 

I was sitting by the window, looking at snow. Barely anyone on the streets, just this eerie church next to our house and blizzard. Winters were different then. We got meters of snow piling up to our yard. It seemed like the snowing never ends. 

I was waiting for my dad and grandpa to come home, but just because I was scared that something bad would happen in the dark forest filled with snow.  I loved sitting in front of a fireplace wearing woollen socks and drinking hot chocolate. Listening to fire cracking in the oven, distant mellow music coming from kitchen, where grandma was humming to the tune. In those dark Estonian winters, time literally stopped. Now I find it hard to cope with, the shortness of daylight time, the countless months of cold, but then I couldn’t imagine anything more peaceful. It was the winter when I charged my battery. 

Winter had Christmases. The time of the year my dad went particularly crazy with baking. My early years I thought naively that making hundreds of gingerbread men and glazing them was for me - to make my holidays special. I am convinced that it was for him. I am convinced he did that because he missed being a child and the simplicity and beauty of life. That doesn’t change obviously anything, it was a magical time. 

Maybe it was for mom. We always got the tree and we were in a hurry to decorate it before mom gets back from work. He was sweet like that, everything had to be ready before she came - dinner on the stove and not a single dirty dish anywhere. Home was always spotless clean and freshly baked cookies waiting. I see now how much beauty was in details. And god, how much I am like my dad. 

One December he painted small footprints on my windowsill. The muddy prints went from the window to my slipper, where elves were bringing candy. I couldn’t believe my eyes in the morning, that I have been so blessed and I of all the kids in the world have proof that elves are real. I called my cousin, he came over immediately  to investigate and he too had to admit, elves are in fact real. Which clearly meant that Santa was real too. He was ten and I was five back then, he wanted to be all grown up already and he had told me past two years, that it is all made up and parents bring candy and gifts under the Christmas tree. I never believed him, not because I was naive, I  just loved believing in fairytales.  I’m glad this trick extended our childhood couple of more years. My dad didn’t reveal it was him for fifteen years. I was twenty something when finally casually  he broke the silence, with the same little smile on his face. He knew he did good. That time I really did say, it was the coolest thing you could do to a kid at Christmas. 

The older you get the more you realise that a lot of things wasn’t just for kids, it was for adults who had missed out most of it when they were young. I am about same age now, what my dad was, when I was a toddler and my first memories were made. I relate to this guy in his early thirties more than ever. He had so much energy, creativity and ideas what to do with a small child. From feeding duckies at the pond to teaching a three year old how to play chess. One thing is sure, I don’t remember ever watching tv - always out somewhere doing something. Autumn we were picking mushrooms, in spring cowslips. When the weather was bad, I was painting, learning animal names in Russian, memorising capitals of Europe, drawing penguins or making clay monsters. 

I remember pretending not to know how to read for a year, just because I liked that dad was reading books to me. One unfortunate moment I corrected him, what he had just read and got busted. Then I had to do my own reading, what I secretly did for a long time anyway already. Bet he knew though and liked reading children’s books out loud as much as I did. 

I did more as a child than I ever do in any given day now. I can go on for hours telling what made my growing up great. Truth to be told, it has been hours and two mugs of coffee later.

I feel I have lost connection with Earth. I haven’t felt it under my bare feet so long, I haven’t noticed the first snowflake in ages. I have missed out falling leaves and first timid snowdrop in March. I haven’t breathed in sea-breeze. I notice the rain, I notice the sun, but I haven’t paid much attention to seasons changing even. I simply miss it. 

I don’t particularly enjoy being cramped into a metal tube each and every morning breathing in someone else’s sweat. I don’t enjoy being hooked to magnetic fields and being monitored by every single device wherever I go. But this is the time we live in, this is our reality and we really were the last children without it. There is something spectacular about us, because it's only us whose one leg is in past and one in future.  Is that partly why we feel so disconnected?

Now I have started to value time and myself more. I value this very moment where I can reflect and appreciate, what I have and what I have achieved within. I see so clearly the gap between then and now. I have had amazing childhood and wonderful memories filled with joy and colours. It was a pity that it had to end perhaps sooner than expected. It was a pity that tragedies hit our families one by one and it has ripped us apart. We barely see each other, nor we talk or reach out. We don’t have any of that anymore - the summerhouse is gone, the smell of grandma’s cinnamon buns is gone, along with my grandpa and his grumpiness. I saw my cousin last time at the funeral. 

I haven’t mentioned my mom much, but it feels that this time it’s not about her. She hasn’t been controversial like my dad, she remains a saint in my eyes and nothing will ever shake that sacred place inside me. It is my dad who both build me and destroyed me and he deserves a passage of beautiful memories. To be honest it is only me, who saw that wonderful side of him. For others he was a son, a brother, a husband, a friend, an uncle - but only I have seen the dad. 

