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I had a peaceful and sheltered home with strong opinions about the world. These strong opinions felt like a scaffolding inside of me that hindered me from moving, thinking, feeling and acting freely. I had the strong intuition that i had to tear down as much of my conditioning as possible and rebuild myself on my own terms.
A lot of bridge-burning in all dimensions of my life, left me with the frustrating feeling that the core of my being that i found in the rubble of the forcefully deconstructed conditioning, was something i was unable to alter, destroy or even question.
One of the tools of deconstruction was to immerse myself into worlds conceptually and culturally as far away from my upbringing as possible - worlds directly or indirectly accessible through drugs. I took a lot of those, but primarily i smoked weed. Lot's of weed for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Until at one point a paranoia that had been creeping up on me for months became so intense that it felt impossible to leave the house. The danger of being confronted with other humans who would look at me with piercing eyes - look through me and see the vast void inside of me, the void that was me - just was too unbearable.
I knew something had gone wrong. I felt lost and lonely and desperate and scared. I wanted to go home - home to a save space and time - to a place where everything was right. I wanted to go back in time to that place and take a different turn. My experiment had gone wrong.
I don't know where it came from, but my intuition told me to get all of the books i had read during that time and place i wanted to go back to - and so i did. For three months i stayed inside, not meeting anyone, just reading the books i had read when i was fourteen, fifteen years old.
And then, slowly i could see and feel cracks opening in the darkness of my mind, making place for colourful images. I nourished those images. They had a taste of freedom and clarity. And i could sense a new self emerging out of the void - a self i could like. A self worth living.