Relapsing from Jane's Addiction or Knowing the Truth of What She Said about Human Interaction

I'm going with a new font and size. I need glasses and I realize I hate proof reading because I can't see a thing. I know, it's dumb, but sometimes I don't see the easy solution in front of me when I can just build the newest Acme Rube Goldberg device approved by Willie Coyote.  

Ok, not important, really......it is sort of, but not the point....get with the point...what's a thesis again?

*takes in breath and begins*

My sessions with the Crazy Doc has been inching me through some of the roots of my mistrust of people for some time, although I can tell he's been trying to get close enough to some of the elephants in the room that I may or may not understand or even see. I say this not being the type of person to deny someone's understanding of their craft and practice. I'm usually the first person to allow myself physically to trust someone's intuition and action. When I get a hair cut from from one who know how to cut hair I usually question their ability with difficult hair, considering that every hair cut I've ever received that was not a short length usually looks entirely different then what was intended. The present person who cuts my hair does such a great job at it I actually wait until she can cut it again. She calls it a "free cut". I call it just looking human after the cut. 

I'm not going to beat around the bush, I know I'm difficult even though I honestly don't mean to be. Often time I try to understand what I'm either lacking or perhaps I happen to carry something extra that prevents me from sometimes fitting in. Considering that I've lived my life as an only child and missed out on a lot of social interaction with other people my age, I've learned that I have to be my best playmate. Something about having another child in the function that helps you realize that you are one, you are not the center of the universe and two, that you're connected to others and your actions affect them as much as it affects you. It's funny I write that now since I always thought that I understand that. I'm always thinking about everyone else that I realize I never been the topic of my own focus or that I also need something along the way. 

I'm going to assume you already know what my roots are to this because I'm sure fucking tired of even explaining it, but in a short summery that annoys me more then anything here it goes. Long line of family trauma. Grandfather died when mother was 9 she had to take over the livelihood of the family as well as raising siblings and a mother prone to fainting spells? Hell, she past away two years ago or so and I still don't know what happened with her considering that there must be a cabal ritual I have to pass to get any answer that I at this point stop caring about. Yet all this paranoia, fear and even self doubt and pessimism has more then affected me in an almost needy/militant way of caring for others or just not caring for myself. At least my father's contribution of sarcastic asshole with puckish sense of humor who should never be allowed to be bored help balance the train wreck I call a life. Yea, so part of me want to nurse and look after others. Another part of me want to say "fuck it", and just lay on the ground as the world goes by. 

Fun. 

Huh....still beating around the bush. I'm going to cut to the bone now. Right or wrong, I never built up this thick skin that allows me not to care about people to the degree that I wonder why I'm not in their lives or even important to them. I know it has something to do with not having boundaries and basically a lot and I mean a lot of shit people have gotten their way with me. I think this part hurts the most because I've had my moments when I'm cradling broken people in my arms while they sob heavy to having to restrain others for something stupid they did or took until they regain their fucking senses, some of them molesting me, another part of them beating me up, an odd chuck of them almost too big to assume that I didn't get a overly generous portion of people who do both. Yet I always call it "doing the right thing at the right time". I never am the one who mutters, "not my monkeys, not my zoo" and walks away, especially since I'm just learning to walk away. 

I guess the idea that germinated with me was from a friend who mentions she may have gained a bit of my personality where I'm too open, too blatant, and at the point where my fucks have been given away and my shoulders are tired from shrugs. Giving it more thought I realize I see the world's people as a gamble. There are moments where I don't know if I'm going to be entertained or on duty with most people that I usually carry an aura of malice to just scare off the world in hopes of the bad people not getting near me. The second is a blatant, nonchalant attachment to people. I know at a certain point that if I don't connect with people I can walk away. Yet once I remember their name and a bit about themselves I seem to carry them with me. Some people I carry sweet and loving moments and other the last sip of cold coffee not realizing someone has placed their butts in the mug and you just had that going down your throat. So my most important line of defense is malice aura and just being distant. 

