Blarobbarg

Blarobbarg historia de la vida, la tercera parte de un número!

My first two years with New Dad were fanfreakingtastic. I thought about using an actual word in the English language, but I couldn’t think of one that summed up my feelings. So, fanfreakingtastic it is. He actually invested in his new children. Spent time with us. Held us. Wrestled with us. Loved us. Fanfreakingtastic is really the only option I’ve got here.

But by the time I was twelve I was beginning to sink into a miasma of hopelessness. The coming of teenagerhood was the coming of understanding. I began to think about my past with a more critical eye as I realized that growing up terrified of your crazy alcoholic father is not a “normal” childhood. I thought often about my short life and what it was, what it meant, who I was in the world. In the midst of these introspective journeys, I discovered pornography. Unsurprisingly, I was hooked immediately. What twelve your old boy, with hormones raging and certain feelings emerging, wouldn’t be? My parents had foolishly decided to put a computer in my room, and I spent many curious hours studying this new “sex” thing. And it really was study. I had always been, and still am, a very analytical person. This was just another new experience to examine.

Soon, my porn preoccupation became a porn addiction. Every waking moment that I could get to my computer, I was busy surfing away on the internet, looking for something new to turn me on. Now, I know a lot of people around here enjoy porn. I’m not judging anyone. But for me, this was a serious obsession. It was, however, just the side effect of my actual issues. I was continuing to spelunk into the depths of misery and depression. I was quite good at acting, and passed myself off as cheerful, but anyone with half a brain could tell that something was wrong with me. I avoided anyone who tried to befriend me, holed myself up in my cave as much as I could, and was a quiet loner until I had one of my occasional emotional breakdowns, in which I would completely blow up on anyone and everyone around me. I hated myself. I was dangerously apathetic to my physical well being. I began injuring myself out of self-loathing. I was fantasizing the many ways I could die, and thought how wonderful the reactions of others would be. They would be mortified! They would be so sad! It would be great! This continued for several years, without any real change, except that I was able to hide how I felt with more ease as I matured.

I knew that my lust for porn was an issue, but foolishly, I thought that it was my addiction that was causing my problems, and not the other way around. After a few years, I began to work on a sort of sexual binge-and-purge. I would fight the temptation for days, weeks, and once or twice, months. And then, all of a sudden, I would fall right back down the rabbit hole and spend an entire night, or several nights, or a week, watching as much as humanly possible. Then I would punish myself, wallow in hatred and self-pity for a while, and start the cycle over again.

But then, at fifteen, a sound pierced the deafening, lonely silence that was my life. METAL.

I came into metal in a somewhat different way that most. Up until this point in my life I really didn’t listen to much music. I would turn on the classic rock station every once in a while, sure, but it didn’t mean anything to me. It didn’t seem worth it. As far as I could tell, everything in a genre pretty much sounded the same. Why bother exploring music if it’s all just cookie-cutter copies of one another?

My little brothers, however, listened to a lot of music. Mostly metal. I couldn’t stand it. I could tolerate softer fare like Ozzy or Van Halen, but when they turned on Megadeth I would just leave the room.

Then, one day, I had to do some chores. I was in one of those rare moods where I wanted to listen to music, but didn’t have my iPod (filled with a few classic, soft, and pop rock songs) on me. I borrowed one of my brother’s and looked around. Out of curiosity I turned on Metallica’s classic album, Ride The Lightning. My life would be changed forever.



For some reason, in that thirty minutes of doing chores, listening to one of the best damn thrash metal albums ever to be released, it all clicked with me. I was an angry, angry kid and this was angry, angry music. It was perfect. Soon, I had listened to Metallica’s entire discography. With some help from my little brothers I soon moved on to Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, Megadeth, and Motorhead. For a long time, those few bands were pretty much all I would listen to. Metal was therapy for me. It was the sound of my emotional state. Pissed the hell off. I was still miserable after I discovered these furious noises, but slightly less so. It might not have made much of a difference, but when you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, every step the other way is a step in the right direction.

Next up, Part 4. Into the light.

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Blarobbarg

Blarobbarg’s Life Story, PART DONE WITH THIS, ONTO OTHER SHTUFF



I’ve always had an appreciation for traditional gospel music and old hymns, especially when sung a cappella, such as in the example above. Their beauty is transfixing, with voices lifted up in songs that have been sung for hundreds of years. But though I’ve always enjoyed the music, for a long time I was very uncaring of the message behind the words.

And then it all changed.

I’m not going to go into detail on my conversion, because I am not here to preach and that’s the only possible way it could come off. Long story short, I met this guy named Jesus. Before I was introduced, as you already know, I was kind of ****ed up. By the time I got to this point in my life I was hearing voices that were telling me to kill myself. I had sunk so far into depression that I did not see a way out, there was no light. I was in a haze 24/7 and my mind moved at a sluggish pace. I couldn’t wake up, so to speak, and if something hadn’t happened I honestly think I would just be rotting meat underground right now.

So then I met this Jesus guy. I met him largely by my own soul searching, because I hadn’t met many people with real, authentic faith yet. Mostly just people that were as dead inside as I was who were going out their rituals and parroting the mindless phrases that had been mindlessly parroted to them.

Eventually I figured that there was not really anything I could do that would make my life worse than it was, so I decided, “Hey God or Jesus or whoever. If you’re around, you’re gonna have to take care of this, because my life sucks.”

It worked.