That brings me to the big question. The question, what do I want? I can’t sit here and mourn all the great things in life. I’m not dead and buried yet. I am very much alive and thriving. Even more now, because I have lived through and relived all the grim. I thought the past four years of my life, when I retreated and confined myself into solitary, were the years where I grieve and simply start over. Indeed I did that, but all that time, I only figured out how to deal with negative. I learned how to not sink and go on no matter what. I know how to survive. 

But I don’t know how to be happy. I don’t know how to trust this. How to go back to the twenty year gap in between and awake the child within.  After I lost my family I though I don’t deserve another one, that I am not worthy. I am meant to be alone and not be part of any Christmas Eve’s  ever again. Ever since I have always worked on holidays or traveled, because I don’t belong anywhere anymore. Even thinking about it makes me always cry. This isn’t right, I know. Everyone deserves a second chance, even the horrible one’s and I wasn’t even one of them. I was just a kid. 

I do know what I want. I know I want to do all these things again and I want to share them. I will never forget the quote from ‘Into the Wild’, that said ‘Happiness is only real when shared.’ I think that movie has been quite symbolic and resembles my life and I hold it very dearly. 

I want to spend time in the countryside and appreciate nature. I want to walk through a field of wheat and watch sun slowly sink in the nearby forest. I want to sit on a beach and listen to the waves coming to shore. I want to cook real food I picked from garden and host a dinner party to close friends. I want to watch campfire burn in the night. I want to watch stars and listen to crickets. I want to create colourful memories and bring that joy into someone else’s eyes. I want to bake cookies and wait someone home from work and simply make them smile, because I did something small and thoughtful for them. It doesn’t necessary mean kids, it doesn’t take more than two to have family. It doesn’t take more than  just one person to share happiness. But it is  also incredibly beautiful to see three or four generations together sharing the same moment and memory. 

Up until now I think I have been embarrassed to say out lout that I want a family. I don’t need to chase all the money in the world or become famous. I want to celebrate holidays with people I love, I want to be waited home. I want someone to worry again if I get home safely at nights. Maybe I hated admitting it, because it felt unfair. How could I have any of that, if mine are gone, how could I betray their memory? I admitted myself into solitary and learned to live in it, hating every moment. 

I want genuine connections and unconditional love, ability to trust and see behind people’s mistakes and flaws. Leave judgement behind and have deeper meaning in conversations. I want to be supportive and to be always there. I want to be authentic and natural. I want to plan future and travel unknown destinations. I want to be excited to get back to home. I want home.

That is not what I want, this is what I deserve, to love and be loved. And share the memories that are yet to come. 

time was approaching midnight, i was watching a movie, feeling rather grim. then suddenly a huge spider dropped from the ceiling and hanged by a thread right next to my head. first instinct was slight disgust, then i realized: wasn't that supposed to mean luck?
peculiar nevertheless, it came out of nowhere, stayed a moment, for me to gather my thoughts and left as silently as it appeared.
auspicious.

i think i win a lotto

oh boy, now i am seeing clearly, what all those hundreds of hours of tarot readings meant for past few months. its all coming together. i have reached to a point or place or time, i wouldn't be anywhere else, than i am now. all the damn country roads reached to a significant fork in the road. it indeed is now or never right under my nose.
the moment retrograde mellowed down around the full moon in Libra arrows started shooting in. as cards predicted, something so unbelievable will cross your way, you wouldn't even dare to dream of it. yet, i myself, have manifested it all. all the bullshit i had to live through was for this.
this week, i scored the most magnificent job. Even not England is scale, world is.
New home is more or less paper work signing stage.
if all this already exploded in with Uranus energy, what else is on the way?
i am fucking excited!