It's here where I can't understand. If someone wants to get a hold of you, they will cross hell and back and do whatever they can to spend 5 minutes with you. Those people who do not you can not move mountains for a second of their time. They disappear and they even try to remove the shadow of themselves. Being someone who has some history of picking out diamonds from excrement I know that its a crap shoot. The friends that I do have are worth more then the world to me and are precious. Yet there are times where we do not sync up. Some have families. Other amazing careers. Some have their finger on the pulse of the world and others are just popping up as they pop out. So I have a "live it up now because we die tomorrow" mentality when it comes to my friends. I often feel like I won't get all of their time or even that this already is an allotment that they are going to regret so I savor it as much as I would blue rare steak and caviar. I know these things are not every day things and I have no issue indulging, especially when I live on sawdust and mist. I don't even scarf them down. I want to savor the moment and burn the memory into as much detail possible so that I can least retell the moment to live it once more while I suffocate on my sawdust.

If I honestly give it some more thought I realize that the person I gain this fucked up mantra was probably the first person I should have stayed away from. To dance around the issue that somehow feel way to fucking raw for the time passed I was almost something forbidden. Most surely taboo to them as they realize that I was the most needful thing they have come upon, almost as if realizing that you are now focusing on your own breathing sort of way. I never really felt important, even though I have been spoiled, I never felt as if I mattered to anyone, even now, and I think this might be why. Meeting someone who find you as the most needed thing in the world is beyond intoxicating. It's the best fucking hit of anything, speaking as someone who loves coffee, yet never had anything stronger then prescription opiates. The idea of someone scarfing the essence of you down, that disparity is almost erotic to me if I think about it. That need that someone has for you that they grab you and pull you down, not realizing they're hurting you. That desperate need for this thing is a rush. And yet, I can not help to realize how empty it is. To pull from Jane's Addiction, I honestly only know when someone wants me. 

Not even going to begin to figure it out if this is an issue with love or need or whatever. Too messy and I don't have a headlamp and guide. I have to remain functional and I don't have a lick of booze to call my own. I will dance on the edge as I always do since I do have that suicidal tendency of living as close to the cut. 

So I know what a fucked up relationship in all of it's aspects and shades. I understand all of the difficulties and trappings and yet, you'd think I'd master what IS a good one from just going the other direction. Not as easy as you'd imagine. Sometimes it's the difference between a degree where you either freeze or fry. So here, I can honestly say that I had adventure, many I did not want. Some have left scars on me that don't heal and others just phantom pains reminding that I can never really fit in. The hard look always gives me away and much like birds of a same feather,  I'm attracted to the haunting look of pain in other people's eyes, hoping that someone understand what my wound is as much as I want to understand theirs. It never works out that way. I usually become a temporary bandage that holds for the time, yet there comes a moment where the wearer finds me in disgust of having served my duty and then pulls me away in revulsion and tosses me aside as one would something useless. 

Useless, if there ever was a loaded word as this. 

So I know when someone wants me and when they don't. It's hard to build a life with anyone like that, and I don't even mean sexually or romantically. I just mean routine. I'm as fucked up as most, but give me a routine and I'll use it as a staff to keep me upright. I'll live up to it and even make it flourish, hiding the moments I fall and break. And yet, I can say that I do try to be courteous to the needs for others, as previously mentioned. I know I can be abrasive so I go away. I return when they ask and not of my own volition. I'm just too used to being tossed aside to have that self esteem. I'd rather return with request then to chance people with getting rid of me. 

There are times when I attract the Doe eyes of fascination. Innocent, almost fan-girl attraction where I mean something, I don't know? At this age, I think it's daddy issues if the people who come near me try to justify their proximity with, "I'm mature". This is where the self realization comes in. I know they're easy prey and I can just take the fluff offered as a kind of sacrifice and recreate myself. Everyone does it. Hell, I'm still cougar bait, oddly enough. I've even met some young hard eye vamps who somehow figured age is nothing, need is more. Either way, I keep a healthy distance between them and I. I know, I fucking know! There ARE those moments where I do say, "ok, wow....those are nice....and they look so much fun and I'm not hesitant in not doing so because of that, but I need to warn you that I might ruin you as a person as someone ruined me SO.....yea.....please put your top back on, please?"

You will never get so much of a physical and mental "what the fuck" from your inner self then these moments where you did the right thing because it's right, but seriously! So yes, there are many of these and I do smash my head into the mirror in regret trying to utter, "you did what's best". Guilt is a bitch. I can not feed on you people like the predator when I see Bambi's eyes. I know, fuck me. I have a conscious. A loud, fucking annoying one that prevents me from getting laid and just being fucking care free, but a conscious all the same.

.....give me a moment.....

ok. 

