A scrum bwitsies project development pitch; ignorance aside, might, on one hand, seem like a playfully rendered fanciful and fleeting moment of a bipolar manic episode, yet it has it's peer in concurrent popular culture network television in the series (going on it's 10th season)
Undercover Boss, on CBS (for those who, likewise, as myself, take in but scant television media, had perhaps remembered, as a network television show from long ago yet did not realize that the show is still running - it turns out that it still is a popular concept and basis in network TV ratings).
Okay. So the identity-and-habits lifestyle of the inept or overindulgent corporate CEO had been popularly outed in America's 2008 (I believe) subprime lending Big Banks crisis. The rebuke of these sorts was prominent context of a widespread distaste and of a call to action for the sake of widespread reform.
I, myself, received a Scientology's inquest and punitive measures tribunal of many years' length, upon end, which characterized the basis in my DSM-IV categorized NOS (nonspecific) psychosis diagnosis. When I finally broke, under duress, I was hospitalized involuntarily, for having threatened violence upon those around me, for the sake of a belief of that my neighbors were harassing me by speaking through the walls, or out of their windows, and in my mind (directly, somehow), as well. It was a very traumatic onslaught of loss and abuse which revealed, over time, the illnesses embedded within the identities and personas that others I had known in life, would be revealed, to me, as the source of my own personal Scientology "Prison Without Walls," outset of treatment protocol, over the course of years. (It had begun around the week leading up to September 11th, 2012, when I was aged 30. I'm now 38). I won't go in to the details of the paranoid basis of schizophrenia here; that would be irrelevant. The relevance lies within the context of my identity of recognition of what was and is rationally truthful about what could, or ought be, construed as depravity in my former enterprises, which I was unwittingly wrought up for Scientological inquiry for, and placed under constant observation.
Getting back to the original context of this blog post - forging great leadership traits, I was pleased to have found that the television series had not been abandoned, at some point. It's an obvious support mechanism for my new arm of enterprise in community service and as a minimal figure of local celebrity, with some variance on how people treat me, as though I am a pop culture figure, a religious figure, as an adjunct to some facet of internalized projection of relevant identity within « some » people's minds of that I had not established myself as their peer, yet rather that I was someone, of an « other » identity, and for a proximity bias fallacy basis - suitable for rebuke and transgressions of mocking me [up] as some psychological abnormality of the proximally [much closer] attainable abuse victim, with the facet of appreciation and support of the underpinnings of such an establishment of abnormal and fallible psychology.
All things aside, I was brought up well enough, and I do know better. It's been a contentious subject of departments and agencies pertaining to public and mental health, locally, here, in Greater Los Angeles, California, where I reside. That being said, I did live in Riverside for over 5 years, during my university days, and that was a transformational experience of learning of relational love and affection, as well as that it was a time of much strife, and of patchwork-job fixing of problems that had been attractive to me, or insurmountable obstacles to me, during those times, and for years, thereafter.
That being said, I feel that I'm currently well supported in my persona expressiveness, in my constant endeavor to develop upon persona and enterprise, leaning in to, and thereof, from some of these experiences of bliss and of revisiting my inner child - for what it is, or was, it wasn't, by any means, "someone else's" upbringing. For me, continuing a roadmap and outlook prognosis for overcoming this mental health illness debacle, I find that those who do find peership identity of me, of what pertains to them, as relevance between us, are, indeed, present in my life, and I feel very generally widely supported, over the course of many days that I live out.
The scrum bwitsies thing is an enterprise of menial tasks, of civic and subjective observation, yet people's perceptions of my internal construed visceral self, as projected upon the streetfare pedestrians around town, here and there gain some station in identity, for not being ignored, or neglected, as I perform the menial tasks, and as I establish a rote of stability, given a commonly known work week expectation of society, upon others, and as I try to tackle the common spectre of darkness that comes with maniacal empowerment and through the enabling of maniacism, grandiosity, unappreciated charisma, and deluded false confidence.
The latest development of my enterprise, in establishment, is that I ought to bring out, when I set out to hit the streets, « one gallon of soapy water » and a scrub pad, for the sake of beautification and refurbishment of the surface of the sidewalks. In other words, that I put some dedicated elbow grease in to the establishment, for the sake of show, and for more subtle underlying psychology claimstaking basis, given some small experience to support a simple notion - that the existence of a pristine and faultless environment tends to support the sustaining of such spirit of cleanliness, amongst the locals in the community and of those who show up from other localities.
Once, I cleaned up a street nearby one of my common recycling center go-to locations; this was a street, of what might somewhat suggest a slightly suburban locale, just some homes, and an apartment complex. Yet, it was constantly fraught with litter. I simply as much took it upon myself, and perhaps that it was suggested to me, of my "conscience," or "higher power," of the "voices in my head," that I ought to demonstrate appreciation of the fact that I can live a sustainable and supported community identity of a recyclables-bum who does pigeon and sparrow feeding |sort| of persona "marketable" self, and no one much gives me a hard time about it.
I can clean the streets up, of the scrum bwitsies, beyond standard, for now. There's not something wrong with me, and I'm not oppositional or defiant.
In truth, and in hindsight, coming replete, in recognizance, I'd been uncommonly fortunate in my former enterprises and endeavors, within what I'd believe of my peers, yet my Christian upbringing, I'd say, was pervasively a part of myself, and it's identity basis that I'd never quite abandoned, and I can be comfortable in that truth of myself. I can clean up the streets.
