My most insightful thoughts happen when I'm drunk, this goes against the "dumb drunk" stereotype

>once heard that alcohol reveals our true selves
that would be psychedelics, alcohol may reveal a side to you but it is a vastly less interesting and more damaging side

>my thoughts aren't temporary.
what are you going to think next?

My best thoughts can't be expressed in mere words, I can only hope science advances enough to extract these groundbreaking thoughts directly from my brain.

>My best thoughts can't be expressed
ok, thanks for playing

...

what did we do to deserve scottish shitposters on twitter?

>tfw try alcohol on social groups
become anxious and can’t say a word
>try weed on social groups
become anxious and can’t say a word
>try lsd on social groups
become anxious and can’t say a word

fucking sucks, I was rebuilding my social life but I just get exposed whenever there’s a meeting involving alcohol or other substances.
>tfw shut in again

I dunno but I hope we do it more

you didn't drink enough lmao

I don’t enjoy blacking out

>become anxious
>become anxious
>become anxious
there is nothing there

>try lsd on social groups
you ought to have been annihilated, transcended death and been reborn, infinite terror maybe, a void of devastating fear sure but "become anxious",...the fuck were you still doing in the kiddy pool of emotions

any way, social groups would be empathogens, so mdma

>My thoughts are most insightful when my ability to properly process them is at it's lowest
woah.....

Fpbp, slow down your mind and stop worrying.

Literally drink more. That's it.

Why is O so pleasant to look at

stop drinking alcohol

>subcategory of change isn't a change

education in 2017

well it’s obviously more complex than just anxiety. I’m just not a native english speaker so I’m reluctant to expand myself. The time I did lsd was the worst because when it kicked in I felt a sort of intermittent claustrophobia every couple of minutes and then I realized it was silly to feel like that or that I could
control it and laughed it off but then the feeling came again and went on like this for so long and the effects didn’t seem to stop, so each subsequent time I felt entrapped was worse than the previous one because the reasoning I used to get out of one of those ‘attacks’ didn’t work for the next -in the exact moment, I described it as a layered attack because each one felt like the logical thing to happen- and after 2 or so hours of being like this I decided to go to bed and everything was spinning like 10x times faster than the spinning I’ve felt with alcohol or weed. Also when I was in bed a friend went to see me and asked me if I was ok and then he said something like ‘you are mine, I’ve been leading your trip’ and it made so much sense then that I had a 30~ minutes uncontrollable laugh, but now it just seems so ridiculous.

>inb4 dear diary

Try heroin

Not your real self, likely just a lot of social inhibition that limits your thoughts and actions, being removed. Try meditating or something.

not Veeky Forums

i know this feeling. everytime i get drunk i suddenly become into a superhuman writer who masters narrativity like an ace and smirks into the cameras that surround me as i walk down the red carpet and wave at my literature virgins. it is quite astonishing what kind of profound trasnformation i go through just as i become drunk. There are 5 stages of self-affirmation and just when i hit the maximum level of drunken ness i sync up 100 % with the 5th level and realize my true self. Because that is what matters the most: To realize your true self and access the highest echelons of your own thinking. It is exquisite, it is precocious not to do otherwise. I have always amounted to nothing but a working slave with leather bound clothes surrounding me but when a jazzz paianist accompanied my appearances in a very rhythmic and funky beat with saxophones and the synthezizer supporting him i acknowledged that i had walked down the path of doom and sat down on the stairs where next to me a tall man with no hairs on his head sat and he stared at me and pointed towards the stars and said that we were shooting for the stars my friend and i had to laugh because i couldn't believe that anybody could still believe in shooting for the stars and chuckled and said you hsould drink frined and laid down on the ground and fell asleep and was awakned by passionate and opmistic japanese singers in the background. There was finger snipping all around me and i realized that i was still on my 3rd level of sycnonricity and had my soul levels on unrivalled destruction rampages against my physical cells and the ectoplasma was spaziing out of all my body openings.