So, yea....I have trust issues and I know I am bothersome as much I am tempting at times, as if I am the last soda in the desert, even when I feel like I'm strawberry soda.....which is gross....that shit is wrong among wrong. I honestly feel I should be lucky with what I have and if I get myself ok enough, I'd like a dog also. That's as much as I can expect. House with picket fence? Nope. Monogamous relationship without any negativity. Not going to hold my breath or wait for Sandy Claws. Hell, open relationship with various people enough to keep the boredom away, yet fulfilling enough to keep one satisfied? I have the hunch the moment I get near it it would implode. So, yea. If I can manage coffee while walking a dog, I'm happy. I'll take that as a victory. 

..........and yet, I can't help to miss people. Not as a particular person or group, just as a norm. I mean, to have a friend that stays a friend after a year or so or at least till the newness leave me is what I'm used to. After a point I realize that I'm straining to just see people and even like this I'm not going to be important in your life. I'm not even going to be an afterthought. So...why bother. I pull away easy. I regress to my youth where I had to find my own enjoyment with what I had and just keep me ok. I talk to myself, sometimes even argue. I read and do whatever I can to pass the time. I nap a lot, you can 't be sad when you nap. I walk and sometimes I even chance the crowd and blend in just to see where it goes. There's freedom in not being important. No one notices you and you often see people as they really are. It's jading, sure. Yet it's honest. I'm too used to this bluntness. It's why people think I'm carefree. I'm not. I just know I'm not even close to being important to others and the I know if I am important I'm only important as the image they made me to be. Some intangible character who I never was, will, or going to be instead of who I really am. And to them, that's more then enough. Then I become a fetish. I become what they want and I feel dirty and I realize I don't want people. I will go away. I will sit in my closet. I may even shed a tear, if possible. 

Somehow I come to realize I was always someone's fetish instead of who I am. I think that's how I lose myself trying to make them happy with what I never was.

So this is why I keep away. If lucky, I will discover a friend who means the world to me. Someone who I love wholeheartedly and can be myself with. These are the oasis that make me question my existence. I'm fine with this or being a fetish, but when you realize that both existences clash and that you can honestly be one of your choosing, you wonder why you can't. There is nothing more refreshing then a great friend, almost like your favorite song or food. You even ration them to keep that special magic of them in hopes of never losing it or even becoming a burden to them. Like I keep saying, I'm hard to live with or at least that's what I hear. It may be true or not, but I'm not going to ever chance it. Losing people that see me as nothing takes a toll and I realize I should have enough of a thick skin to protect me, but I don't. I can't even imagine losing these precious people.....oh, wait.....I can.

Never mind.

.....so, yea.

How do I even recap this?

I don't......I leave it as empty and unfulfilling as anything else. That's the thing, there is no closure to this. There is only something then nothing. No end or even reason. Just.....nothing but doubt and confusion.

Like now.

Sorry.

When Pets get so Comfy they become at Risk of Darwining

Pets in some ways are kind of "de-evolved" versions of their undomesticated relatives on the tree of life. Usually, most animals have an ingrained sense of self-preservation that kicks in to make sure they don't suffer anything that may kill them. In fact, most of our weirdness comes from the fact that we are not listening for the rustle of weeds that will give us a few seconds warning of the big monster that plans on dining on our entrail. So all things considered animals are pretty good at not dying from their environment. That considering, the pets I'm looking after are a bit derpish in this department and I have no idea why.

The dog lives in a gorgeous building that is not only safe, but even outside is buffered with a large promenade on a cliffside area that overlooks the swamp land....oh I mean the wetlands near here. There is grassy areas and even a putting lawn for people who'd find that lovely. Plenty of fountains and poopy stations where they offer you bags for your pet's waste and a handy side compartment to place bagged waste in for your convenience at least 10 yards from each other. It's pretty plush. I know at least 20 dogs who'd love to take advantage of the area including two-hour street sweeping that just takes 20 minutes and their own bicycle police who peddle and look at me with prepared anticipation of mayhem. Yet I'm going to say that these pets are beyond soft. In the grand scale of things they belonged to some monster's supper or in modern day's time a victim of their environment.

