I took out the garbage, cut the grass, and washed my car every week just like Dad, but other than that I was given freedom. I’d traverse the surrounding neighborhoods and when it was time to come home for dinner my Mom rang the bell on the back deck. Old school 1980s ushering in both cable and MTV.
I was schooled by PBS and cable TV. Dad signed me up for a PBS computer course to learn the ins and outs of bits and bytes before they’d buy me the shiny C64 I had been drooling over at Steve and Eric C’s house. Eric R.’s Dad had a C128 that had a screen saver of Darth Vader and Obi-Wan Kenobi in a lightsaber battle. So cool! About a decade later I had the same on my Macintosh PowerPC 7100.
George Carlin quickly caught my attention on HBO’s Carlin on Campus in 1984. While his language was certainly sailor-inspired, he knew the power of our voice. He understood language better than anyone by carving it up and revealing how in so many cases our own Americanized English was full of potholes. He also knew the power of the planet was so vast that “one day it will shake us off like a bad case of fleas.”
HBO’s arrival in our neighborhood marked a significant change for me. I now had access to channels that gave me a far wider worldview than being limited to our 200 pound set of World Book encyclopedias. Where else could I have been influenced by George Carlin’s masterful language musings and observations? I also had access to a BetaMax Dad bought that same year for my Mom for Christmas.
While it did have a far superior picture quality compared to VHS, Blockbuster had an extremely limited supply of BetaMax movies. There were dozens of shelves, and only one housed their BetaMax offerings. Pretty cool that the Beta format is what we used to record and backup our compositing workstation at The Weather Channel before QuickTime even existed.
The late 1970s and early 1980s were the most influential decade for me. I not only fell in love with Luke Skywalker and Indiana Jones, I knew exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up. I paid more attention to the matte paintings and compositing than the film’s narrative.
I was fully obsessed with George Lucas and Steven Spielberg from the 20th Century Fox spotlights and the ecto-green chunky, Lucasfilm, LTD to Paramount’s logo dissolve to the Raiders of the Lost Ark Kalalea Mountain on the island of Kauaʻi in Hawaiʻi. I’d learn later that it was a common trick Spielberg used in his own childhood films.
Spielberg and Lucas also introduced us to the forces of evil in both Darth Vader and the Nazis. Some believe Darth Vader translates to dark father in German. This stance is incorrect. George Lucas admitted that Darth is just another way to spell dark and Vader is a variation on the word father. No matter how we look at it, Darth Vader and Hitler are both absolute evil.
True evil lives and dies while the power of love evolves. During each cycle love gets stronger gaining higher vibrations. While the darkness grows it’s always ready for a comeback and we've got to make sure we identify all these folks because I hate to say it but they're not gonna be part of our club and boy do I hate having to say no to somebody at the door who wants to know more about love don't miss the train.
Has anyone considered that the evil in the world is all in plain sight for a reason? Could it possibly be that all of these dark folks are being handpicked to not be included in the singularity? That place of pure love and light where we all go in the next cycle? I think this is true.
While they spin their financial webs of deceit, freeze their brains of material matter in their end they will rot and go back to the soil as our souls ascend. There are signs now unhidden everywhere. The less I look, the more I see. God told me three years ago that I was on the right path.
My innate sensibilities are not uncommon anymore as more people wake up. I see patterns, rhythms, riddles math surrounding me the number 27 repeated always 11:11 repeated even more often even found in all of my identity. Even my Subaru logo is the Pleiades it’s a 2013 which is 20+13=33 : 3x3=27. I was born in 1972. Maybe that’s why I see 27 everywhere.
Do you ever get the feeling that life is really a game if we choose to play? Can we break the bonds we’ve been brought up with keeping us obedient and compliant? Since November 2023 let’s just say I’ve been leveling-up. Over the past two months my intuition has reached exponential levels of quantum entanglement. This isn’t fiction, it’s my life unfolding in front of my own eyes.
My eyes have most certainly become the mirror to my soul ascended. I’ve been leaning heavily into harnessing my once dormant childlike curiosity, and it doesn’t disappoint by any earthly means. I’m inviting you into my once invisible world of experiencing patterns, numbers, and other key markers and guideposts.
