Toughen up

The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms, 1929

A friend shared this little bit of Hemingway with me a while ago. I'm always amazed on how much I avoid certain authors even though they're enjoyable. Just something that reminds me of school schedules and dusty professors and teachers already claiming how magnificent and great some books are. Never bothered to read them until college where I had the time as a science major. I enjoyed The Old Man and The Sea after some attempts, but I can say that I have not picked up The Great Gatsby or Of Mice and Men.

Just....a bad taste. I also don't do things under pressure or demand. As much as I read I only do it for enjoyment, if not love when it comes to books. Never on a tablet either. Something about the smell of books and silence of rooms while in the act of reading. Libraries often hold a special place in my heart. I've had one of my first kisses in a dusty library under the tombs of the Romantics, oddly enough. Book stores as rare as they are now, are special to me as I try to pick up a paperback classic for something less then two dollars while drooling first editions behind glass.

Yea.....books....just books. I know, I'm stalling. I'm getting there, just lost in a memory, forgive me.

I realize that I'm a bit of an off pack rat. I'm not inclined to buy things that will give me joy or happiness. Years of pinching a penny for as long as I have has ensured that the people closest to me have socks and clothes for the changing weather of places too far away from me to visit at the time. Something that I have a nasty habit and I realize that I need to correct considering that I can not think of myself without wondering if everyone else is ok. So often times gifts give me minor panic attacks wondering if I can keep it or if someone will take it away from me because I need to be taught a lesson.

Did I mention the domestic violence? Yea.....that shit is bad.

And yet, books are different. I have no idea why as I always re buy books only to pass on to others when I believe they will enjoy something new. Books are special to me. I started reading at an early age and always found comfort in them. I've collected comics in my early teens and even now I have a few Harley Quine comics in a special place. I started reading King in my Freshmen year of high school and after a while I noticed for a stupid individual I'm tearing down books with thousands of pages. Even now, I carry several books with me in case I'm stuck in a place with nothing to "do". I'm not a real fan of phones, but books will always have a special place. The say some people go on about concerts I'm about books. The only thing close to books is video games. So yea....books.....*sigh*

So as an odd pack rat outside of books, I have a habit of just picking up random things with no thought other then I need this soon and often times the moment comes in where I pull out of my back an item to save the day. Zip ties? Gonna keep this bumper up! A small odd metal weight? Ok, I have a paper weight. We're missing a screw for some reason? Paperclips! So I'm usually negating my quirk with an odd feeling of "I may need this".

Sometimes it's not a thing. Sometimes it's this quote. I didn't have time to sit and analyze it, but I knew it hit a nerve. I knew it mean something. I just needed time to ponder and moments to just let it sit in thought. Recently I'm in an odd exchange of poems with a cousin of mine, my junior by at least 20 years. She toss one towards me and if I find a moment of silence I'm able to read it and ponder it. Thankfully I know more poems so that I can keep her busy, but hers are magnificent. I've been pondering one a few days now, now seeing my initial response what shallow. Chances are between here and writing elsewhere I'm probably going to send her a response and pondering on what she sent me.

Did I mention I hated doing this in high school?

It's fun now. Before.....busy work with no enjoyment.

Ok....more then enough set up.

It's odd to me that Hemingway, the previous embodiment of manhood, would be the one to say this. Oddly enough the male ego is a delicate thing and it's bruised and hurt so easily. We can see this with adolescent hero worship of 80's action movie stars who shot guns and screamed at brown people who now cower in the fear of chemtrails while another help keep a state in ruin. But hey, they had their shirts off and they growled and grrred and made all the manly noises and shot people rather then do anything "faggoty".......ah...the 80's....wouldn't it be nice to go back so that one group already in power can not feel threatened as other people get a fair shake?

Nah.....fuck em.....ha ha....such stupidity. People actually believe in this. Scary.

Yet, Hemingway somehow shows a side of tenderness here. He shows a bit of contemplation. Something I've learned entering my 30's was to drop any feign manhood. I know most believe me being facetious when I mention this, but there comes a time, usually in a moment of great pain where a man has to question their manhood. Or what it is to be a man. I know it's chic to laugh at all the genders and to mock those who are actually questioning their persona seen. I'm not even mentioning sexuality, but just how they wanted to be seen. And of course most of these cry babies who shout "triggers" at what ever they find offensive and "bad" as the SJW's they are would never have survived my childhood where they would be called a "fag" and be called lucky if only their feelings were hurt. Because sadly somehow we were told to swallow an image of what it is to be a man that is so fragile that if someone simply acts different we are threatened with some sort of challenge to our own view.

It's sad really.

I've pondered this a decades ago along with my three questions of sexuality and I can honestly say that I'm straight. In the Kinsey scale I would be considered a hard one with no inclination towards sexual attraction to men, my own gender. I'm not bragging, but I'm simply stating a fact that I always knew. I've had many moments when someone would flirt with me along the spectrum of feminine and masculine behavior. I've been propositioned and even wooed and yet, I offer thanks and simply turn down the advances. Not matter the age, I always was straight even if I didn't really understand how important that choice was. Huh, didn't help that I was a twink in my early twenties, huh. Oh, I also had a bout of TB so kind of hard to pack on muscle from puberty when you're trying to survive.

Hey, you're attracted to what and who you are attracted to.

And yet, I've always been straight. So it kind of bothers me that I've been picked on for being "kind' or "sweet" or even "delicate". I never felt attraction towards men, but "fagot" used to fly out of mouths trying to hurt me quickly. It never bothered me because I was straight. It didn't matter since as hard as it was, I was attracted to girls my age and women today. Yet, I was different. I didn't yell at women to do things with my junk. I didn't put mirrors on my shoes. I didn't peek nor did I try to cross the line that today would be a crime and then would be boys will be boys.

Mind you, I was still a teenager and if I did see a hint of lace that would set me off. I love the female figure back then as I do now. Now I just realized that it's best to to justify making woman an object and actually talking to them. The times I've "got some" it was never a choice or due to my ability to say, "hey, girl" in the best way. I never showed up and gotten laid. I don't have a pornographic wienner and somehow I don't have that douche gene that makes me act like one. If anything I never felt attractive. I knew early on that I need at least 15 minutes to convince a woman that I'm not murderous and more time to just woo.

These days I just like a conversation. Just a moment to share time and words. I notice that "being nice" sometimes equate to me being flirtation. Trust me, if I tried to flirt it would be awkward and sad and why I simply state the obvious or just don't try. It's why I know my vocabulary is important. Words have power.

oh....craps....hold on

*notices that something on stove is burning. Takes oatmeal off fire and serves it up, soaking the pot*

*clears throat* ....ok, where was I......yes...I like women.