damn you Mercury

Roughly three weeks on the island. Summary so far is two job interviews, about twenty apartment viewings, approximately 100 phone calls and countless emails. For all this i must thank Mercury retrograde. 
I realized soon enough that communications not working properly is not London's fault. Tons of stuff not UK related is acting up. Transfers not received, hackers slacking, movies lagging, stalkers creeping. The usual, but much more exaggerated. If i wasn't continuously perverted about tarot readings on YouTube, i'd have maybe missed out all this energetic garbage and blamed wrong turns in life.
All the above sounds somewhat exhausting, but quite the contrary, all this running around made me extremely comfortable wandering around, dining alone, chatting up strangers. Guess what, now i can, i can fucking talk without adding 'sorry, i don't speak your moron language' in the beginning of every conversation. I can also pass time on tube reading a damn newspaper, even that was a luxury for past four years. Feels good to speak and read, let's be honest.
And people are nice, not fake nice as i became accustomed to previous years, they are actually not bitter, jealous and lurking for a chance to gain something from you. How strange, that I feel far more safe here, where i read about stabbings daily, than there where crime rate was nonexistent. I feel the general public is more achieving orientated than slacking'n'benefiting.
Some fun facts:
All the dogs in the parks are free and surprisingly not a single conflict ever. Why should there be, if your freedom is not oppressed. Since yesterday, i gathered my confidence and Milo became one of them.  Needless to say even dog likes the vibe here far more.
Did you know, if you're super lazy as I often am, you can order any type of alcohol you can think of with Uber to your door? And did you know its far more cheaper than ordering food in Helsinki from pub next door? And that's not all, the same service can bring you anything from macaroni to washing powder, lets not forget, even cigarettes. That's how much they don't care here about suppressing liberty.
Which brings me to the obvious, I don't understand, where that hog shit comes from, that Helsinki is 25% cheaper than London on living costs. Probably another sad attempt to convince the world, that Finland is good, Finland is great. Only thing really cheaper is transportation, but how could that be even in comparison if one is village and other is well, one of the biggest cities in the world.

Oh and Netflix is not geolocked.

yea, that's about it at the moment. I'm not exactly rushing in and storming out, I'm balancing and exploring.

https://www.16personalities.com/

don't remember the last time i did it, but still this...
https://www.16personalities.com/intj-personality

An Architect

aerodrome

Past few weeks have held countless battles, internal and external ones. not even knowing anymore which affects me more, the civil war size domestic situation or inner doubts. every day starts off with a different vibe, some mornings i'm full of fight, rise and shine, you got this. next one i'm down on the ground and can't breathe because of my own fear choking me. yesterday was one of those minus days. not even flight. to the point, i thought i might be losing my mind. almost typed in google search 'do i have a mental illness?' and watching mr. robot sure did not help that state. i was afraid of waking up to new dawn having the same basement eeriness.
and what do you know, nothing like that. i started off missing avril lavigne and spent hour or two watching the good old conspiracy theories. it has strange way of soothing my restless soul. like not all is what it seems and there are miles beyond the surface. which lead me to astrology, which lead me to tarot. which lead me to now fourth hour of predictions of the year 2019. and i must say, it is going to be a blast, divine blessing as they mentioned. the whole post sounds schizophrenic, i realize now, but little do i care, what anyone's humble opinion of my beliefs is. (avril is dead.)
2019 beginning prediction has matched with three different readings spot on. i am strongly convinced rest will follow. i'm not going to bother myself going into detail, because it doesn't mean shit for anyone else anyway.
But the general idea behind it all. i don't ever have to go through this slow death march again. this part will be and will remain buried. no shiny surface, no telling myself, that maybe it was quite alright - it wasn't. it was a shitshow. it was fake and it was shallow, there is no soul, there is no connection, its empty vessel, that tries to be filled with lies. am i bitter? absolutely not. i'm so relieved, that it was just a necessary part to go through before i actually start living my life again. winter, if you will. hibernation cave, where you shit and sleep and wait for the spring. to start melting  and growing again in full speed.
i guess what i'm trying to say is, i thought this was eternal state of being, this nothingness and numbness, need to please every fucking inbred moron around me. but no, this is not it.
it was a crappy airport to a connecting flight.
funny how metaphors can take years and in split second it feels like a fraction of time. 

location synchronized

environmental anxiety.
now that my own thoughts are clear, instead of being liberated, i am even more tip toeing on egg shells. it genuinely feels like a bad trip. all those unicorns and glitter, candy mountains and bright lights, pink fluffy clouds and ...bullshit katy perry video - is stripped down to a nightmare.
it tries to sink its claws into your flesh, whispering in your ear, that you're nothing, you will fail.
gaslighting. most definitely gaslighting.
i have exhausted my mind so long trying to do the right think in every situation. be better. be good.
it is a charade. i'm jokingly or not, not far from theory that maybe this, simply does not exist. your relationship has been a lie. you just see things, because your own mind plays tricks. all dimensions within the dimension have also been delusions.

paranoia talk aside and in all seriousness,
its easy to see the sugarcoated version of a place, if in truth it has absolutely nothing to offer and its as shallow as you can go. indeed very similar to hallucinogen trip - the length, the depth, the levels and eventually...the fall.
but that's all  it is. longer version of a bad trip. and as far as i know, all trips end and one point its time to return to reality and start living your life again. go back to work, have late night conversations, connect, detox, purify.