I woke up, confused, my head hurting in my hotel room. I was properly naked and there was vomit spilled across the bed in an artistic manner that was expressive of the creative genius i embodied while intoxicated. I smirked at the mess i made and said out loud to nobody specifically:"That's what you get for drinking so much, you old fool." and i smirked some more though my head was making crackling noises and it felt as if a swarm of visual noise was attacking the outer rims of my brain stem. I tried to get up from bed but fell backwards and whispered that i'd like to fly to the moon right now. I screamed Help and waited for a maiden to appear.

As to no threaten her perception of her individual sexual identity i covered up my unseeables. Just in time,as only a few moments later the maiden of the HOTEL entered the room and said good morning sir how can i help you and she pretended to not have noticed the mess and i said: That's very kind of you and requested some Aspirin and a cup of water and she nodded and whispered gomensai desu and went out of the room. Close the curtains i shouted and she ran frantically back into the room and violently tore the curtains down and the walked away. The sunlight was shooting at me with rays to kill. Finding myself in a situation of existential danger i recognized that the time to

These last 6 months I've blacked out nearly every time I've gone out drinking, which is around once a week. I've told myself not to drink any spirits but only beer and wine, but I did it again this weekend :(
If I haven't learnt how to drink properly by the end of January I might just ditch alcohol or stick to getting drunk just once every month.

"i will never leave my house again." said the little mouse with sad eyes while sitting at the table inside his room. Out there - there is nothing but disappointment. And my heart will be broken again and again.

I will never leave my house again, the little mouse said with sad eyes while sitting at the table inside his room and watched the people on the streets as their blank, black faces broke through layers of shadow again and again, every step, a step forward. "Every step, a step forward" though the mouse and felt sad. I do not know that feeling, the mouse concluded.

"I will never leave my room again" thought the little mouse and was reminded of his bitter poverty. I shall never eat cheese again, the mouse realized and felt saddened. I have love to give, but no mouse to love me. My love is not worth enough. I was born for a world in which other currencies would thrive, the mouse concluded bitterly.

I would walk through parks while barfoot. I would feel the grass beneath my feet. I would listen to the lonely bird, who shares with me the bitter lonelyness of the night. Together we would send our songs of love to the distant stars, our only friends - but i will never leave my house again, said the little mouse and felt the pain of the last great disappointment once more, twice as harsh and buried his head under his arms.

"i will never leave my house again" whispered the mouse, the words pressed out of it's frail little body sharply. The anger an despair would have been tangible, if anybody had listened but the little mouse was alone in his room and as far as he could remember there had never been anyone but him in his little house. The little Mouse knew what that meant and yet clinged firmly to it's resolution to never leave the house again.

I will never feel the rain again. That is my greatest loss, but i must not waver in my resolution. I will never leave the house again.

I have loved, claimed the mouse and was struck by images too hurtful to be named. "One can not trust. I have lost my trust in this world." said the sad, little mouse and watched the folks on the street who did not know what aimless wandering was, and who, with firm and determined steps, moved to B or A. I shall move nowhere, said the little mouse, i shall never leave my house again. The world was gray this afternoon. All colours were sucked away. The gray clouds went their way with unimaginable indifference to the little mouse, while the mouse observed their passage.

I have loved, stated the mouse and felt anger at a betrayal which had not occured. He grew aware of this and chastised himself for his narcissism. "I can not demand love. I can not demand to be loved. I must accept it." the mouse said with resignation and added: But i will never leave my house again.