And yet, because I was all these things I've been on the rough side of life. People believe that I needed to "toughen up". I was told that I should watch out for the homosexual because I was their target and they would make me the gay. Sadly, being sincere and trusting I swallowed it all and I made sure no one made me gay. Sadly, doing so has caused me to be a piece of shit for a while. I regret the actions now and even though they never went past small mockery or words, I'm ashamed that I had to act that way because I had to protect against something that would never happen.

In my early life, I married at 16, tried to start a family, worked multiple jobs and even tried to take classes. It wasn't until my twenties where I would start turning about. After years of TB, medicine, and hitting the gym my thin frame began to pick up muscle. I would pack on muscle by my late twenties and finally felt eyes on me. Didn't matter since I still felt awkward and odd. Women hit on me and I didn't know. Men hit on me and they were fucking blunt. Either way, my gym workouts, martial arts and simply working out decades of frustration and anger made me......different. It made me big, nasty looking, and angry.

Oddly enough, few people would still come near. I can say that my friends chose me rather then the other way. Even they say that I carry a chip on my shoulder and a sense of anger and mayhem. I'm been in my share of fights, bad situations and even a few drive bys on the receiving side. I realized how delicate the male ego is when you scare them. Mind you, words are always best, yet when most men realize they don't have a point to argue, the anger comes out.....unless you look like you can eat them. Then they're polite.

I think my time in therapy has been mostly realizing how much of a product of my environment I am. As toxic as it is, I am that product. And as much as I can say, I'm scarier then I'd like to be.

....yea.....I know, right.....

And yet, this quote hit me and it took me time to realize what it meant to me. I wrote this a few days ago. I think it speaks well.

I was once considered soft, tender, sensitive and kind as a child. Some whispered rumors of one day being outed. Others assumes that life would just tear me apart.

No, I survived. I am a product of my world and past choices. And yet, I feel I miss that sweet, tender little boy and wish I can hold him in my arms and tell him it will be ok. Hell is coming and it will be ok. 

Sometimes....I wish I was still him.

I miss that little boy. That kid. The squeaky voiced, timid guy who was nice. Who was just a kind person, even if I was a bit of a spoiled brat. Yet, thinking now. If I could go back. I don't know if I would protect this version of me or simply prepare him. I don't know how I could improve him. OR if he needed improving in that way. I was soft, but that softness was strong. I'm still part of that kid when I'm alone and no one is near. My defenses drop and that kid sits alone and sighs.

Life is tough, yet I'm tougher. Yet this kid doesn't exist. He cried tears at how life was cruel and callus. He was in shock that he could not do anything, even to protect himself. That kid grabbed the weights and lifted until be developed an aura of malice. He took hits and bruises until he was nasty, vicious, and even horrifying. He read things that broke his heart, even just to disagree with it, but he devoured it all the same to become immune to the lies and mischievous intent until his eyes were hardened towards smiles and a sinister air hung on him that simply kept everyone away from him.

That kid became me. Can I be that kid again? I mean knowing everything and the such with improvements? Can I be the person I needed then for those who need them now? Can I?

Yea......therapy will see. I hope so. I miss that kid. He had his flaws, but he was sweet, kind, and loved people.

Tug a war with the Big Black Dog

Sitting at the table in the dinning area, I'm privy to the view of several animals. In the kitchen, the only dog who thinks I'm not worth my salt is sitting on a chair, newly returned from the vet from a nasty bought of inner ear infection. He doesn't like me much and he rather be babied by certain members of the family. It's quite annoying, but even so I'm happy to see the jerk feeling better. In the tree outside the kitchen window, a brown Siberian cat lays relaxed in the fig tree waiting for small birds to tear open the rip fruit so that green beetles can eat their remains. Time to time he pounces on strays that wander over to mate or cause general mayhem and he at times climbs through a window and squeaks a greeting from a voice that has been lost with one large tabby and a well placed claw.

The "little cat", the runt of the family of two out of the four cats we still have, one decided to wander off and another had to be given due to their disgusting protest of crapping in corners due to not having their very own litter box, sits on top of the bookcase in between the kitchen and dining room. She's a hard convert considering that we got rid of her most favorite sibling, the before mentioned Corner Crapper, and simply being completely mistrustful of any male touch. It took me years of working to winning her over, something I would compare to teasing and flirting. Small waving, placing treats at a distance and walking away and gradual touches while keeping away far enough to make me strain to reach her yet close enough to have her rub in affectionate greetings. She often dances between my legs as I write, teasing me to pick her up and hold her for a moment as I ignore her when she seeks me and touch her when she least expect me.

I can honestly say that I've learned everything about flirting from dealing with her and understanding that it's highly stupid unless your interest returned and engaged. Then I'm for teasing and kind affectionate shows of love. Until then, speak your mind and intent.

Ha....I'm digressing. I really am. I realized that my writing has taken a hard edge that would be almost considered Liefeld. I'm now realizing that I beat around the bush because my content is rough, brutal and honestly blunt. I'm not sure about you, but my writing is painful. It's an act of spewing bile onto a screen and me somehow trying to find justification on why this is. I need to do more set ups. Show you I'm not always a miserable fuck. That my life is not an Emo/Gothic/Romantic wet dream as life just constantly ravages me as I swoon and get the vapors.

I bleed. I laugh. I live. So I'm going to fluff it a bit. Show I'm actually human....ish? So yea.....animals....I'll get to the point sooner or later.

*takes in breath and continues*

At my figurative feet, the Big Black Dog sits. It constantly moves about the room at times, depends on it's whim to sit here or there, but it always sits near me. It walks with me on days that it will allow me to walk and sits near on days where my movement is to be limited. Often times I collapse and curl up into a fetal with it's large maw laying it's weight upon me, keeping me from continuing what I had planned for the day. It's an animal hard to love. It offers no respite. On my best days, it keeps it's distance yet always keeping in vision. No matter how great my moment is, no matter how fulfilling the laughs are, no matter how lingering the kisses are it's near.

See what I did here? I'm borrowing from Matthew Johnstone's brilliant imagery.  How else could you compare depression? It's not a treat as one would deal with an attacker or someone wielding a gun. It's almost stealthy. It creeps slowly towards you and it is always near. It almost seems harmless until it fully drops the weight on you. You can't prepare for it or plan around it. It simply drags you back always in some increment from blatant to subtle, but its there. Its pulls on it's leash and will always remind you that you're tethered. It pulls on you. It hinders you. It can not be reasoned with or even appeased. Its just there, big, dumb, and heavy. You can't hate it, its a waste to. You can't ever love it because it will always smother you.