Over a shockingly short time, my depression faded. The voices went away. The urges to have my crumpled form flattened under a bus became nonexistent. And shortly, I didn’t care about much anything else except this guy that took my ****. And to this day, that is pretty much all I care about in the long run. Because fighting for stuff, and money, and happiness has only depressed me. This is the only thing that has ever brought me true, unexplainable joy. And since I found out that freedom from your inner demons was more than a sentiment, I’ve met others that aren’t the sign waving, “God hates ***s” spewing, right-wing propaganda throwing hypocrites everyone thinks the Church as a whole is. As Michael Gungor once sung, “She’s not yet dead, His bride is still alive.”

Now, when I hear the old hymns I can appreciate more than the fragile glory in the melody. I’ve been that wretch that you’ve heard of so much. And yes, this grace really, really is amazing.

Next up, stuff that isn’t my self-indulgent life story!

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[MERIT]

I can most definitely empathize with your story. Such a great journal. Looking forward to hearing more of your story.

Trollheart

Not a believer, but you couldn't shake my sister's faith with a, er, really strong shaking thing, and she's had one hard life (now ten years with MS and bedbound for the last six), so I know it can really anchor/change your life. Delighted you were able to climb out of your pit of despair, and as you say, the Church isn't all about Republicans hating gays and muslims. It does get a bad rap (some of which it deserves, in fairness), but at its core the true message is there for all to see, even if a huge percentage of its followers are too blind or too into their own selfish agendas to see it.

Well done, and congrats.

Oh, and ask this guy Jesus to make an introduction thread, willya? What sort of music is he into?

A pleasure, as always, blaro...

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Trollheart: Signature-free since April 2018

Geekoid

I second the
Great way to conclude the life story Honest, authenic and encouraging. Well done.

Blarobbarg

Thanks much, gentlemen. Always appreciate your feedback!

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Blarobbarg

Everything I Do Is Opposite Of Myself




I can't stand stereotypes. I have railed against them my entire life. Every time someone talks about the stereotype of anything, I usually attack them with an example I know of where the opposite is true. This is probably because I just care about people in general and hate hate, but it also comes from my own life. Anyone who only knows me in certain scenarios or environments probably shoehorns me into a stereotype- the nerd, the Christian, the wacky one, the hippie. Usually when I realize that an acquaintance thinks of me in only one way, I try to switch their opinion around in another direction... for ****s and giggles, mostly. But is there a deeper reason? The short answer is yes. The long answer is below.

I've thought pretty hard for the last few weeks and I've come to the conclusion that everything I do is to be different. I didn't even realize it, but I have been incredibly prideful of my differentness. For years, I've always been the "odd" one, whether for better or for worse.

For instance, I'm a Christian. I swear. Not a big deal, but after considering it, I'm pretty sure the only reason is because I can't stand Christians who get upset over pointless nonsense when there are millions of people starving to death around the world. I'm not swearing even to express annoyance, I'm doing it to not be a douche bag. If that makes any sense.

In my everyday life, I'm a very fun-loving guy. I have a silly personality, I'm very sarcastic, I like to play and joke and all that, but I will also randomly switch to super-serious mode and discuss politics, comparative religion, and world events with people who don't even realize I know or care about any of it. I also have the tendency to psychologically dissect someone, to see if my theories are anywhere close to the truth. Typically if they suddenly get really uncomfortable I'm in the ballpark, at least.

I seriously am beginning to think that the only reason I'm known as the "really silly, weird smart guy" to my closer friends is because I was tired of only being serious and just started acting funny so I could actually have friends.

One only has to listen to my favorite music to see that I enjoy opposites. I might listen to 70's punk nonstop for a few hours, then get bored and jump to whatever is the total opposite... in this case, noisy modern jazz music. Now, knowing what I do about my actual life and personality, am I doing this because I am legitimately enjoying it, or am I doing it because subconsciously, I just want to be different, and opposite of myself? Will I suddenly decide one day that half of what I listen to is garbage, because I was just listening to it as a front for my actual personality?

I dunno. It's probably all bull****. I'm just overthinking out loud here (or overthinking with my fingers moving, I suppose).

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Goofle

Nice entry man. Love both of those artists.

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Blarobbarg

Hey there guys. I've been running a non-MB journal on Tumblr, partially for my friends and family "in real life" to know what I'm up to, and partially because I want to. As a result, I've pretty much ignored this one, as you can clearly see, but I wrote this poem that I rather like and wanted to share it here for anyone who cares. And yes, I know it's similar in style to Emily Dickinson. I've been reading a lot of her work recently, so that's not surprising. Hopefully it's not just copycatting.

Anyway, listen to this song by Floex, my favorite Czech ambient-electronic jazz clarinet artist while reading, I think it really matches the tone quite well. Enjoy!

PS- If you like the song at all, or are interested in the description of Floex, I can't recommend his music enough, it's wonderful.



SEASONS

How sorrowful a summer’s morn,
When one is left bereft
Of Friendship’s oft coveted hold
And Love’s sweet sighing breath.

How menacing the fall’s brisk noon,
With scarves wrapped tight about
Our shiv’ring necks, and with our
Breath heaving through a bluish pout.

How deadly is the winter’s night!
The icy monstrous black!
Its tendrils creeping roundabout
Our frosty rigid back.

Spring’s day revives so many flowers
But not all return to bloom.
When the florist comes to call
He finds that most were doomed.

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