01-12-2015, 12:22 PM
There is going to be a great deal of that letter in this post. It means I'm self absorbed, which is frankly a dull place for the rest of you. Reconsider reading this. It'll be long.
I tried to change my Mood Icon a few moments ago. Found I couldn't. The animation was more than I could bear. Too cute, rendering it meaningless except as light commentary. Humor mostly. Too unlike how I am just now.
I started posting here... It wasn't very long ago. Feels like longer. No, it feels bigger. It isn't bigger, but my perspective of it is shitty just now. I posted here because i thought I might be safe here, which is such an illusion. No one is safe anywhere. Recent events bear that reality. But I thought I could provide some common sense. People so seldom seem to employ it anymore. Especially emotionally. No one seems to want to believe that if it look like and duck and quacks like a duck, it may just be a duck. The better question is why the fuck is it quaking?
And I answered jittery, fumbling questions for better or worse.
Emotional smarts are a specialty of mine. I get people emotionally. I know when someone speaks from a point of view that bespeaks a higher economic strata. When people cannot see the truth of the economic tree because they have never really been close to living under the overpass of a highway bridge.
I understand those people who have been damaged by life. I know them best, I think. The people with the glass half full, half empty. Those who choose to wallow, and those who have enough life to rise. Those people with the yellow brick road that lie before them, those traveling it, those looking back over their shoulder. Love at the right turns, uncertainty halfway through a turn, the need to backtrack, mourning the missed turns, the wish to have not turned at all.
There is a sort of truth about the need to be without ruth tied to success in life. The more you pity, the more you empathize the less effective life is from a viewpoint of wealth, of success. Most of us try for the lovely balance. We believe that is the path to the success we are best prepared to live with lay in the happy medium. But the truly successful are ruthless, even if they appear benign. The Devil really must wear Prada in order to stay at the top. The cost of the successful at the upper levels live without remorse.
At the bottom the view is horrifyingly vivid.
The holiday's wrench me. The mass delusion, the willing suspension of disbelief, the need to be forgiving, loving, compassionate, Hallmark moment peaceful once a year. Retail throwing them relentlessly one on top of the other, each one demanding an obligation to one day, one moment, cheap sentiment. The rest of the 300 plus change days arguing the unflappable need to be correct in our vision of others' lives. Its situational ethics. Whether to allow needless faith, or fall to our knees and embrace the indecisive air.
In good faith I reassert my disbelief in any deity. That isn't the thrust this post. Agnostics take the high road and remain open to possibilities. I do not.
Fragments of life are flying at me. It is freezing outside, even if the furnace warms the air, my mind and body are intimate with the illusion. The tile in the showers in the locker room are unfortunate percentages of tan and gold mixed into solid, 70's color. The piss of the boys backing me into the corner is clear to electric yellow. Five streams. Its a momentary burn, the memory is a 13 year old's perspective, and it flashes through my mind in a second or two. It may replay.
The spiders, the technicolor spiders. Brilliantly, beautifully, fatally deadly to a phobic mind that talk to me about things I would rather not know. Rather not remember. Have not happened. Could happen. Will happen.
The boy who let me, honored me, let me believe I had value, who I gave blowjobs to in the practice football field tucked discreetly, smoothy flat and white lined yardages, a rectangular swath of clear cut jackpine trees, a perfect screen from prying eyes. His sucker punch in the gut in the hallway in front of classmates forgiven. Appearance to keep. And at some point my belief that I deserved it. Another moment that has ripped through my head. And sickeningly that I enjoyed it. The taste. And the laughter, the ugly locker colors, the spectacle of floor where I kept my eyes firmly fixed, while gasping for air to refill my lungs. The sting of the hit hurts less than the sting of dignity slipping away.
The newscasts that sicken me. That I can barely stand to watch. Animals dead on the roads. Knowing that people deliberately target the cats, squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits. Bits of fur flattened under countless tires. People killing people instead of living with them in a shared world.
Overpopulation. Unchecked overpopulation. People spitting out children who have no business having them, but because they can, they do. Arrogance. The species that had logic, reasoned thought, is the worst poison the Earth's balance has ever known.