*sigh*

So prevention is key. Being proactive is a necessity. I run and work out. I imagine more and more brutal workouts to increase the feel good hormones that makes you feel great. I collect data and analyze it when I need to be motivated. Finding meaning in the decrease of increments of minutes, increase of lean muscle mass, and correlate my effort and desire. All of this is magnificently useful when training others and keeping them pushing and struggling. I'm an amazing cheerleader. I pull up so many people who need that motivation and content drive. I am often times several people motivator. I'm honestly envious of what I'm able to do for others. Sometimes I just want to tear myself apart from the world and just be my coach. My hero. My leader and motivator.

I want someone to chase the fucking dog away. Maybe put it in a kennel. Find that farm upstate where is can depress all the other animals and give us sad meat products. I know, it's stupid and mean, but fuck can you let me be a bit?

So it sits at my feet, looks up and continues to lay there, almost telling me I should be so happy it's not on my chest.

Fucking dog.

*sigh*

I want to write fiction. I want to write horror stories. Comedy. Something interesting about not me where I can allude to things and use symbolism and allow others to sit in a room and discuss over their drink of choice. I want to use my writing to make a living. To inspire. To cause thought and discussion and .....*sigh*....you sigh alot when it's at your fucking feet. Almost as if you can sigh it off and regain your natural breath and not strangle you slowly.

I want to write about not me. I want to write about how crappy my dating life is. To write about moments I can not simply discuss with use of innuendo or simile. ha ha ha.....I want Guillermo del Toro to think I'm amazing and want to put a statue of me in his home and museum. I just realized that's what I want. I want him to mention in an interview that my writing has brought him chills and terrors. That he wants to have lunch with me and to bring along his good friend Kojima. I fucking realized this.....this would be the greatest thing I can ever wish for. Someone noticing my potential made prominent and celebrated. Seeing a statue of Lovecraft being honored for his work despite being paranoid, xenophobic and that special kind of racism that is "a product of his time".

Still honored.

Can I have that?

"He was late onto the literary world, yet he has inspired so many. He brought out an old kind of fear once forgotten and inspired a generation. People today will remember the Romantics. They will remember Charles Bukowski. They will remember Auggie for his body of work ......although the fucker was a huge introvert and harbored an immense hatred towards orangutans.....hunted them on his time off....bit of a monster"

Hahahahahahahahahaha.....ha.......that would be awesome......it would be awesome.....it would be....I wish it was .....

I can tell the Big Black Dog becoming annoyed with me. Can feel it scooting over with every laugh. I almost feel I can laugh it away. Bother it to leave me be by fostering some....joy....happiness....anything.....just to have it leave me alone....and maybe find that secret rocket fuel to launch me into where I want to go instead of here, struggling with trying to exist.....*sighs and notices it scoot closer*

....no no....I have to be positive....even if I have to lie....anything but this... I will be positive. I will be......I will be.....*sighs*

This is my Wednesday afternoon. Struggling with......this. When I could be out there.....being....magnificent....being.....great......doing something.....worth doing....not having the Dog on me. *feeling tears in eyes*....

I want a chance......time is running out. I want what other have......a fucking chance and the ability to take advantage of it.....it won't help if my cheering squad is cheering me on or more then willing to back me in every way. I love you guys. I do. I even feel ashamed that I can do.....I just want to do....not be dragged down.....pulled into nothingness .....to be forgotten.....to lose any potential I may have.....I need to struggle against what kills me or it will pull me down and have other remember me in awkward and sad tones. 

I want my name to be said with laughter. I want other to tell their stories and moment and have others question that I ever did do such things. I want to inspire those of us who struggle and fight to keep fighting. We might die. We might take our lives or even let it take the meaning from it from us, but fuck we have to fight. We have to struggle even if struggling is going to have us sink more. I want to go down swinging if I can not be magnificent......

......*almost to tears*.....to paraphrase The Creature from Mary Shelly's Frankenstein for my purpose, if I can not inspire the world with love, with joy, with kindness and affection that simply dies in me because I can not give it to you for whatever hellish reason, then let me inspire you with hatred. Hatred against this Big Black Dog. Anger towards how it suffocates us. Inspire you with my rage that it had stolen so much of my life. I want you to remember that I swung the hardest, fastest and always went for the kill against what kills me. I want you to remember that its not the world that takes me away from you anymore, its depression, and its killing me and siphoning what life I can share with you for it's own empty means. If I can not be your hero...my hero.....I want to be the fucking villain, if that's the only role given to me. I want depression to feel hatred towards me. I want it to regret attaching itself to me. Make it sorry for the rest of it's horrid existence I want it to bleed by my hand, be it dead or alive. I want it covered with my scars and to hid it's monstrous face from the world. I want others to see it as my bitch. It may just take me, but I want everyone to know I hurt it in ways that it rues. I want my name mentioned in it's place. Call it the Bane of Auggie. Anything to remove it's fucking clout. I want people to mention depression much as many mention consumption or the plague, a harmlessly distant whisper of an age that no one can relate to. 

If you're going to steal my life away, I will hurt you. Even if I have to exist on anger and hared. Even if I have to devise some method to love those around me rooted in the hatred of you, I will. It's not fair nor will I complain, but I will not be take down so easily, especially since I've survived so much before it.

I can feel it slump away.....I'm angry, but it has left me. I don't want to be angry, but I will not remain weak to it. I will poison myself to hurt it if I must.......not that I want to, but I need to continue with what little time I may have.

*sighs out of exhaustion*

Maybe one day I'll reach my dream. Or even some close approximation that will allow me some joy and peace of mind. Maybe. It's hope and hope is a delicious we whisper to ourselves until we can make it manifest. Or it can lull us to slumber in place of the peace we seek. But I will allow myself this.....I will lie to myself until I can make it happen or simply have to let it go. 

I need "hope" and this is the only way I can have it.

I must try until I can do better. 

.....

Please, be kind.
Peace and Love.

I'll write more soon. Despite my sad topics it's helping. 

Crazy Doc Quicky #1: How are you feeling now?

Crazy Doc: So......how are you this week?
Me: *see link for exact emotion https://thenib.com/this-is-not-fine *
CD: Good, good! You're making progress. This is healthy for you.
Me: =-|

Moral: I have not a fucking idea, but ok.

Feeding the Aug of War- A Comedic Relief and Moment to Speak Openly

*crunches biscuit in mouth*

.....hmmmmmmm.......the hardest part about keeping track of calories is that you have to jump through hoops to find the information. I mean, seriously. They have the caloric information of semen (5-25 calories), but not what I need! Geesh....whose job was it to to that experiment. Hell, who has to clean out that bomb calorimeter?

