Integrating the darkness was a pop psychology trend a decade ago, pushed by Psychologist Jordan Peterson, and former Navy Seals David Goggins and Jocko Willink.
These were my chosen role models at the time, in a world that was stripping away the value of masculine strength, just as I was at the age where I was developing mine.
When they said:
“Harness the dark matter in the calluses on your soul”
“Use Emotion when Logic fails. Use Logic when Emotion Fails”
“Now that I know how dark it can get, I truly appreciate the light”
and
“A good man is not a harmless man. A good man is a dangerous man who chooses to do no harm.”
My Autistic mind took it beyond face value and took it all the way to my unconscious core values.
‘Okay then, let’s go.’ was my response.
In it’s deeper levels, what it entails is embracing the dark, corrupted, toxic, hateful, spiteful, greedy, jealous, aggressive and otherwise “bad” parts of the normal human experience and finding “Good” ways of releasing the energy in a productive fashion, becoming a stronger and more complete person, as the products of your labour and the personal growth of self control and mental toughness compound.
In other words, it’s the Sith religion but with dark emotional energy translating to real-world power instead of force abilities. And it’s potent. It works. It’s legit. It delivers on it’s promises if you put in the work.
I still operate on this system, but with more stability, perspective and efficiency a decade later.
Part 1 | Seeking Connection
My first job was shit. It was worse than shit. If you ever saw Scarface where he’s washing dishes and hating his life, knowing he’s made for more, that was me. Except I’m not Tony Montana.
I have to contend with having morals, I had yet to learn charm and charisma, and I sure as fuck couldn’t handle the overstimulation of a million kitchen noises, burning my hands every 5 minutes, and a hundred staring eyeballs when I stepped into the industrial restaurant with a cart of dishes.
One thing I had over Tony was that I was a decade or two younger, and had more time to figure it out, so I “forgave” my 17 year old self for not being a teenage billionaire and did the job without bitching. On the inside I felt too good for it. To be an entitled teenager again.
What kept me pushing wasn’t “values” or “work ethic”. I didn’t have those yet. I was a snotty little snob. What kept me going was heartbreak. I had that post-breakup fire in my chest.
The fire that says: “I wasn’t enough. But I can be next time.”
In the morning, I logged into my CFD provider (stocks/forex but riskier) with my fake age and placed my bets for the day with 500x leverage (this is now illegal in Europe but back then was the Wild West) Astonishingly I did alright but nothing life changing.
During the day I washed dishes, took out trash and served hundreds of office workers in the canteen buffet as the lowest-status person in the building. A humiliating but character-building ritual.
After work I hit the weights and rocket fuelled my workouts with spite, hatred, and ambition. I normalised pushing to failure on every set, sometimes with dropsets and supersets, then downed a big dinner with a 1500 calorie shakes til I had the urge to throw up, then shower, sleep, repeat, with intermittent schizo breakdowns.
I was beginning to tap into the dark energy, but this was nothing compared to what was coming next.
Juggling these 3 high-cholesterol activities while contending with a broken heart and a series of unrelated major family tragedies, I couldn’t handle the heat, burned out, and left the kitchen after a few months.
I spent the next year lifting weights, pursuing laughable get-rich-quick schemes, getting sucked into identity politics, and chasing girls. I became a Chud in the pursuit of becoming Chad.
Every little daily event in my existence reinforced every tunnel-visioned belief I had, but it didn’t matter because I had my hobbies, my rage, and my irrational self confidence.
I gained almost 15 kilos of muscle that year naturally. I got plenty of attention from baddies but I always fumbled it as soon as they got a whiff of how hurt I was.
Sometimes I actually had some game but fumbled because I dropped the masculine mask and tried being vulnerable, which repulsed the girls my age, which surprise, surprise, reinforced a darker idea of how relationships worked.
Basically, I erased the sensitive side altogether and lived in cocky territory at all times around women.
It shouldn’t have worked but it did. I was sleeping with girls within an hour of meeting them.
It never lasted long though, because the mask would crack eventually; I’d show a shred of weakness here, a hint of me actually liking them there… a sign I wanted more than just sex, then I would be discarded like an old toy.
What I can say in hindsight is that my behaviour and fuckboy persona only attracted this type of person, but since that was the only type I attracted, that’s all I saw, and all I believed was real. Thank fuck I grew.
Basically, I had the aura of a player, but my heart was too soft to actually play the game. I thought I wanted this, but I was lying to myself. It was a mask directed at my own heart to deny what it really wanted: connection.
The most famous pick up artist of all time, Mystery, had the same problem. I was aware of the problem before I encountered it. I attempted to outsmart it. I attempted to kill it. I didn’t give up, and eventually I mastered the subtle art of seeming to not giving a fuck. But deep down I always did in fact give a fuck.
In this weird in-between zone I had two long term relationships and a few situationships.
The first relationship was a codependent, toxic, high stakes head-over-heels roller-coaster dumpster fire where we fought daily for control of the hot mess, which was held together by intense physical attraction, trauma bonds and sellotape.
The second was a Perfect-On-Paper, Hallmark Christmas Card, Fairytale Summer Romance Novel …but I didn’t feel the spark. I put in the effort, played my part of “perfect boyfriend” waited and it didn’t arrive. I just kept ticking ‘perfect relationship’ boxes hoping it would happen. It didn’t.
I think I hold the world record for quickest breakup recovery after this one ended.
It wasn’t until after a series of other mistakes and learning experiences that I arrived with the person I want to marry. We give infinite fucks about each other and our weirdness is 100% compatible.
Actually, a more accurate statement would be that it wasn’t until after a series of mistakes and learning experiences that I arrived at becoming the person capable of being in the type of dynamic I actually wanted.
Of course I still have my DGAF Aura, but it’s sandwiched between moments of genuine connection, cooperative growth, love, and caring.
I got the real connection I was after all along, but in order to get, keep and enjoy it, I first had to learn the value of what it is and the value of what I can be.
I had to learn from my mistakes, and as a PDA Autist who only learns things the hard way, that means I had to make the mistakes to begin with.
…which wouldn’t have happened had I “let go” of my deep need for connection and learned its value by foolishly attempting to devalue it.
The Buddhists, The Jedi, and the Red Pill gurus all teach that “Attachment is weakness”
Sure. The wrong attachment directed the wrong way is the foundation of all trainwrecks.
…But the lie that Attachment itself is weakness is Bullshit. Attachment, even irrational, toxic, and unachievable attachment gives us a reason to push forward, accumulate wins and losses, and grow.
- Giving a Fuck is where my strength comes from.
- Giving a Fuck is where my drive comes from.
- Giving a Fuck is where my power comes from.
Giving a Fuck got me where I wanted to go, even when it tricked me into going the opposite way.
Cool Story, How does it help me?
Check in with your gut, feel and identify your true needs. They’re probably hiding under many layers of lies to protect you from the pain. Face them and use the radioactively toxic energy to pour into your real-life grind until you’re strong enough to feed your heart what it wants for real.
Fuck Enlightenment and Fuck Detachment.
Embrace your real needs and the Dark Energy they radiate after being neglected.
Make Trauma your Bitch.
Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken.
Buy my book:
‘The 10 habits of highly effective Fuck Givers’ at a disgusting nightclub bathroom near you.
‘Think and Grow, Bitch.’ is 50% off with a valid Autism Card.
‘Snuggle Harder, Fumble Smarter’ costs 50 Cent
