Psychological Ramifications of Waking Up From Auto-Immune Poisoning

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Psychological Ramifications of Waking Up From Auto-Immune Poisoning

A decade and a half of pain, emotional deadness, social memory formation impairment, and chronic fatigue do strange things to one's sense of time.
I feel as if I have just exited a vast grey featureless plain.
I can remember some of the individual landmarks, flashing up out of the mist, but they are so colored by humiliation and suffering that I quickly avert the mind's eye.
I feel old, or timeless. But not tired... instead stronger, more alive.

My childhood, I suppose, was normal, but such a vast gulf separates that I feel no connection to it. And anyway, I have spent too long in the fog of emotional amnesia for those memories to retain much vividness or quantity.
I am merely a being, formed by suffering, and fired by it, aching for revenge.
Living for a purpose definable to a single Cartesian point, as unattainably pure as the lodestar.

I lived without a biochemically functioning soul for a long time.
Most people rely on their souls. I learned to do without.
I learned more about the functioning of the soul than 99.9% of the population... in order to repair my own.
I know how to break it, how to fix it, what it's good for.
When you've had your soul taken away, you realize that it's not you.

My spirit is me. That was what kept burning when the other lights went out.
Though my minor sins are attributable to the weakness of the flesh, betrayals by body and biochemical soul,
My spirit committed the great ones... and the victories, too.
It seems to me that you could poke many people all the way through, and find nothing but flesh and hormones.

Perhaps I judge too harshly, or lack perceptiveness.
Or perhaps their spirits lie dormant, waiting to be called.

Imagine a Venn diagram of Pain and Death, with Hell in the middle.
Consider the cornucopia of both Earth bounteously bestows upon her residents.
Do you really think anyone will be getting an upgrade?

To lay stunned like insects upon the boiling lake
To float through void eternal, mind uncoalesced
To writhe while one's bowels are pierced by red brands
I've tasted a hint.

I would send myself there unhesitatingly if the Kingdom required it,
knowing how instantly I'd beg to be let out.

Now let me relearn what pleasure, gushing varied and unstinted, feels like again.