Fuck.....*looks at box of biscuits while chewing* I might have to stop eating these.....

***

Um......hey, hi..........um I wanted to take a moment and thank you for reading this. It's honestly been to damn long since I written anything and getting back in the stride of things can be....awkward. This is also awkward. The fact that I'm actually speaking to you rather me going on a rant much like the poor guy on the corner near me babbling away on what what and that that. 

Yea, but I kind of wanted to take a second to say a few things if only for my own sanity considering that one, people actually read this. Two, I'm actually getting views from Germany, France and South Korea, I kind of wanted to apologize to you all for actually reading my insanity and to remind you, you know the Internet has porn. Seriously, porn. I would almost feel more comfortable if you went for porn rather then read my insanely stupid thoughts. Like, seriously.....porn.....no? Ok.....

More importantly, three, I want to say thanks for just reading. Writing is kind of my way to vent and play with thoughts that just bounce around in my head and keep me from sleeping, so the fact that any of you read this really makes me feel ....um...I'm not sure......valued? I would not mind comments either. I'm really not too big on interaction, but considering that you've all read my oddness I kind of feel a bit more braver with whatever I'm saying. 

Shoot, I would mind positive critique. Or even interaction, he says now somehow realizing he really has no idea how he will respond outside of hiding in a blanket and  staring at the screen. I kind of use my writing to lash out, but I want to use it to create also. I'm trying to get my humor back, I realize that writing has to be practiced by doing and if I get any positive response I'm quite willing to do more. 

Just not, "you suck" or anything negative. I actually want my writing to be snark free so I want to have a kind relationship with you good people if any. I'm more then used to debate, bullying, and just unimaginitive mockery. I guess what I'm trying to say if you make contact I'll try to please. Or if you can mention if you like something I'll try to do that more. 

Am I making any sense? No, Ok.....just being silly stupid nervous. 

Ha ha....ok, but thanks for the time your can honestly be spending looking at pornography.....they have on top AND on bottom you know! Even *looks around the room then whispers* girls that kiss girls......I know! Right? Internets is wild! Oh my, I'm getting the vapors....I need to sit and fan myself before I swoon.....ha ha...

Ok, Peace and Love.

Be kind to each other.

*pulls another one out and starts to crunch on it*

....one day.....just not today....

*puts down the box with the most adorable golden retriever on the front, still chewing*

Shower Epiphany: Trigger moments, Secret Wars, and Why You Bury your Dead

Shower Epiphany

It's been a month since I finished The Phantom Pain.

The game was magnificent. It will always be to me Kojima's greatest work. The game means so much and with it's flaws, it's still a magnificent. I'm going to talk about a few things that came up because of the story, but I really hate to ruin it, so just in case spoilersv and such.

Saying all that.....

.....I think it really hit a nerve. It.....kind of hurt me. It kind of feels like echos of what I lived through. It's ......*deep breath*

.....secret wars....

I'm out. I think I'm out. I would like to think I'm out.

Then again, I do wake up in sweat at night doing what I can to stifle a scream. In the years I've survived, I've able to stifle the scream. I cry tears of fear and joy that I am out, but I'm not. Every now and then I get pulled back into a hell that I somehow survived.

......and the hell was never mine. It was never my fight in the end. I was fought, lost, and survived only to never be my fight. Does it mean anything? Does it mean anything when I lost so much to something that was never mine......

Did I lose so much to nothing? Was it all for nothing? This....hallow remains......for nothing? And those we lost......who haunt me.....who I question even now why they died never knowing it was for nothing.....were they ......lucky?

Sometimes, I belong or I feel that I belong. I think life will get better. That I will move on. Never turn back. Be happy. Live what is left of time I have and feel I have accomplished something.....meaningful. Worth so much. Much more than what I lost. I am almost happy.

And then, I wake up trying not to scream. Then I get a flash of.......horror? Memory? Who ....what I was.....where I was.....if I could go back and stop so much......fuck....Avey.......those hollow moments, a hard look, haunted eyes.......for fucking nothing....ha ha ......nothing......

It reminds me that I am not like you. I will never be like you. I will never be you. The price paid is often times it's own cost.....punishment....Faustian compromise.....haunted.....so haunted....

You hold me shaking. You fill my glass. You listen to small moments of hell. You sit with me while I try to escape. You wish me all the good I've am due. You send words to ponder, introspect, and hold close. You all have been so much to me. I will never be able to thank you ever. If I lived to the end of time I can not thank you enough. You give me the ability to lie....believe I can be......you.

And yet, if there is justice in this world......if there is any way to redeem myself of .......nothing.......I will have to live an eternity against my will. Sometimes.....sometimes death is too good for you. Sometimes you just need to pay your penance. I'm more then willing. Every good dead is redemption for one day to start another.

ha ha......and for it all......what was it all for? Nothing.

Cosmic joke of it all. It was for nothing. I paid my price and I got what I wanted for it.

*sigh*

I know.......I get like this. It's why I go away. It's why I have to go. It's.......heavy. I have to pay....penance for those who can't. For those who are not with us. For those who never learned it was for nothing. Fucking nothing.

I'm fine....no, I'm not fine. I won't be fine for a long while. I'm trying, but I'm not fine. We have to bury our dead. I have to learn to bury mine one day. It's why I tell you to. Because I can't. Because I carry them with me. It's because my hell should mean something to someone even if it's not ever for my benefit.

Penance. Price. Pain.

All the same thing. Always the same thing.

......I'll bury my dead one day. I will. I will rest with them also. Hopefully they will welcome me if there is any sort of afterlife outside of one imagined by those who can not have second chances.

I'll be fine tomorrow. I'll be.......but tonight. I morn them. I morn myself.

For......nothing.

......

Please......be good to each other.

The Only Difference Between Poison and the Cure............

I've hit a milestone on Friday when I went to the Westside. Fridays have this tainted feeling to them since I started family therapy a year ago and now continue my own since January. Fridays and the Westside have this taint. This......weight to them now as I make sure my complete day is empty from any obligation. When I do go, if I'm luck I'm usually in a mental fetal position for no longer then the rest of the day. If there is an intensive session I don't usually know it until I wake up on Saturday. By then, depending on how bad it was I can say if I'm ready to continue with life or I'll just remain a nonliving entity until demand and obligation forces me to conform to society once more. 

So while friends are excited for the weekend and have made plans I'm usually bowing out, disappearing and doing my best to ....I don't know really. Be? I can't explain to anyone who has not had it happen on how draining a session can be. It's almost as if you lost the energy as you would be depressed and at the same time you mind is racing, running and jumping between things, almost as if you're having a panic attack. 

