THE AXOLOTL

A Diaries Against Dystopia Essay

ROADKILL.

I wanna be honest with you. Before brainstorming the title for my diary project, I didn't know much about Axolotls. I still don't. Just that they come from Mexico, and there's a book with the name Axolotl Roadkill, which caused quite a stir when it was first released in Germany a couple of years ago.

Axolotls apparently are a type of salamander that never fully matures, stuck in a permanent larval state. Weird, alien-ish looking cuties with a very cool name. Very Mexican. But (almost) extinct in the wild.

What's most interesting for my transformation journey though is the fact that they can heal themselves. They can regenerate entire limbs. Hearts. Spinal cords. Parts of their brain.

You cut off a leg, they grow it back. Damage their heart, it rebuilds itself. They're living, swimming proof that total reconstruction is possible.

As with any good name, The Axolotl Diaries was already taken. Multiple times. Mostly for entertainment for children.

At 56, I'm on my way circling back to their demographic. Small portions, reduced entry fees. Kids will grow naturally if all goes well. I will have to grow a pair artificially: the kind you need to face aging, pain, death, and all the shit you've been avoiding. Nature won't do it for me. I have to build my own transformation.

If they can have faith in regeneration, so can I. We're both just working with different timelines.

ZOMBIFY.

There is probably something not quite right with me. Maybe ADHD, maybe functional depression, or something else I can't find out because... try getting an appointment with a psychiatrist in Germany these days. Luckily I can renew my referral every quarter.

So the referral sits there while I keep inventing my own treatments.

Because here's the thing: I don't know what's broken, but I know something is. The way my brain spirals. The way I can't sit still but also can't start. The way I feel flattened by everything: news, internet, the sheer volume of human stupidity and algorithmic cruelty pouring into my eyes every time I unlock my phone.

The doomscroll loop. The zombie feeling. The impulse control issues. The "holy fucking trinity of tyranny of the self," as I call it. Impulse, envy, pride knocking my brains out on a regular basis.

So I did what axolotls do: I started trying to regenerate without waiting for someone to tell me how.

HEAL.

I have a troubled relationship with self-help books. The ones that are always on top of the charts. Atomic Habits. The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck. Whatever Cal Newport is selling this year. I respect them, but simply can't finish them. Instead of inspiring me, they are causing brain fog.

I built my regeneration system — or, maybe better: my transformation project — from garbage inputs I picked up from random ads for "Tai Chi walking classes for men over 50", fitness influencers who have all the clues (or steroids), the magazine of my healthcare insurance, snippets from social media that somehow stuck, and guru concepts I pieced together wrong but used anyway.

So I started working. And I went with the most radical measure I could think of:

No more booze.

That was November 17, 2025. Then, three months later, no more weed. No more "just a joint" that turned me into a functional zombie who could pretend everything was fine.

Discipline → Freedom. That's the pipeline. I'm in the beginning right now. Tackling the discipline bit. Not always easy. Not yet rewarding. But it's a marathon, not a sprint.

The thing is, I didn't wait for a guru to give me permission. I didn't wait for the neurologist to confirm what's broken. I just started regenerating anyway.

Like an axolotl. Cut off the limb that's poisoning you. See if it grows back better.

REBIRTH.

If you read The Anchor, you know I used to live like nothing ever breaks. Booze, weed, cigs, coffee on top of these, bad food, long nights, lots of no sports. Very Churchill. But very unhealthy. And when you're in your mid-50s, all aesthetics break — like my lower back that would hurt like fuck and urged me to get started.

So I went ahead and invented my own regeneration program and a strict morning routine that consists of fulfilling chores, writing, meditation, and... sport! I shit you not. Like my old grandfather. I would do morning gymnastics. Of course, a tad more stylish.

HOP — Harvester Of Power. I made that up with a nod to Metallica, of course. It mashes up tai chi elements of "harvesting energy" with what I think are yoga moves, and core work to stabilize my lower back.

And as I don't trust myself one bit, I built a little surveillance system around it.

Paper Buddy / AI Buddy. I designed my beloved notebook and journal, to track habits, practice progress, reflections, tasks, and memories in a special grid. Then I spent hours prompting various AIs until I finally managed to set up an AI Buddy that interacts with my Paper Buddy. To avoid replacing doomscrolling with eternal AI dialogues, I bought pens and Moleskine blocks to write everything by hand and have my AI Buddy transcribe it — a task which it is very good at.

None of this is revolutionary. But also, none of this was prescribed by a doctor. I just sensed that I needed to build a system that supports my desire to become more disciplined and to grow out of the guilt/shame cycle into a more productive and healthy person. The kind of self-help I can live with, the kind of self-optimization that I wouldn't ridicule.

And that's the lesson, I think. You don't need to know what's wrong. You don't need the diagnosis. You don't need the perfect system.

You just need to start regenerating. See what grows back.

ONWARD.

Like the axolotl that can regenerate parts of its brain, maybe I can regenerate the part that holds onto dignity. Stop resisting. Become the guru I never thought I could be. Package "my formula" and make big bucks inspiring others with my cobbled-together system built from Tai Chi walking dudes and health insurance ads. The Axolotl Method™. Six weeks to self-healing through invented practices and garbage inputs. Only €299.

I'm joking. Mostly.

But here's the truth: axolotls are almost extinct in the wild. They only thrive in captivity now. In controlled environments. In tanks where someone bothers to keep the water clean.

I get it. I'm extinct in the wild too.

The guy in the home office, company headquarters far away, always the oldest dude in the video calls. Can't survive out there anymore. Built myself a tank instead — Paper Buddy, AI Buddy, HOP practice, The Drill.

It's not freedom yet. But it's survival.

And survival is the part that comes first.

Heal yourself. Onward.

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