I would admit it’s been a wild ride, but the ride has just begun warming up. My flux capacitor is buzzing alongside my internal monologue. Well I’m tired. I’m exhausted trying to keep all of this a secret from my highly conservative family. I’ve been highly sensitive my entire life seeing connections between everything.
I was told that all of my happenings were just a series of coincidences. They wrote my feelings off as me being “too sensitive.” I will never repeat those words to my own kid. I will always feed her need for expression in every form pushing her own imagination and belief system. I know better than those who tried shaping me into someone I didn’t even recognize.
The universe is a big place. We are told by the news on TV that we can’t fathom how big it really is. Coddled into thinking that it’s impossible for us to comprehend. We’re taught my our families, teachers, clergy, whatever that we are small and insignificant. I believe however we are vast, endless forms of energy, and we express ourselves in wavelengths ties to the source of all creation.
We are the singularity. We are never alone. I have surmountable evidence that this statement is not only true, but it’s inevitable. Everything is connected by an invisible energy, not molecules, atoms or chemical compounds. It’s a state of mind and state of being. Some call it the best kept secret in history. Leonardo knew, too.
Leonardo da Vinci held a secret, and he shared it with me. A secret so close, so precious, so powerful deep within his heart, mind, gut, and soul. It’s been hiding in plain sight in his rendition of The Last Supper for 527 years, and it has nothing to do with Dan Brown novels. Once seen, it cannot be unseen. I’ll give you a hint. It’s a mindset based on rise and shine Christ consciousness. It’s real and more highly active than ever before in our darkened world as of late.
It’s all come down to this: mindset versus mind games. We must decide whether we’re going to welcome the new Renaissance or continue with the absurdities of the GenAi$$ance. You don’t need a ticket. It’s not a private club, but like I’ve said: everyone must choose for themselves. They can choose to follow the sheep to slaughter or take the road, even the sky itself, less traveled by.
I’ve heard knocks rapping at my chamber door. Sound familiar? Yes it’s a nod to my birthday twin, Edgar Allan Poe. Another telling tale about the south is my connection with a Edgar Allan Poe and Sullivans Island and Charleston. From astral projection to stigmata on my own hands and even at one point given the God phone by two Men in Black.
I’ve seen a floating white feather not adhering to the law of gravity. I’ve heard bells cheering me on during a run-in with the Men in Black. I’ve unlocked God’s phone. I’ve been tracked for decades, have the proof, and kept the bug they found hidden in my Subaru Outback’s engine when they replaced the transmission earlier this year.
When two roads diverged in a wood my oversoul nudged me, reminded me that I didn’t need roads. I’ve been able to wiggle my ears, shake my tail, and fly since before I was born. Floating on an endless sea for eight months, a sea of saltwater, you see now I see. I see it all as it’s been there all along. An invisible, invincible connection to everything.
I don’t need to build a time machine. By tapping into my own flux capacitor I’m able to experience astral projection as I did when I was very young. I used to float down the hallways in our home while everyone slept. During my nightly trips I could actually feel a resistance as if I was swimming the breast stroke through a saltwater ocean.
My other favorite trip is when I’m able to harness my center of gravity in such a way that’s not too far from some of those dream state visions from the Christopher Nolan film Inception. I’d strap on rollerblades and skate down the edges of skyscrapers always centered so I stuck to the locality of the building’s geometry.
I’ve been given a plethora of diagnoses ranging from “we’ve checked him for a chemical balance, and he doesn’t have one” to a five-second observation and donned “bipolar” by a quack of a practice around the corner of my old primary care doctor. No one ever seemed concerned enough to ask if I had slept any for an entire week.
Anyone missing that much sleep could easily be observed as having manic qualities associated with bipolar 1, more accurately manic-depressive disorder. Then there was “well, you may have schizoaffective disorder” and an hour later their psychiatrist said “no, nothing of that sort.” No one other than myself actually knows what’s going on in my mind. I’ve felt it all, seen it all, and played the victim all these years.
Victim to whom? Only me and no one else. The kicker was when my personal psychiatrist who at the time was also the Chief Medical Director at Carolina Center for Behavioral Health posed a query as we wrapped up our last evening session: “David, have you ever considered you don’t have any mental illness at all? Could you possibly just have an immensely rich imagination?”