Not fun. Not even close. Wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. Which oddly enough, is me. Ha....still.

*sighs* 

I know, what you're asking. This was a good session? There was a milestone! This is all good, right?

Yea, it was. Is. And yet, it's the same outcome. The only difference is that I'm somehow getting better. I don't see it really. I saw a little of it yesterday as I walked out cheerful, happy, even smiling. I felt as if I won. I even wrote myself notes to remind myself that I've won this week. I achieved something I have never have done and that is going to be good for me in the long run. 

Ok, let me cut to the bone.

I set up my first boundary.

It's something that I never learned to do. Coming from a family with trauma boundaries where never a thing. We suffered each others madness as if it was normal to explode and to let loose. I've never acted out this way until I was in my teens when I made life choices that we foolish and almost regrettable. It would take me a decade to realize that I was missing something. It's almost odd how most people who know about this look at me as if I'm from another planet. I mean, how do you not know how to do that?

A story too long to tell here, but to keep it short, no I never learned this because they people who would teach me this never learned this. They never learned boundaries because they were very young and victims of abuse themselves. Long chain of abuse that has never been resolved until now. 

I want to be the last link in the chain. I wanted. Sadly, it's not going to happen. My children may be the last link. Or not. I worry. I will always worry.

Ok, focus....*takes breath*

I learned to make a boundary. I was actually praised for it and at the moment it was very blatant. Trying to do a favor for someone who does not see that they're taking advantage of me. I have a kind heart. I give. it's my greatest strength and weakness. I give of myself, alot. I do everything I can to help those around me, yet I'm never able to help myself. I'm not able to do what I need to do to take care of myself. There was a time I thought that if you loved someone they would cover your back and you would cover theirs. This is not the case, even in a perfect place or time. Everyone is out for themselves. Not in a cruel way, but they are number one on their own list. Sadistic fucks are just number one through ten in every list, but every normal person is their number one.

I was never on the list. I was told it was selfish and wrong to be on your own list. To want things for yourself. Or just to make life better. You should think of others. They should be on your list. Never you. 

So...yea....I set up a boundary. I set one up and it had to be blatant. I set it and it had to be neon huge blinking lights and vulgar swagged. It had to be obscenely perverse and mockingly obvious. It had to be the biggest baby step I've ever had taken.

And when I did I basically stumbled forward, tripped and rolled in the right direction. To my credit I did recover and continue, but it had to be stupidly blatant. Like someone propositioning you for sex and you didn't get it until you were 10 minutes asleep. 

Yea, that bad.

Yet, yay? I guess?

So I was praised. And celebrated. And Crazy Doc was proud.

And yet, I feel......drained. 

Good or bad it feels the same. It feels as if got hit with the train that is coming back for me. Good or bad, it's going to hit me again and again. 

Trust the process. You have to trust the process. I'm told I'm doing "better". I have to do the one thing I don't want to do in this situation, but I have no choice. I have to do the one thing my entire being says that I should never do, to survive. 

I have to trust. I hate trust. I should be allowed to.

The only difference between poison and the cure is if you can survive the concentration given.

Ponderous Points #1 Hope and Waiting

Gained a lb and my body fat jumped from 23.1 to 23.5%. I'm not getting enough sleep sadly. I'm going to have to remedy that. I'm a bit sleep deprived which makes me laugh here in the tomb, but hey you can't fix everything immediately.

Goal today is to run 3 miles tonight, sleep in a bit since I'm running on 5 hours, and finish up my cover letter for one place and send that out to work on another. I'm in a writing streak as some of you can tell, but I'm probably going to start stacking them up considering that I can go into quiet patches. Two posts a week should be ok?

Crazy Doc is tomorrow. I know what's he's going to say. "You live in a toxic environment. You need to get out of there now." Kind of hard when you don't have a steady cash flow. If there's two things I realize being a vagabond it's that the only way people will put up with you is money or help. And somehow I'm starting to to feel my help isn't valued enough to talk to someone into letting me have a patch of carpet in the corner.

Therefore, resumes, cover letters, and just hope.

I hate hope. Hope is useless compared to a given, even if that given is negative. I'd rather know how bad it is instead of hoping. Mayhaps I'm just jaded, but I'm a fucking realist. My days of optimism ended when I was 16 and life started to get hard.

...huh.....minirant. See, going to store that up. Might even get CAt back up. Just random thoughts.

Random thoughts, plans and not trusting hope.

Walking a Line that's Faded at Best

Writing is a difficult thing. Almost hellish.

There are moments that I go without even speaking to people much less putting words on page behind meaning and yet there are moments where almost in a fever pitch I'm able to spew out words with meaning with innuendo with intent to cause some chaotic spark of thought that is outside the daily does of mind numbing crap. 

Being in the middle of the two poles, I find if hard to even keep what I've written here. I'm very sure it's not going to inspire or provoke thought. Yet I know I have a thought within that needs to see the light of day yet somehow the time is wrong, the mood is not there, or I haven't groked it long enough to fully pull out meaning. And yet, considering that I use my writing as means to balance my thoughts it can be....ickish....is there a word for intellectual blue balls?

Blue Mind?

Odd.

Well, as of now I'm once again trying to rebalance my life by trying to fight my weight gain, depression, looking for a full time legitimate line of work, and figuring out how soon I can move out of a place that, from what I'm told a toxic environment. It's all too easy to slump down and simply close your eyes and let....time...slip....by.....

So I get up despite of not having enough sleep. I weigh myself and check my body fat percentage and calculate how many calories and macro nutrients. I log what I eat, how much water I take in, and calculate my run times, caloric expenditure and any other value I can find out of what data I can gather. I look throughout the Internet and attempt to fill in applications, resumes with cover letters and reference lists. I try to take a nap when able, but not enough to lose hours of time, even though it's what I have. I go outside to work out, lift and keep active. If I have time left over I watch youtube as some would watch tv. If there's time to kill I get on a game and kill some hours of time. IF I have a book I read just enough as one would ration water knowing that my library card has been revoke by the kindness of others and getting hold of thought provoking books are rare. I'm always on wiki .

I can imagine that this existence, this limbo is how I would imagine prison yet with more violence or at times much less. Being around volatile people is nerve wracking. A snide comment said by one person can equate to days of hell. One person's outbursts can chain react. My only rule here to others is to not set off the megaton bomb in the room. I have my moments and I have to walk away knowing that toxic places pull you in by means lower then any enemy can pull. I've had good days where I pull away, bad days where I get pulled in and feel ashamed of myself for being foolish, and I have my rare days that kill me knowing that I am better and yet I gave into a chaotic and destructive nature. 