The mouse got up from his chair, then picked up his jacket. There was mumbling. The mouse put on his shoes and stared at them for what amounted to be a whole two minutes. I need to buy some food, thought

you're an alcoholic or have a genetic predisposition towards alcoholism, also definitely have emotional and mental problems. People who cannot stop themselves from imbibing substances have serious underlying disorders. Please do not think you can just put down the bottle and you're fine, either help yourself or get help. I have/had friends like this who thought they could just "stop" drinking until they "learned" how to do it. Absolute bullshit

alcoholism is a serious problem for neurotic people

I'm an alcoholic or have a genetic predisposition towards alcoholism, also definitely have emotional and mental problems. I have serious underlying disorders. You must know what a disorder is, do you not? It is quite easy to explain. It means there are two states of being. This being must not be absolute, it can for example name the being of your hearing. So you have a hearing disorder, that would be the dis-ordered state of being. The ordered state of being signifies a state of being which adheres to a perceived conventional order of things. For example if you go to school and don't adhere to the imaginary ideal of order in your behaviour, if you are marked as a student of lacking discipline in controlling your spontaneous impulses and how you actualize them through your behaviour, it means that parts of your are working in disorder. You could have ADHD or perhaps you have the fundamental disorder of AUTISM or perhaps your disorder is that you do not like school. That is also a disorder, but since it is hard to critisize people for not liking school we must furtherly break it down: People who have issues finding school agreeable have serious underlying disorders. So an underlying disorder means that some inner part of your being which has lead you towards this opinion on school is in disorder, does not adhere to some imagined conventional ideal. It is the same with alcoholism of course. One can not really critisize, if one has some experience with life, that one grabs the bottle. It is a relatively understandable reaction to being a powerless cog in this grand world. It is a natural reaction to feel that one suffocates and in many ways alcohol presents a relief from the pressure that is exerted on all of us. Nonetheless we must acknowledge that of course drinking so much that it hampers your productivity, that it reduces your integration into the socioeconomic organism, IS a disorder. I have accepted this reality long ago. Only occasionally do i feel that something is off. I look at the people around me or am confronted with some ideas that have accidentally grown in my head on what the world is like, or on a smaller scale, what my personal situation in this world is like and suddenly out of nowhere i feel this urge to rebel. To dissent. Suddenly i feel no longer that i am suffering from various underlying disorders which make me engage in disordered behaviour, but rather do i feel that there is a secret agenda behind the constant reinforcement of classifying my behaviour as disordered and when i have these fits, as i call them, i suddenly grow aware of a deep and fundamental programming in our society, which is, from my informaiton, steered by intelligence agencies to turn us into pliable brainwashed puppets for the state machinery. It is then that i feel that the fundamental disorder is to disobey an anonymous and invisible imperative to adhere, but not adhere to healthy conventions, but rather to adhere to an oppressive regime of power which

Shiiiiiet can you actually back up what you're saying? What kind of problems are you talking about? What kind of help?

Shall I assume you're this guy?

The trains move through the tunnels rapidly, you must be cautious. There are many people following us. But they do not follow us, do not be afraid. They follow the tracks. At the end of the tracks there awaits us fresh water. But also many new people. There is water here but it is contaminated and you must protect yourself from getting into contact with it. It may make you sick. There are border guards patrolling this area but they must be overwhelmed by the influx of refugees that use the train tunnels to escape the purge. It is possible that they have sent the military in to stop people from leaving the quarter but if that's the case it can not be helped. Either we die or we die, so let's not waste a thought on death. There are junkie settlements but we must avoid them. They may have alcohol but we must resist our impulse to get the alcohol. It is dangerous to contact the junkies because we have valuables with us. It may be that we will be stripped of our valuables as we reach the end o fthe tunnel, but that is a risk we must take. It would be confiscated by government forces if we had left it behind and there is no reason to stay back. It was our home but it has been destroyed. There is no home to go back to, there are just ruins. There are people with guns and there are guns which we can not see. You may miss the rain. The rain is beautiful. It does not rain where we go to. But there is always light. You have always lived in darkness so the presence of light in every inch of where we go to may irritate you and strike you as terrifying or upsetting but it means that we can see each other better and it protects us from the dangers of shadows so i am optimistic. You know how to use a gun but we don't have one. If we acquire a gun you must be brave enough to use it. Try to make headshots at those who attempt to harm us. Humans die immediately, usually, if their head is hit. You must not give in to thirst as tempting as it may be. You are intoxicated already. They have poisoned the rain. You must never cry or complain and i want you to keep your eyes open at all times. Do not walk blindly, do not walk carelessly. Watch out, i can hear a train coming from the distance. Lay down as flat as you possibly can and do not move to the slightest. If they see us we will be killed and we do not want that.