I think she was right on one hand, but only through a continuum of trials would I come to a lasting, final conclusion on the matter: I’m the one who must diagnose myself. I have the tools and the talent, both wise and undisguised. Masks no more I now adore and celebrate a simple life. Worth waking up to every day.
Based on my extensive, hands on knowledge of the DSM-5 and more importantly DBT, Dialectical Behavioral Therapy I’ve come to a conclusion on the matter. I believe just as my Uncle Bobby, on my Mother’s side of the family, that I may have bipolar disorder, but it’s a rare case. My scenario I’ve debunked and I’m now in full remission.
I’ve witnessed actual stigmata on my own body. Cuts so precisely placed upon my hands the last time I was inpatient at CCBH. It had to be a bad joke, like so many of the questionable incidents at Peachford Hospital. I made sure to have witnesses. I asked them if they could see the marks on my hands, and they complied. I wasn’t hallucinating. While my body’s chemical makeup transitioned from thirteen years of lithium poisoning to Seroquel, my no nicknamed “Superman pill.”
There’s a trick to enabling our own heart center, syncing each side our gray matter, flowing along our intuition-lined gut instinct. Our own Christ consciousness. It has nothing to do with searching out there. Nothing to do with religion as it’s universally claimed on Earth. It has everything to do with finding what’s inside each of us, and there’s no one way to go about the journey.
Everyone’s adventure is different. It was meant that way. It was made that way in order to show, in order to learn, in order to expand our knowledge that there’s not always one way to come to a specific conclusion. Our lives each beat to a different drum along a cyclical, overlapping series of events.
The Creator is within us. It’s not out there in the cosmos somewhere. We are all part of this Creator. As we unravel the truth that was set before anything was ever put into motion. Before consciousness was born. It’s that many ways that those variables that we can’t even predict until we’ve seen them for ourselves in person in the real breathing world.
During one of Christ’s adventures, the Dali Llama spoke with Jesus and opened his mind in new ways leading into him to another opening of a hidden chamber in his heart. Double doors bloomed with pure love light that from then on gave him the ability to heal the lost and forgotten sick and diseased. Metaphors of the mind never meant to be a private club.
Evil lives and dies while love evolves. So here we go. This is for the record. I can see things. I can feel things. I can sense things before they happen. It used to be, you know, maybe two or three days I would have a thought about something. Then two or three days later it would happen. Over a short period of time after my oversoul told me to stop looking for connections is when these occurrences began expanding exponentially now fully ablaze.
Now it has come down to what I would literally call quantum entanglement with people in my life. There’s a few, specifically two, people in particular whom I’m entangled with in the quantum sense. Immediate connections. There’s no pause, there’s no time for a coincidence to manifest. It happens in that instant when knowing occurs.
It’s an immediate thing, immediate thought, and immediate feeling. I know when it’s happening. The moment in the present time when there’s no delay whatsoever. It’s quite incredible and there’s really no other way to describe it. There’s a trick to streaming consciousness. It’s hidden to a lot of people because they never notice it. Pure Christ consciousness.
Having nothing to do with religion, this state of mind is a metaphysical stream of consciousness. It flows like a river it flows to the southern regions of the mind. My family members keep trying to remind me that all of these experiences I’m having are really just coincidences. I know they’re not. I do know they’re still trying to protect me from myself. This felt familiar and uncomfortable.
Just for a moment this uneasiness took me back to my accident at work in the middle of the night during the third week of November in 2009. The Emory doctor patching up my nose and lip early that morning told me that if I had landed just a degree or two more squarely on my nose, I would have died immediately on impact. That thought haunted my subconscious for a week keeping me from getting a good night’s rest.
There’s a known condition related directly to hypomania and mania when an individual doesn’t get adequate sleep for five to seven days. Easily misdiagnosed, this condition resolves itself once consistent rest has been restored to their nightly routine. This had happened to me my entire life as a result of staying up late nights finishing up a watercolor or airbrushed T-shirt. Once in the creative zone, I had to finish the project. This is why I never liked painting in oils. They take forever to dry. I preferred watercolor. It’s immediate and dries quickly.
Keeping this condition in mind I now know that I was misdiagnosed by an amateur at PACT Atlanta. They never asked me any questions nor performed a standard intake evaluation. They showed up quickly, looked at me silently, and then said “bipolar, definitely bipolar” within five seconds. They tried turning me into a zombie, too, like all of the other mediocre masses now under their spell. Every week they changed my medication. One called Lamictal even sent me to nearly attempting suicide. I never met with MDs anymore, either. They were all medical students who asked me the same questions every week. They did their best to keep me quietly subdued, drugged, and nearly unconscious.