The dog has no sense of danger. She's sweet and loving in an almost desperate, stalker "I'm under your bed smelling your socks" sort of way. Yet the biggest thing that bothers me is that she has no sense of danger. Mind you, it's probably because her people have her in this sheltered mind frame and that's fine. Not my pets, not my burden. I'm just sitting. Yet when there is only one-way traffic here so you just have to worry about looking left for the majority of time here, this dog blatantly walks into the street with no regard to what can happen with the eagerness of supposed lemmings. Most trained dogs stop at the curb and at least waits for instruction. She bolts across. I've known people who lost pets to an open fence and cars are usually the murderer considering they would venture out in break neck speed towards careless or even malicious drivers. Here the traffic is one way and slow. Yet this dog wants to be a statistic. At best I have her waiting  past the curb, looking back in her annoyed and derpish face. "Why aren't we running into the street?" Because I'm fucking in charge and your stupid will probably get in the way of my payment if I want to look at this coldly and at worse I am still trying to retain the few hours of peaceful sleep I have.

The cat.....the cat is what gets me the most. I've known many antisocial cats. Cats who'd retain their spirit of defiance and rebelliousness towards domestication. Cats who still murder, I say murder because they don't eat them, but usually have some sort of serial killer alter to their newly deformed prey, for the simple act of murdering. Cats who climb curtains and even attack dogs. So this cat has that. It has a kind way that's more of a "fucking human scratch here" only to be met with a slashing paw and hiss. This cat is savage. I leave it be and it wants to be left be ......when it's not in the fucking way. In the bathroom? I don't want to have bloodsport, I just want to shit. Under beds? It runs hisses and scares the shit out of you because you are a monster. So you'd figure it would have some sense of self-preservice?

Nope!

I honestly do not know if this is stupidity or just sheer will of "I do what I want, bitch." This cat walks on the stove. The hot stove while I'm cooking. I'll turn around and it's on the stove trying to eat what I'm cooking off the pan. And it has the fucking nerve to make a stand there as if I was fucking it's shit. Cat, I just want to get paid and the nice people her would like you not on fire and if you pull this shit on me again I'll light you on fire!

Grrrrrrrrrrr......no no really. I would never, but damn if it doesn't want to piss you off. The xenomorph from Alien has more charisma and cuddle factor. I have usually spent years trying to win over the most skittish of cats, but NOPE.....Fuck this one.......just don't light yourself on fire or want to have mortal combat when I just want to pee.

......I should have charged more. I might not come back. I love the pup......as it stares at me with serial killer eyes of affection and wonderment if my skin would make a better sofa or lamp, but with hope and effort, I can give it enough street wisdom to ensure it's survival if it ever went outside without a daunting amount of attention. The cat? The cat is on my fuck you list. I just chased it three times from the stove because it wanted to open up a covered pan with hot oil in which I made my morning eggs. So savage and yet so stupid.

Shower Epiphany: A Cookie Plea

Shower Epiphany: A Cookie Plea

If you love me, feed me cookies.
If you do not, feed me cookies and let me leave.
If you're impartial, feed me cookies and shrug.
If you don't know me, feed me cookies and wave.
If you do know me, feed me cookies and nod.
If you have an itch, feed me cookies with one hand and scratch with the other.
If you're out of cookies, go get cookies.
If you love cookies, feed them to me and we will share.
If you hate cookies, feed them to me and watch me smite your enemy.
If you can't feed me cookies cause you're far away, come close and feed me cookies.
If you are way too far away and can't come over, send me cookies and a photo of you.
If you pass on, I'll mourn you with cookies you provide.
If you are born, tell your parents to have cookies as I wish you a happy birthday.

What I'm trying to say here is I need be fed cookies. You have no fucking excuse! So....yea....get to it.

Screwing Up Your Checklist of Safety Mechanisms in Order to Prevent Exploding Crazy from Getting on You

It was really an awful day.

My Friday.

Nothing was going my way and all the safety mechanisms that I usually implement somehow just got tossed out the fucking window with all the best of intentions. I woke up close to 11 am instead of my usual 7 to 8 am. Insomnia kept me from falling asleep until 4 am and just the thought of having insomnia made me miserable so that I wasn't rested. I had only time to eat breakfast in a rush rather than sneak in lunch before leaving at 12:30 pm. I ended leaving close to 2 pm instead of getting to the small park by 1:20 pm with my guitar to play in the slight breeze and shade of a tree until 2:30 pm when I would walk over to the Crazy Doc's office in leisure and wait out for my appointment. None of that happened. Instead, I was lead footing it to the pay street parking across the building where I fed quarters into the meter and running at full stupid towards the building with sweat and panic. Upon sitting in the waiting room and not being able to take my choice in seats facing the door and near the plug, I arrived after the other person who I usually beat by 20 minutes sitting in the seat I am so accustomed to.

