My Existential and Philosophical-Based Anxiety

I have an admission to make: I suffer from anxiety.

I have suffered ever since I got into the MDMA scene over a decade ago. Once I woke up to the realities of life via my use of the compound, I've been haunted by intermittent bouts of intense anxiety: palpitating heart, sweating palms, ghosts of the past, fear of some bureaucrat lurking around the corner, and all manner of aliens looking to probe me.

The anxiousness is all-encompassing. It provides me with the illusion that I am about to die at any moment. Of course, the reality is that any of us can die at any moment, so this is a certainty; a truism; a given. In this regard, my fear is ironic. Sometimes I even get straight up panic attacks. Naturally.

Of course, this isn't MDMA's fault. There is not "fault." My anxious experience is simply an effect of realizing the truth of the world. I also imagine Neo in the Matrix would be experiencing fairly intense anxiety at the notion of suddenly, rapturously uncovering the truth after Morpheus handed him the red pill. Isn't this why some consider taking the blue pill? Fall back asleep, fade into nothingness and live in the heavenly bliss of ignorance, à la Cypher?

How would anyone feel if the wool had suddenly been pulled off of their eyes? I am sure you can relate to this message? Can't you all?

To wit, I believe anxiety issues often accompany people with spirited goals and a deep understanding of our societal condition...and perhaps a deep lack of understanding regarding universal knowledge. It's part of the suffering artist or embattled activist trope. It's part of the human condition, especially for woke people.

I imagine some folks have often seen me as a model of mental health. Truth is I am not. I am far from it, which is why I believe I can speak candidly and earnestly on the state of mental health.

What we suffer from is an acuteness of reality; a tragic fear of the great unknown, and all the paranoia and sadness and violence that accompanies it. The nature of reality; of our situation; of our heritage, is one of despair and of great curiosity. It's the immediateness of wonder that sabotages our soul and drinks up our vitality.

Nonetheless, I don't believe for a moment I am diseased or that I am sick. I don't use it as a crutch, as many of you may have noticed. I don't even complain about it. What I do is fucking persevere. I press forward, balls to the wall, with a hope of changing the world.

My anxiety is only a side effect of epistemological ignorance. It has nothing to do with sickness, and everything to do with some Lovecraftian mystery or Pandora's Box.

So this is why I channel my anxiety into my passions, as a kind of artillery for solace; as a hedge against the sickness of human hatred and violence.

Why curl up in a ball if I can help shift the paradigm and free the people...perhaps saving my own soul and the souls of my loved ones in the process?

I think this has been my modus operandi; my calling; my mission, and I will enable it via any means possible.

The anxiety is merely a conduit for the amplification of my goals.

I am not sick. The world is sick; sickness is the mystery of freedom...of the universe.