You did well. You did truly not move. I feel proud of you. We must now keep on walking. Some people have died ever since the train passed but we did not. We must venture forward. In one hour we will reach the great hall. It is a hall which extends into an infinite abyss. The demons with red eyes linger in the abyss and they are armed with advanced weaponry which will kill us, if we fail to hide ourselves properly. There is nothing which can prepare you for it. There are a dozen of routes through these halls and we must utilize the movement of trains. It is a mythical hall for it has been the grave of hundreds of thousands who wished to escape but in truth

you gotta find your sweet spot i think, i mean you could be telling the truth and it has that effect on you, but more than likely you haven't been doing it right because 99.99999 percent of people get the opposite effect. Just drink enough where you're not blind drunk but you're also past tipsy and happy drunk, you just have to keep reminding yourself that you're trying to balance drinks and not go over the edge.

But what would it mean for the content of a thought to not be expressible in words? Is it as if one were to see a painting of some scene but could not describe what they see?

You and me both. That's where opiates come in.

scottish twitter is amazing. looking forward to going to UK next year for studies specifically to check out scotland

Once a deep, deep, unsettling fall into nothingness, into night. This anxiety which accompanies every time i fail to fall asleep when i am supposed to. This wretched anxiety. This nagging guilt. I am not supposed to see this. I am not supposed to write this. I am not supposed to think this. I am supposed to sleep. I am supposed to rest peacefully and to wake up in at the most 6 hours. But i know the truth: I am way too unsettled to fall asleep now. A tension inside me wishes to express itself and i am so incapable, i am so fundamentally castrated, that my only means to relieve the tension is through writing. Weak and overtly sentimental writing. To make it worse: A childish sentimentaly is what informs my writing. I am far, far away from the brutal lyricism, which i would love to ascribe to myself, which i would love to ascribe to the essence of my perception of this world. In truthful expression, a blind yet truthful expression through the words and images which circle through my mind, a character emerges which is wounded, frail and insecure. And that summarizes the content of all that has been written by myself. There is no mask that hides, there is no elegance which refines or sensitivity that intensifies. It is a pathetic, overweight nakedness. A piggish miserablity.

And this constant need to confess. My god, if atleast i could keep it to myself. All that is hidden away extends itself into an infinite void and acquires an inpenetrable depth. It is only through this most perverse impulse to push one's innermost feelings outward, that they become profane, superficial, empty, translucent. The mask one wears must be a mask. Only a degenerate, disgusting creature wears it's innermost feelings and desires as it's mask. What can one expect beneath such a mask? A void, or the superficiality that others wear to deceive the world. And i wonder from where i have picked up this terrifying habit of exhibitionist self-degradation. I can think of some writers, but i do not buy such an easy excuse. I identify it with the longing of my past to communicate my helplessness. Meaning I can, and i do not wish to make it more complex than this, trace it back to the infantile desire to be saved from the world. Is this perhaps a part of becoming a men? To no longer hope that there is an entity in this world which will acknowledge our suffering, and that all that is needed to reach this acknowledgement, an acknowledgement which is so fundamental that it could be translated as love, is to express one's innermost truth? Is this perhaps the decisive illusion one must overcome to face this world with the bitter and yet unwavering strength and endurance that makes you move forward, towards death, step by step? Certainly such movement seems absurd and pointless. We can move towards death, but if we do not, it is accomodating enough to move towards us. Though strangely enough in my head has emerged the fixed idea that there is unspeakable glory in taking the leap towards d