But that's ok.....I'm here after a two-week hiatus in which my therapist first canceled due to emergency and I canceled a week later due to pulling a ham muscle in a late night run. But that's ok! I was finally here. I was in the office with 10 minutes to stare down the clock with enough time to check internet postings to ensure that the world would not end while I selfishly tried to take the initiative on figuring out how my train wreck fell off the tracks when the dread hit me.....I forgot my black plastic Best Buy travel mug that my son gave me in the late 90's that was filled with sugar, powdered creamer, and jasmine green tea. I would not have anything to calmly sip and clear my throat while I methodically tore myself apart in order to rebuild what was supposed to be a people.

I had nothing but sweat stains, a heavy feeling of nothing going fucking right in the world, and just a paper cup which I least will fill with water so I can keep my throat clear because .......oh no I'm fucking up already....how did I fuck up....I have measures! I have a process that covered three hours of checkpoints that ensure I came in with the best mind for all of this.......

These are the small moments of life where I am reminded that I do not have control over ANYTHING and as great as my plans were they were failures......ALL OF THEM! I honestly questioned if I should leave until the door opened.....and it wasn't my Crazy Doc.....*sigh* Oh, good. I can least panic a little bit...

The door opens again to his bright and encouraging smile.

*meep*

I get up, refill my cup and grab my utility bag of everything important as we make minor talk into the bright and cheery room facing the cemetery.

Fun. I wish I was making this up.

And yet, in the small room where we sat something was happening. This person in minutes, less than five, but more than two, ripped two weeks of self-instilled doubt and dropped it on the floor, almost as you would a toddler who had picked up something incredibly wrong in their clenched hands and set it aside with a minor flourish of someone who knows best. Much like a well-trained beagle, I sat up, handed my paw, rolled over and barked. If anyone who knew me watched they would have sworn that I was somehow disintegrated while passing through the doorway and a much well behaved pod version of myself had sat down on the soft stuffed leather chair and held the throw pillow in his calm hands as a child would hold his teddy.

One question set us off. "How are you?" With at least eight months of training, I opened my mouth and I began to talk about the one thing I hate above everything in the world: myself.

I was fine. Still looking for "legitimate employment", sending resumes with cover letters and references. I had two gigs house sitting. One that went and gone in a single day on the weekend and the other I was prepping for a long stay in one of my favorite places in the world that was not Santa Monica. I visited friends and stayed over, I did household chores and well, there WAS one thing that DID bother me and it DID trigger my CRAZY making me think FOR A SMALL MOMENT that something I had no power over WAS MY FAULT. Ha ha....funny right?

.......it's not my fault, right?

Once again without any hesitation, he took away the wrong thing in my clenched hands and tossed it aside like any patient parent and asked me what happened. In short, someone NOT ME got CRAZY EXPLODED ON THEM, no biggie, right? What did I mean? Well to spare too many details and to keep confidence placed on me what basically happened was a good friend of a friend of mine who I met and is one of the most loveliest of people went through something with their partner where keeping it as generic as crazy can be, they basically dropped a facade of who they were and they showed not only to the people who included myself believe they were the most darling of couples, I mean I was looking forward to their wedding kind of people.....couples who in all truth made you believe IN LOVE itself...but to this friend who not only had a moment of exploding crazy happen to them, but they actually got crazy on them that was not theirs! I mean as if someone sneezed and got "stuff" on you and you somehow believed it was yours.....that kind of thing.

Basically, CRAZY EXPLODED ON THEM .....geesh. I listened and even retold the story with as much freshness as possible. I knew that the moment I heard this it hit me. I mean they seemed like a nice couple. They seemed happy. They seemed as they would marry and be happy and if I was ever so lucky and cashed in my Brownie and Kharma points, I could maybe share a little bit of their happy and hope to anything that I was able to take it with me as some do wedding chachkies. I mean I was going to have a taste of happy as well as maybe cake? But no....this explosion hit them and their partner wasn't who they thought they were and even they questioned themselves to the point that they momentarily freaked out and come to realization that they needed their own Crazy Doc......I mean, sane people amaze me. Like a bandage, they know that they just were inflicted with an injury and they're going to get it healed and taken care of. Me? I festered that thing until I was Patient Zero.

Damn, sane people, you sane.