And people wonder why I know how to get away from crazy. People with solid advice have either escaped their hells or are fighting them at the moment. I'm the later. People who negate "no" for any reason. Anyone who makes you feel less then who you are. Any one who gaslight, is verbally or physically abusive when they lack a decent verbal IQ to discuss and even debate. People who emotionally leech, want you to rebuild them making your their monkey wrench only to return to abusive means, anyone who has ever thrown any object towards you. 

Hell. Abuse is hell. It's harder to escape it. There comes a point where your own being will work against you. Self sabotage, fighting low self esteem, trying to keep momentum and remaining positive are all part of it.

......funny......didn't feel like writing at all. Still don't know where it's going either. Still don't know if this will be posted.

Life is tough.......my life is tough. I'm going to try to not to speak in the third person. I'm told when I speak of myself I regress into a monotone and become distant. It's a mechanism from what I'm told is frightening as hell to watch. So....no third person.

*clear throat* My life IS tough. And it's stupid at the same time. I think of it was pulling myself out of quicksand. I know how to do it, I'm learning new methods to do so also, yet it's time consuming, tiring, and from what I'm told one of the hardest things to do. When your very effort works against you and doing nothing is death. I hear many people tell me they love me, they're behind me, that they are in any way willing to help me. I'm here trying not to pull anyone else in while trying to tread myself above. I more then understand that I have to reach a certain people in order to break free of mental shackles that hold be down, yet getting there is hard. I know what should be done. The practise is difficult, painful, and often times meaningless. 

It's why they say that the best support you can give someone depressed is to just sit there, maybe make them into a burrito and just sit there. It's nothing you can do to fix them. You presence can be damaging, but if you just sit and say you understand its the most amazing thing. The person does not need to hide it and they can simply be.

Saying this I have an amazing support network. I have great friends. I've been told that I can equate my value to that of the caliber of my friends. I would like to believe that. Then again I would love to be functional and not be in this situation to start. So I know, but often time I do not understand. 

It's like when I'm told that I've loved. I understand the words. I know the meaning. I more then believe that my closest friends mean the words, that they have meaning. I just don't feel anything. Was it because I've been in so many types of toxic relationships? Can it be that they loved me also and yet that love was painful, harmful, and destructive in their different ways. One person was physically abusive. Other mentally. One negated my own feelings and made me feel used. Others negated the word 'no' and others just took me along their own insanity. I have a type and its crazy, needy, hurtful. I didn't choose it. I didn't want it, but it's a clear pattern. Being celibate now for 9 years I can see that my life is a lot more livable when not in the trunk of a car or stalked.

So....therapy. I'm told people see changes. That I've made immense advancements in the 8 months I've been going. That I am more then willing to tear myself apart and pull whatever poisons me. That I know have a mindset that limits me, imposed by me, and that I will never be happy until I fully dismantle it. It sounds good. As if I can walk over to a pipe and just turn a valve and everything will be kudos. 

How I wish.

How I wish to be normal. I've a boring person really, yet I am a product of my environment. I do not trust easily. I consider my needs least if not important. I question myself more times then anyone else. I'm an introvert, pessimist, sarcastic, and yet I'm told I'm honestly not. I have a 'dark humor' that scares everyone off. I've lived horrors that only those who have cold eyes can recognize and normal people 'can't just even'.

ha ha ha....I was actually told I made someone go on antidepressants because I told them a part of my life.

Part. As in, "I was divorced by 21" part. 

Saying all of this, I try to be positive. I try to be functional. I balance my life and try to gain momentum as a child would learn to walk. I fall alot. I fail alot. I curl up into a ball alot. I don't cry. I don't know how to anymore. Yet, I get back up and try again. 

Why?

Because three years ago I should have taken my life. And yet, time shows that things change. Sometimes you just have to endure fucking hell as hard as it is, yet the moment you get your chance you will jump and run for it even if jump and run is really collapse and drag. Yet that fucking drag.....that pain.....pain is life....you have a fighting chance. Scream it. Yell it. Write it on the walls. Make as much noise as possible. Don't let it drag your down. It will and you should fight. You should make your escape the most explosive moment you can.......because if you don't you pass in silence. You pass in silence and mystery and no one around you will know what you suffered. 

So I screamed. I told everyone. I told those closest to me I was suicidal. I was fighting a fight that I was losing. And they pulled me in. They held me close and told me they loved me, even though I say now I can not feel it. It didn't matter. They came. They came.

I love my friends. One day I'll feel it, but I know I do. I guess I do.

My life is tough. I'm doing what I can to be functional. To be strong, confident, and progressive and proactive. I have my bad days. I have my worse days. I have days that I wonder how will I ever continue from that point. Oddly enough, my life has ended numerous times. And yet, there is tomorrow. Just the promise of tomorrow.....is enough. At least for now, it's more then enough. 

Shit today. Better tomorrow. 

If I have to go, let it take me. I refuse to do it's fucking work. If I'm not meant to wake in the morning then let it take me. I will not make it's job any easier. I refuse to. So today if hard. I'll eat my caloric need and workout. Work on cover letters and job opportunity. Write when I don't feel like it. Roll up into a ball. And start it all over again tomorrow.

Life is tough. My life is tough.

I'm tough too.

The Worst of Betrayals Come from Good Intentions

This is going to be hard.  This is probably going to set me back a bit socially, but I'm told by my Crazy Doc, for now on known as Crazy Doc, that there are points in my life and mind I avoid because of difficulty and not processing from that point or even now have long lasting effects that can hinder and even hurt. So please tolerate me a bit. I'm going to try to cut to the bone, but as many of you know me well some things are actually worse cutting into the bone instead of taking one's time. 

Also I've realize I can only cut to the bone when I'm emotionally isolated and numb. Not a good thing for me, I'm told. So with that I'm going to try to get to the point.

I think if there's a constant in my life it's that I've disappointed alot of people. Throughout my existence I've have not lived according to the ideals of many and even though plenty of people have never stated what I should or should do somehow I was supposed to adhere to this. Mind you, I've had this talk many times with many of you on what you should do if your family demands some antiquated ritual of obedience only to tell you my advice is to disappoint them. If your family ignores your sexual preference and demands marriage of you since it will fix what never was broken, deny them. Not only deny them, but show up with your partner and show them what you are, even if you have to commit sexual public acts in front of the planning so that they get the point.