At the bottom looking up I am not exactly dead inside. I was numb the last time I swallowed the handful of pills. And I made the wise choice, because of all the pills at my disposal that day I knew the ones that would be efficient and the the others that would signal the blue light special sale on sanity.
I may there emotionally, but I am not there physically. I am not going to hurt myself. Wanting and doing are not the same.
No need for concern. No need to panic. I may be there now, but as I said, I am emotionally smart. Wait enough time and feelings pass. Emotions stabilize. Perspective returns. I have been smart like that for many years. I am socially inept. I know how people talk when I cannot hear, although I don't know the words. I expect the worst even when people are kind. Sympathy is easy syrup to watch ooze. Maybe I want it. It still makes me feel less than whole. An obligation to the lessor person.
Rising above. People think that's always possible. Which is often why I realize many people know so little about mental health. The mind can fail you. As much as the betrayal of body, of an erection in the showers at school. The mind can fail even worse. I can be so rational sometimes. A minute. A moment. And so irrational. An hour, a day, a week. More. Nonfunctional.
Worse when my wall is up. Worse when no one can see, and what they can see is what I want them to see. Not what is. Hopelessness, despair, powerlessness. Embarrassment.
I am there now. I have lived here before. Time will pass. I'll regret this post. I'll regret this post. I'll regret this post. As soon as I click the submit new post. I don't let people into my mind very much. It isn't humbling. It's the weakness. The exposure. The fear that the words will be turned against me.
It's so ironic I preach so much about perspective. Not living in fear. At least I am honest inasmuchas Mark knows my walls. He's seen what is inside. He knows my ugliness'. I can be a terrible person. Almost person. He knows my fear. Weakness. Joy. Limited joy. Isn't joy mostly limited? I can be genuine though. And sweet. Honesty can be sweet. The knife shines both ways.
And it is early I think. The clock just chimed but I didn't catch the quarter, half, three quarter bells. I hate being exhausted but not sleepy. As much as I hate what blank time brings into my head. My head isn't clear, but there's nothing for that now.
I am a little dead. But a little dead is mostly alive. I have to keep telling myself that. It would be better if being a little dead weren't a tiny pathogen capable of so much. You take what you can get I guess.
I want to be anonymous. I won't. I'll just push the button and try to... I wish I knew.
I tried to change my Mood Icon a few moments ago. Found I couldn't. The animation was more than I could bear. Too cute, rendering it meaningless except as light commentary. Humor mostly. Too unlike how I am just now.
I started posting here... It wasn't very long ago. Feels like longer. No, it feels bigger. It isn't bigger, but my perspective of it is shitty just now. I posted here because i thought I might be safe here, which is such an illusion. No one is safe anywhere. Recent events bear that reality. But I thought I could provide some common sense. People so seldom seem to employ it anymore. Especially emotionally. No one seems to want to believe that if it look like and duck and quacks like a duck, it may just be a duck. The better question is why the fuck is it quaking?
And I answered jittery, fumbling questions for better or worse.
Emotional smarts are a specialty of mine. I get people emotionally. I know when someone speaks from a point of view that bespeaks a higher economic strata. When people cannot see the truth of the economic tree because they have never really been close to living under the overpass of a highway bridge.
I understand those people who have been damaged by life. I know them best, I think. The people with the glass half full, half empty. Those who choose to wallow, and those who have enough life to rise. Those people with the yellow brick road that lie before them, those traveling it, those looking back over their shoulder. Love at the right turns, uncertainty halfway through a turn, the need to backtrack, mourning the missed turns, the wish to have not turned at all.
There is a sort of truth about the need to be without ruth tied to success in life. The more you pity, the more you empathize the less effective life is from a viewpoint of wealth, of success. Most of us try for the lovely balance. We believe that is the path to the success we are best prepared to live with lay in the happy medium. But the truly successful are ruthless, even if they appear benign. The Devil really must wear Prada in order to stay at the top. The cost of the successful at the upper levels live without remorse.
At the bottom the view is horrifyingly vivid.
The holiday's wrench me. The mass delusion, the willing suspension of disbelief, the need to be forgiving, loving, compassionate, Hallmark moment peaceful once a year. Retail throwing them relentlessly one on top of the other, each one demanding an obligation to one day, one moment, cheap sentiment. The rest of the 300 plus change days arguing the unflappable need to be correct in our vision of others' lives. Its situational ethics. Whether to allow needless faith, or fall to our knees and embrace the indecisive air.