Trazodone knocked me out except one night when I crawled across the hallway to the bathroom because I couldn’t’ walk. Six months passed at PACT with no progress. I was recommended to see a private $300 per hour psychiatrist. He put me on Clonopin and Lithium. I thought Benzodiazepines were a bitch to come off of until I was informed by my current psychiatrist that my body was now toxic to Lithium. Thirty-six hours later my mind woke up.
I immediately realized that Lithium had kept my mind dormant for the most part keeping me hibernating for over thirteen years. I was dumbed down and barely able to keep myself together, let alone the last five years of having been on Lithium I could not even sign my own name. My tremors were so bad I couldn’t draw, paint, write, and could barely use a mouse. Finally my psychiatrist said “you’re toxic” and he would not have time to slowly take me off of the Lithium. He had to rip the Band-Aid off immediately in order to save my kidneys.
Within just two weeks and two days later I fully operational again. I felt like a sixteen year old every day when I woke up. God intervened when the time had come. He’s had my back my entire life. He told me it was time for me to get going on my new career path. A path bathed in light, love, and passion for others. He showed me how to unchain my empath and put my narcissist in the ground. I got to work, and I have no intentions of slowing down. My memory is now alive and active again.
I began remembering things. It started gradually at first, but within my third year of no Lithium I now have the ability to ask myself to remember further back. I’m reviving memories that I’ve been blind to for five decades. My family has also opened up a bit pointing out that I am remembering things I learned a long time ago. If I read between the lines I know what they mean. Our DNA holds the entire history of not only ourselves, but the entire existence of our energies since our cosmic inception. During our own personal big bang event. Speaking of such an event, take a look below at what my psychiatrist once posed during our last session. It allowed me to eventually overcome my manic depression.
While I have had many a diagnosis ranging from a clean bill of health after my first serious depressive episode at eighteen to showing signs of schizoaffective disorder three years ago during my post-lithium sixteen-day CCBH stay, it’s my private psychiatrist and CCBH Medical Director, Dr. D., who got my full attention when she posed one evening during our last session:
“David, have you ever considered you don’t have any mental illness at all? Could you possibly just have an immensely rich imagination?”
It’s taken me sixteen years now to realize that there was nothing wrong with me in the first place. It’s just a part of being human. It is not an illness. If wielded properly we can achieve the divine. My situation was a direct result of being stressed out, extremely busy and enlightened at work, and needing some serious sleep. Misdiagnosed as having bipolar based on not sleeping for a week. Period. Yet I do know that manic depression is still a part of me. That misdiagnosis led to me understanding that I had a choice. I could make life changes that could take the place of medication. A natural series of positive influences that keep my brain chemistry healthy.
Consistent solitude, soul searching, skills training, exercise, music, diet, family time, and community grant me a whole-hearted life I wouldn’t trade for all the riches in the world. No more falling for simple-minded mind tricks or Human Resource surveys. Better. Faster. Stronger than ever before in my life. I now have access to 100% of my gray matter now lit, alive, and fully immersed in Christ consciousness.
As a result of my own understanding based on fifty-three years of mental health exploration I know the fact of the matter is actually a combination of “infectious creative energy” fueled by my activated intuition, imagination, and intellect. I know that manic depressive disorder, bipolar 1, certainly plays a key role, but now I’m in what I’m calling my mental illness remission.
Make mistakes and try everything. That’s been my path to wisdom. Be willing to know and celebrate I know nothing. Socrates was right about that all along. Breathe. Enjoy the silence. Be mindful. Celebrate solitude. In those moments our connection to everything is unbreakable. It’s within that divine interconnectedness we know we are never alone.
If you’re curious, like me, do a search for artists and singers, actors and writers, poets and playwrights. They all had the divine spark of madness, too. Madness and genius go hand-in-hand. Ask around. Two books I highly recommend if you’d like to understand manic depression further, take a look at Kay Redfield Jamison’s An Unquiet Mind and Touched with Fire. When I was first diagnosed with bipolar 1, I found these books quite helpful in guiding me through my new reality.