Disappoint those who have ideals that do not fit your own or you will exist to deny yourself. Mind you, I'm only speaking of the extreme cases of course, yet for some reasons I'm always approached with these situations. Proper families with open channels of expression and communication somehow doesn't deal with this. It's always families in name only that somehow demand acts that does not suit the collective mind or a patriarch/matriarch whim. And yet, the invisible fear of those involved in this type so situation is almost torturous. Seeing someone weighed down by mental shackles of another's creation is probably the worst thing to witness. Seeing them suffer an existence that can be solved by the word no which has no power in their eyes. It's heartbreaking. Realizing that this person has no ownership of their own fate is heartbreaking as much as watching a dog behave on a strap of leather or cloth.

I digressed some, but it serves benefit. The mental shackles must be explained in order to understand. Even when believed torn off they continue to linger and drag us back if we do not understand how to release them much as Jacob Marley understood his plight. Simply overthrowing one oppressive force without removing the deeply ingrained installations only makes it easier for another oppressive force to take reign. I can not state this enough. This is what I'm dealing with.

I'll continue. *takes breath*

There's honestly something mind fuckingly twisted about realizing that the reason you ended up joining a cult was because you wanted a better situation. I realize that now, especially this week. The fact that the only reason a person would willingly join a cult is that the person was already hurt or broken as much as I would like to think of it, but more accurately its because you've already have the means of submission implemented and a greater oppressive force overrides any "loyalty". It's the reason why those abused either continues the cycle by finding another to continue that abuse or they change roles and administer their form of abuse. 

Yea, this months theme has to be mind fucks. The kind of this that you realize was under your nose and you had no idea until you finally see it behind a veil of rage and shock. I've had a few this month and chances are I'm going to be in store for a ton more. 

*takes deeper breath*

I'm not big with betrayal. Probably the stupidest thing I've ever written. Either way I'll start from here considering that I've stared at the screen long enough. Leaving the cult was probably one of the hardest things I've done and yet realizing that I needed to look after my children still in I had to build up a persona of a father that could do no wrong even if I felt like a piece of shit. I've got a job that put me to work for 30 hours, I took classes at the CC nearest work and home, I spent my money on my children and child support, I've taken my children in for months at a time trying to show them what normal was and show them no matter what kind of hell hole they lived in they would always have dad. For that, the ex wife used any and every chance to defame, malign, slander and belittle me. She knew as many others that there would be a time when they would willingly want to live with me. Yet with enough guilt, abuse, and more mind fuckery they were twisted and turned to different ways that no child should live. If they mentioned a woman's name I would soon get a call about about letting my whore near her children. Usually being told that the kind woman is a friend in a committed relationship who treated her children to food or attention when I was not able to for some reason. 

So to say I had to walked on eggshells would be a bit mild. Even those days I had to carefully look over my shoulder and make certain that I didn't make things worse. Child custody and social workers visited, if only to see if the children had a suitable parent. People around me were told in much shame that I was a divorced father at the age of 21, working full time and attending classes whenever possible. I've never banked on the sympathy of others considering I had shit to do and things to accomplish, but many other would converse and much munchausen would be enjoyed. I mean, how else would you explain a failure of a child? How else could you explain such a family disappointment to everyone else? While others were graduating college or starting businesses what else did you have to declare of your own child? I was branded easily as a fuck up. Black sheep. Worthless. Stupid. Someone who betrayed the family and their ideals. Someone who chose "Others" over his own blood. So at the ripe age of 21 I was worthless failure. 

If you know me. If you honestly know who I am, you know I'm a fucking stubborn person. I don't do things if I don't want to and I do things despite of who says not to. This is not natural. This had to be attained. I had to sit down one day realizing how close to suicidal I was for fucking up my life to realize that my death would serve the benefit of so many. Worthless child killed himself? How much pity would you give someone? Enough for a life time? Ex husband dead? Good. Now you can use him as the Goldstein to your Big Bother. How great of a boogyman would I have been to scare off the rest of the family from doing what ever the fuck you wanted? You go ahead, but when you become a failure like that child you will remember and you will cry.

How great is it when your death would benefit everyone else?

How worthless do you have to be that your death would benefit more?

So.....I did the only thing I can do. Tell everyone to fuck off and do things on my own. On my own I worked 30 hours and spent every moment loving my children who was told their father was a traitor to god, them, and the great ones. I took classes on Saturdays and late nights to rebuild my education. I started in remedial math and worked up to Calculus. I started in general elective science and became a tutor to those who could not understand and who didn't want to be insulted by those that somehow have it easier. I've got into Cal State on my own. I worked out my 125lb tuberculosis frame of a body into a decent 190 lbs by going to the gym from 2 am to 4 am. I've tried to rebuild friendships while enduring the fears of society, the end of the world, and everything sinister and evil that the cult said. I slowly used science to counteract my beliefs. I questioned my sexuality, identity, and being and realized every one must even if they identify as I do. I've endured the insults, slings, back talk of others until I could out debate, reason, and analyze others. 

I built my weak frame up via martial arts so that my words could not be negated by threat or bullying. I could already take a hit, but I would learn to take it, defend against it, prevent it, negate it, and counter. I would no longer be hit or beaten. I would build my body up to be a preventive measure. I would be the one who made others walk across the street or made other move aside on the sidewalk. I pounded and struck stone, wood, flesh, bone learning to break others. I would focus my rage into my own masochistic measures. I would endure the physical hell as well as the mental. I would take the hits so others would not. I would be kind above all, yet install fear into the eyes of whoever I wished. 

In all this I wanted only one thing; a better life for my children. I was not a factor. My happiness was not important and no matter how difficult it was I always tried to make their lives better. Make their hurt less. Offer sanctuary to them despite of what hell they lived. I would do so to many others. I would offer a kind word, inspiration, love to everyone I met. I would listen and offer advice gained from blood and work. I would offer aid and support whenever needed. If I was going to cross the finish line, I would drag other with me. We will all make it. We will all endure and make right what wrong has been given to us. That is what I wanted. I wanted people not to suffer what I endured. Ever. I would not allow it. I have the scars to prove it.

And yet in my time, I had learned that just because you help someone they do not help you. Just because they cheer you does not mean they want you to succeed. Simply because they resemble you, think as you do, or share your blood does not account them to be as or even close to near supportive. Being everyone's hero leaves you open to their hell. People often need something and see you as the best means. Their ails become your barbs. I can say that most of the people I've met never meant to tear me apart, but an apology, if any, has no worth is the damage has been done. 