But not only was I horrified, but for a dread filled second, it hit me like a cosmic bullet as if the universe wanted to tell me in it's cruel and sadistic way, "You left the game where you were our Cosmic Joke and Whipping boy some eight years ago. We were not done with you. You want out? Fine. Be a damn shame if .......they", as the universe slides over a picture of them smiling with joy, "happen to fill your shoes......right.....buddy?"

Yea, I honestly believed this kind and happy person caught MY CRAZY.

Why?

Because I honestly believe that shit like this only happened to me. No, I'm not lying. This is the kind of shit that usually is under my trademark. My brand of insanity where the universe sends me "a friend" and we hang out on reasonable terms until I blink and realize we are romantically involved. How? I don't know, I was busy still being friends, but that's ok. I like them and I developed trust for them. I mean, you're supposed to fall in love with your friend.....I feel in love, right? I think. I know I am....going to? I'm falling in love. They are great! What? I have a type? Sure I do! They don't fill it in anyway physically? That's ok. I love them and I love who they are, right, and even though they are not this or that I find them attractive because it's them! Who cares that everyone I've been involved with differ in almost every way! I like blue/brown/green eyes and they have the most average/thin/curvy/fit body imaginable, yum! And I love their black/brown/red/blue hair and they have breasts like a supermodel/swimsuit model/Dolly Parton/gymnast and they stunning. I love the way she *various random attributes not found* and you know, she just loves the way I this/that/the other thing.

I mean, when you're happy you're happy right?

Until I discover that I'm not in a committed relationship. Or important. Or she moves away because reasons. Or she slept with someone else and is leaving. Or that she's going to rediscover herself because someone who is not Oprah at the moment told her to free the goddess or something. Or they have a serious problem. Or a heavy hand. Or a sharp tongue. Or they just needed something for a certain amount of time and that time is over and I'm not part of their life.

And it's over. Like that. And I have no idea who I am. I became someone more comfortable to her and I lost who I was. I mean, who am I? What am I? When did I lose my identity and why does it happen? All the time. And why does it hurt like this? As if I was torn asunder and I don't have enough to heal over. Because crazy just happens, right? I missed something? I did something wrong? Did I ever choose right? Was it even a choice? How did this happen.....again?

So as I listened to her story, I realized in a flash of horror that maybe, just maybe it was my fault because if I was out there it would have never had happened to them and this would just happen to me. I shook my head then as I shook my head in the small room and I still shake my head, only now I have his kind hand pulling  the wrong thing in my hand and tossing it away. He calmed me and confirmed that it wasn't my fault. It may or may not be this friend's fault but that's not for them to say because they needed to help them as they help me. And he looked at me as said the last thing I can ever imagine anyone telling me.

"You've been making immense progress and even now you're making huge strides, even if you don't see it. I'm proud of you."

Woa...me?

I mean........me?

He said that I didn't have boundaries until a few days weeks ago, not even a month and I had not only learned to make boundaries, but I was keeping safe within them. That even if I got scared of anything happening and that somehow I had a moment of panic from someone else's trauma, that I was working diligently to change that. That he was more than amazed at anyone hard work.

I have been working hard.

And he told me that, we are moving focus and we are going to start to pull apart my lack of trust with everyone and everything and that it's ok. We'll get there. Just be patient and continue to be honest. Then he asked me what did I think about it all.

And the words escaped from my mouth without any reserve, that I'm used to this thing and it's horrible. And I would never want anyone else to endure it and if it was my fault.....

.....it's not your fault.....you just had no boundaries and you were open to give everything you could to anyone and they took advantage of you. Of your trust. Of your kind, he called me kind, nature. He said that I was a good person.

I started to cry. I really want to believe that I'm a good person. And I am. And even if bad things happen to those who I care for or anyone else, it's not my fault. I'm not a magnet. I don't have a dark cloud overhead. I didn't make this happen. This just happens and people develop mechanisms to protect themselves naturally and when it fails and they get hurt they know how to process naturally. I don't have that. He said that I didn't have any of that and the fact that I finally learned what a boundary was after eight months of work and that I instantly implemented it without help proved that I was working hard to heal and once I know how to protect myself I would do so.

And right there.....some guilt disappeared.