In good faith I reassert my disbelief in any deity. That isn't the thrust this post. Agnostics take the high road and remain open to possibilities. I do not.
Fragments of life are flying at me. It is freezing outside, even if the furnace warms the air, my mind and body are intimate with the illusion. The tile in the showers in the locker room are unfortunate percentages of tan and gold mixed into solid, 70's color. The piss of the boys backing me into the corner is clear to electric yellow. Five streams. Its a momentary burn, the memory is a 13 year old's perspective, and it flashes through my mind in a second or two. It may replay.
The spiders, the technicolor spiders. Brilliantly, beautifully, fatally deadly to a phobic mind that talk to me about things I would rather not know. Rather not remember. Have not happened. Could happen. Will happen.
The boy who let me, honored me, let me believe I had value, who I gave blowjobs to in the practice football field tucked discreetly, smoothy flat and white lined yardages, a rectangular swath of clear cut jackpine trees, a perfect screen from prying eyes. His sucker punch in the gut in the hallway in front of classmates forgiven. Appearance to keep. And at some point my belief that I deserved it. Another moment that has ripped through my head. And sickeningly that I enjoyed it. The taste. And the laughter, the ugly locker colors, the spectacle of floor where I kept my eyes firmly fixed, while gasping for air to refill my lungs. The sting of the hit hurts less than the sting of dignity slipping away.
The newscasts that sicken me. That I can barely stand to watch. Animals dead on the roads. Knowing that people deliberately target the cats, squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits. Bits of fur flattened under countless tires. People killing people instead of living with them in a shared world.
Overpopulation. Unchecked overpopulation. People spitting out children who have no business having them, but because they can, they do. Arrogance. The species that had logic, reasoned thought, is the worst poison the Earth's balance has ever known.
At the bottom looking up I am not exactly dead inside. I was numb the last time I swallowed the handful of pills. And I made the wise choice, because of all the pills at my disposal that day I knew the ones that would be efficient and the the others that would signal the blue light special sale on sanity.
I may there emotionally, but I am not there physically. I am not going to hurt myself. Wanting and doing are not the same.
No need for concern. No need to panic. I may be there now, but as I said, I am emotionally smart. Wait enough time and feelings pass. Emotions stabilize. Perspective returns. I have been smart like that for many years. I am socially inept. I know how people talk when I cannot hear, although I don't know the words. I expect the worst even when people are kind. Sympathy is easy syrup to watch ooze. Maybe I want it. It still makes me feel less than whole. An obligation to the lessor person.
Rising above. People think that's always possible. Which is often why I realize many people know so little about mental health. The mind can fail you. As much as the betrayal of body, of an erection in the showers at school. The mind can fail even worse. I can be so rational sometimes. A minute. A moment. And so irrational. An hour, a day, a week. More. Nonfunctional.
Worse when my wall is up. Worse when no one can see, and what they can see is what I want them to see. Not what is. Hopelessness, despair, powerlessness. Embarrassment.
I am there now. I have lived here before. Time will pass. I'll regret this post. I'll regret this post. I'll regret this post. As soon as I click the submit new post. I don't let people into my mind very much. It isn't humbling. It's the weakness. The exposure. The fear that the words will be turned against me.
It's so ironic I preach so much about perspective. Not living in fear. At least I am honest inasmuchas Mark knows my walls. He's seen what is inside. He knows my ugliness'. I can be a terrible person. Almost person. He knows my fear. Weakness. Joy. Limited joy. Isn't joy mostly limited? I can be genuine though. And sweet. Honesty can be sweet. The knife shines both ways.
And it is early I think. The clock just chimed but I didn't catch the quarter, half, three quarter bells. I hate being exhausted but not sleepy. As much as I hate what blank time brings into my head. My head isn't clear, but there's nothing for that now.
I am a little dead. But a little dead is mostly alive. I have to keep telling myself that. It would be better if being a little dead weren't a tiny pathogen capable of so much. You take what you can get I guess.
I want to be anonymous. I won't. I'll just push the button and try to... I wish I knew.