I'm not big with betrayal. I can say this now without it being stupid. I've endured enough to become smart enough to recognize an abusive relationship. I've cut more ties then some have ever made. I've pulled from numerous places how to see someone coming and know what they want. I've cut myself off from people, endured their form of wrath and moved on. Always moving on. I can say that at this point outside of family, I've cut every bit of abusive people known. I say known since I'm never sure. Yet I can almost see it now. There's always going to be someone throwing stones. And you can endure it with grace and love and let it not change you or you can let it change you.

Guess which one I am?

After a point it doesn't matter. An act of kindness on your part is a come on. A pleasant conversation is a guilt trip. A good morning have double entendre. A smile means so much except for what you want it to mean. So you stop. You continue on and cut people. I don't smile because I don't want to or need to. It's something I might do involuntary, but not a habit I endure unless I lose myself with those I trust. A handful really. Even that I have means of cutting them out. My closet friend now have been in my life for 16 years and I know there is something in me that will cut him out. Something ingrained. The only reason we are still friends is that he know better. Not I, he.

Mind fuck.......things are mind fucks. The moment when you get a glance of something you've always seen in an angle you may have glanced over and it hits you. Or that story where evidence has been in the room, you are the cause of the ruin of multiple lives, you were the medic, you opened the box, your enemy is your father, everything is a manifestation of your guilt and shameful lust, you were always dead. Mind fucks. 

It was always me. I was always trying to push on. I was always moving forward even if I had to crawl or bide my time until I could run. I could trust no one at times and those moments I had to cheer myself on. It's funny when you were considered worthless. It's only your voice leading you on. It's you late at night reminding you why you're doing any of this. Why to keep driving forward even at a death march pace. Why you're doing things. You keep telling yourself to keep going if only to deafen the voices of others. You have to push forward. You have to endure. You have to commit the greater good. If you work hard enough people will file in and help. If you ever pushed a car down the street you know that people will help you if only to see you work less or just to say that they helped someone pushing something bigger then themselves. 

Betrayal happens. It naturally happens when others do not have a control over you or want to make you endure some hell they seem justified. Sometimes it's not even because of you. Just as some will help to say they helped some simply need to pull others down for the sake of pulling them down. Their reasons are usually sad in nature and yet cruel in implementation and usually best addressed as "shitty people are made of shit", the betrayal that hurts the most is always from someone you hold close to. Some one you protect and care for only to have them lash out at you. Sometimes out of pain or fear, but when the lashings are frequent if you have any instinct for survival you'd remove them from you. Once again, betrayal does not care if it was deliberate nor accidental. Damage is damage and any redemption comes from enthusiastic correction and penance on their part. Sometimes you see it coming and know the best is to let them strike and make them think they hurt you. Other times you cut ties and look over shoulders to ensure they do not find you. Other moments their acts are well hidden and can continue to harm you year after they have been removed.

As I mentioned, I've removed the remnants of those who slings were aimed at me outside of family. This week I had a close look at those who remain. Those who cut the deepest and cruelest that still remains. And it angered me. I could not understand why their voices were always the loudest. Why they cut deepest. I saw them as they are, flawed individuals who have difficulty stating their emotions in a healthy manner. They may care for me and they may not. They may know what they are doing or do so out of reaction or folly. As I said before, it doesn't matter until it's mended. Yet seeing them as they are angered me. How are flawed people in control over my well being. How can they affect me.

Crazy Doc: They can only affect you because you allow them.
Me: How is that? I don't want them to. If I don't want them to then they can't. Why isn't this working?
CD: They can because you allow them. You are not only allowing them, but you helping them.
Me: No, how the hell can I help those I do not want to hurt me?
CD: You're the one echoing their them. You're the one who tell yourself that it matters. You have taken up their argument as your own.
Me: No, that's not true. If anything I've against them. Their criticisms. I've used it as a goal to work against.
CD: You may have don't that, but you are echoing it all the same. You give it merit. You make it true instead of negating it. You made them real. You give them worth and you gave it power to lord over you even if you work against them. You made them stronger. You're working against yourself even if you're working against them.
Me: ......no.......wait....no......I ......no
CD: You are working against yourself by making their arguments real. You never had to make them valid, but you have and they're forcing you to push on.
Me:.........but I'm tired......I'm so tired trying to not be....why am I doing this then?
CD: You said it yourself. You work against opposition. You've always have. If anything it proves how resilient you are. How you endure. Now you're fighting against yourself and you know your weaknesses all too well. It's an unfair advantage you've given yourself to fight yourself so that you have opposition to fight against.

"He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. And if thou gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee." ~Nietzsche 

Me: ....wait.....no....that's not right....I....

*silent for 10 minutes*

CD: Are you ok?
Me: *mixture of rage and hurt* I should be on my team......I have no one.....I had no one.....I should at least be on my team....why am I fighting myself.....I'm hell on things...I'm losing to myself.....
CD: You have great friends who are your family support. You have numerous people who care for you....
Me: It's not that......it was just me in the beginning.....just me.....everyone was against me or said I was a failure.....I only had me and I was not enough. I had to grow into everything....I had to be my own shield ....I had to against it all.....no one believed in me......I only had me and now......I'm .....fighting me?
CD: I know......but know you know. Know you know and you're able to change all that. 
Me: I'm hell on things......I am.....stubborn....and hard.....and I fight like hell.....I know what I've done and what I can do....and I'm ....the one.....WHY AM I FUCKING FIGHTING ME? I've been against me even when I wasn't.......fuck me....I have no one.
CD: What do you feel?
*five minutes before I could answer, most of it in silence*
Me:.......betrayal. I feel betrayed. 

"To fight and conquer in all our battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting." ~Sun Tzu

CD: I know. Yet you understand now?
Me: *nods*
CD: Now that you see yourself against yourself, you can stop.
Me: I'm already double thinking what I do and say. How long.....how must I....can I not fight myself.....because I'll never win.
CD: I'm happy you see that.
Me: I know better. I'm hell on anything......I'm the only thing stopping me.....I'm the only thing stopping me.....I'm stopping me.....I'm.....stopping me.....fuck me.....I'm literally stopping me.
CD: Better?
Me: No.....I want to hurt myself.......I want to tear myself into pieces and I know that's the last thing I should ever do.....it's maddening......it's....insane...am I insane? I think I'm insane....
CD: No. The only insanity was that you endured this for so long.
Me:.......yea.....I have.....
CD: Better? 
Me: No, but I'll get there......
CD: Good. We'll start that next week.

"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win." ~ King

Fuck me.

The only way I've ever lost was because I took myself down.

Mind                 Fuck..............

How do you continue after that?

How do you live knowing you were against yourself in the first place and you were winning.

I mean....how.......I'm asking you......how?

..........because I don't know.........

.......I don't know. I don't know where to go from here......