We spoke of a few other things. He told me he was proud of me and my effort again to made sure I left with something positive and that not even I could turn a good session into a bad one. And I walked out into the remains of the sunny day, walking towards the truck to look forward to rush hour traffic of the 105. Bumper to bumper of 5 mph travel. Yet I was not stressed about it. I hate traffic and I hate how stressful it was driving. That's why I set up mechanisms to be there ahead of time and plan when I would leave and how. IF traffic wasn't fucked until 9 pm I would have stayed nearby and wait it out. Yet an hour of stress was already prepared for technically if all of my mechanisms succeeded and I wasn't late to all of them. And yet, I drove off in the most uncanny sense of peace.

It felt as if I was given a handful of powerful opiates and a tumbler of gin to kick them in. I was in a state of orgasmic peace or was it the lack of worry, stress, and pain? I still don't know. I was floating. The truck was the extension of my being. Music played in ambiance rather than to mask the moment. I didn't sing the song, I was breathing the song within me as I soon realized that I was going to die if my reaction time was so crappy. Yet we crept and moved at a blissful turtle's pace. We moved east as I was above it all, surrounded by peace. It took me some time to realize the dripping sensation were tears that were streaming from my face onto my arms. I wasn't sad, just relieved. As if ten pounds of hell was removed in a blink. I didn't understand it until the time of writing this. I would not know what it would mean.

Come Sunday, I've already spent more time with friends and I was sitting in introverted space when I realized someone brilliant on Youtube was streaming something I more than enjoyed. Immediately I shook my head and said, no. I would not click. I will be a bother. Or bothered. Or something. I would just ......continue to look for something to occupy my time considering that I have an entire day of nothing. The wall needed to be stared at I guess......and come on, man. What's the harm? I clicked. And I lurked and I watched. And the person who's work I admired shared and spoke and I commented small things that I knew would not be.......did they just respond to me? Was my online moniker just used? I got a response? A conversation? I'd better respond.

......huh......this isn't so bad. I'll just make some comments if I have anything to share.....huh? What? Why am I timed? I'm writing too much.......OHNOIDIDN'TMEANTO......I'll stop.....wait....people are nice here. I'll just take it easy....not be too eager....

And like that, I spent four and a half hours with people watching a stream of a favorite thing by someone who loved my favorite thing and was knowledgeable like so many others and we had a ball. I was communicating and getting laughs and when the time was ending and the main person was leaving we thanked each other and we were social and I didn't feel antisocial. And the person who streamed said he didn't stream usually because they're antisocial with the reasons and the ....HIM AWKWARD AND CRAZY IS MY AWKWARD AND CRAZY.........wow, right? What would I like to hear? Positive things! Here, have some positive things.....things I would want to hear...they're nice and they GAVE ME POSITIVE THINGS TOO...no way! No one here is a shit person? No one is exploding crazy? We're all being cool and supportive and I felt 5 years old again when you would meet your best friends at the playground on the fly and you guys would play a long time back when time felt either so long or not long enough and we all waved like the 5-year-old I felt like and we're all best friends now......

.....what the fuck happened? In the end, I subscribed to three channels, Facebooked a lot, made conversation with this awesome person who's videos played and he like me like people but we have people panic introvert no one is an asshole so we're safe place here and ......who the fuck am I? This shroud of panic, fear and recluse loosened and I was social.....I'm not panicking. I'm not shaking. I want to do it again. I mean....who the hell am I?

And in the dead hours of the night I decided I'm going to a meeting to see someone else who is awesome and maybe meet them, or at least listen to him speak. It's going to be crowded, I know that, but I want......I WANT TO GO? I mean.....I'm counting the days! I'm excited! In a good way, not in I have to do this and not throw up I'll carry my flask with me excited.

I'm not afraid of someone....anyone....running up and exploding crazy on me. It may happen. I may just have it happen, but it may not. I already missed out of Sabbath's goodbye tour, Carlin's last few shows, The Pixies coming and going, and so many plans with friends more than a handful that filled me with terror. Just a few months ago, I was in a dread terror over not being able to go to my Aunt's funeral and on the same day going to a friends birthday event. I was doubled over in pain and sickness and bile then, but....can I go? Can I be ok with this? I have a few weeks till I go, but....I think I'll be ok.

I know, I have no idea!

I'm not scared. I'm not even nervous over writing this! I think I'm ok. I'm ok and I'll work through it. I mean, you'd never know what's going to be a good day until it happens.

*looks at clock*

It's almost 4 am here. I'm going to sleep. I feel sleepy. I feel good. So, thank you for reading this? I don't have an ending. I don't even have anything witty outside of saying.....um.....hi.

