Every passing second has so much weight to it, I am watching Bashar videos to try and talk myself out of limiting beliefs while the world around me is becoming more and more like a surreal nightmare. I hate this existence and yet something pushes me to keep going, and I think I hate that most of all. For years I thought I was doing energy work but I've just been f#cking myself and my life up. I never thought I'd find myself here, or finding so much relief in alcohol. Methamphetamine is the devil. My dad used to say methadone was the devils drug, I guess that we both had an encounter with evil through a kind of "meth". Oh my God, how I have destroyed myself and my conscience. Perhaps even with the drug use, if I had only chosen not to do -that thing- and look at -that- maybe I would have a semblance of something to make it through this. I wish I could beg you for forgiveness. I wish I could put it all on the table and say this is what I've done. I didn't hurt anyone but people were hurt. Now the split in my mind is more real than ever. No longer am I some thought up second-being, but a living, breathing fractured psyche in which reality itself affirms a deep seated belief that "there are two of me and I am the unworthy/undeserving/bad one". What is the point of me being here? If I am Starseed/Indigo Child I have failed myself and failed in my incarnation. I blame it all on this fractured sense of identity. Mediums see my father, ashamed of how he had hurt me, holding his head in his hands and all I wish to do is forgive him and go home. I'm not psychic or gifted, and if I am any potential is buried underneath layers of trauma. Why am I not dead already??? When I picture it, it's a cancer, I am alone in a hospital and the lights are fading out. The painkillers are enough to veer me away from the full, cold, rigidity of the experience- something that this experience is becoming more and more akin to despite my walking and breathing. I simply cannot do what is happening automatically, which is going on. I'm 29 years old. At what point does my mistake become a mistake and I am allowed to forgive myself and become more bearable to myself. It's absolutely f#cked up. But I have been so cut off from myself for the longest time and I was looking for something in that, and I couldn't feel or understand the pain or the guilt at the time. I didn't understand the effect it would have on me in the years to come. I felt that hopelessness was all that there was so I let it happen. Today I am more hopeless than I was then and yet there is no desire to repeat that mistake, only right that wrong, and yet my mind is tormented endlessly. I see it in all of everyone, people on the street, reflections of myself that know what I did- who tell me- who acknowledge it. I am guilty forever.