The Exorcism

What does it mean to live with demons?

I mean, these aren't serious demons, that's an exaggeration, I'm starting to see that now as I wrestle with them. These are just gremlins.

To the uninitiated: I chased my dreams, I crashed and burned.

All this stuff happened a while ago now and I need to access the memories to be able to extract the failings properly from both project's.

It's a big part of the point of this whole blog.

These aren't any old memories. They are repressed memories. I consider them a stain on my soul so they are buried deep down within me.

As the sensations bubble up to the surface and manifest as text, I read it all back and I'm just as surprised and amused as you are. It feels like I have a ghost writer, ironic really, given both platform and topic.

I must point out that this isn't an exercise in repentance. It's the surfacing of memory in a semi-structured way that is hopefully useful to others and myself.

Why did it take so long?

I needed to find myself, my footing again before I could go there.

I also needed space.

...

Life in a modern British city is frankly awkward. People can't seem to walk past me these days without some sort of weird reaction, like a tic almost.

Fortunately a lot of the time they are transfixed with their phone.

It's like some sort of shared psychosis that I'm not privy to.

The reason I'm not invited?

I deleted the source of that madness a long time ago: Social media, as much as is professionally appropriate anyway. I also blocked the so-called news site's, as these days they cater to a common denominator so low it's useful to no-one.

The battery on my smart phone lasts for 6 days between charges.

Imagine that.

I've been clean of that nonsense for years. But other people using it around me still affects me, they claw at me metaphorically as I walk past them, like zombie's seeking brains.

All of this stuff, dealing with it, thinking about it, it takes up a lot of time.

Eventually I'll flee this place, find a country where people value real social interaction not just this tiresome propagation of jealousy so more stuff gets sold, but for now I'm off to enjoy the green and pleasant lands.

...

I can't change the world, I have to focus on me.

So I isolate myself in the countryside, disconnect myself from that busy bollocks. I need to be stable, both mentally and in situation.

Finally I'm alone with my thoughts, my own thoughts. I have so much time.

For fun I walk the hills at a brisk pace, sometimes followed by a drone. I power walk up the steepest surfaces I can find, trying to push the limits of my endurance.

I relish the rainy day.

I enjoy the hardship. I find it shaping. Anything that allows time for meaningful conscious thought. It feels like a repair of the damage done by the constant induced cognitive dissonance of the (dis)information era.

...

In essence I clean slate. Stare at a blank wall. Enter a lucid state of meditation.

"A-koo-chee-moya"  

"We are far from the sacred places of our grandfathers ..."

Alright yes I know that the native American consultant for Star Trek Voyager was a fraud but the message remains the same.

I tell you though, the affect of all this, it's a feeling not unlike an exorcism.

I'm happier, I'm sleeping better, I feel focused, I'm enjoying the things I do day-to-day, my job performance has improved.

The process is cathartic.

I find myself questioning the part of gamedev I actually enjoyed, was it the creating or was it the marketing. I mean, is this even marketing? This stuff is genuinely useful to someone.

I'm certain of it.

Plus, every article written brings me closer to the banishing of said gremlins.

Once they are exorcised, the postmortem's written, the lesson's learned, the line's drawn under and the failed project's laid properly to rest.

Then what?

Then we get to do it all again of course.