Hi.

Hello.

Thanks for reading. Have a good day. Um.....if you need a kind word, here you are. Um.....I bet you're a magnificent person and I hope whatever you are worrying about get resolved. *shrugs* So....yea.....bye.

....hmmmmm.....feeling better about yourself is great on the ego, but it really makes for shitty endings....oh well!

Shower Epiphany: Just cause I'm Gone doesn't mean I can't have fun!

Shower Epiphany: Reading Gypsie Raleigh's comics I decided I do want a tombstone for people to visit that says,

Still Dead

Thanks for Checking on me 

Although I've come to realize that things will get boring once I'm gone so I will create a Living Will that provide money to every now and then dig up my grave and leave an open casket a jar with muddy footprints walking away with the following notes:

• It's dark down there! Going to get a night light and some Manga. 
• It's Fucking Halloween, I'm not staying in! Gonna get some candy!
• Just Heard [A person I hate] just died. Going to dance on their grave and shit on it a little. 
• There's another Star Wars Movie! I ain't missing this!
• I farted and it stinks. Gonna air out while I get some pepto.
• I SAW A ROACH!
• Got Bored. Going to get tacos! Be right back!
• Hold on, someone just rediscovered the Jonas Brother's music catalog. Need to save your asses!
• Hold on, The Rolling Stones are touring. I wanna see this again!
• It's Taco Tuesday. Where do you think I am?
• Feeling a little fat. Going for a run.
• That's it. You done fucked up! I'm starting the Zombie Uprising! I WARNED YOU!
• The guy in the next grave keeps talking to me. Need to get some earplugs.
• The gravedigger keeps bad touching me. I'm getting the fuck out of here!
• Some one keeps making Chuck Norris jokes. I need to teach this fucker what's what!
• Got Bored again. Going to hide under some beds. Psychiatrists need to make a living you know.
• Hold on, need to get my music catalog updated again. Fucking technology!
• I guess I have to grow my own damn flowers!
• Hold on....I got updated to some shitty version of Windows. I need to buy 7 again.
• What the Fuck are you doing again?!? Haven't you fixed the voting system?!? Do I have to fix everything?
• Ate someone that didn't agree with me. Check the restroom. Bring toilet paper!
• THERE'S ANOTHER WU TANG ALBUM! I'm buying this one!
• Stop fucking visiting me! I'm still an INTROVERT! Give me some fucking space, geesh!
• I'm tired of hearing your shitty problems. Going to get shitfaced!
• Getting laid. Come back later in a couple of hours!
• Fucking $10 for delivery! Fuck that!
• It's Saint's Patty's Day! Going to get shitfaced!
• Dude! R.R. Martin finally finished the fucking book!

You know I do this because I love you right?

What would you do without me?

Will You Run Out Excuses Before I Run Out of Words? or How To Justify that You Should Not be Executed On the Spot

There really isn't a lot of reasons why I write. I can say that the strongest reason why I do so is that I am not eloquent in any way although I do have a knack for it at times. If given enough time and preparation I can make myself the center of attention and begin to speak within the moment. Considering that I have a harsh difficulty, if it can be called that, in not being able to lie without every living creature realizing that I'm not only horrendous, but that it's almost an insult to people that would try. Not having much of an ability to even guild the lily in order to save my hide, I've been burdened to tell the truth as bluntly as possible. Thankfully I've learned a few things doing so.

1. No one believes you anyways
2. It gives you a chance to use some sort of eloquence and tact when tasked to reveal something that may just hurt their feelings and in some extreme case your feelings also. 
3. If done tactically you can tell anyone anything. That's the true test of eloquence. Can you make people swallow the truth when they want a particular answer?
4. It weeds people from you very quickly. 
5. If you can tell someone something you hold back on you are free. "I love you". "I despise you and everything you stand for." "Yes, I was looking at her butt. It's a nice butt. You should join me in looking at it. If I was able to I'd do things to that butt that we'd both enjoy. Hell, if you lay your cards right I'll even let you watch"

I'm being a bit facetious on that last one, but I'm not too far from what I told a friend. I mean in that case I was busted in looking at our server's cute butt in her black jeans and it was nice. Considering that it was a sight to actually make me stop conversation and that I had no romantic feelings with the friend who I was having lunch it was a freeing moment.

So.....yea. A little levity for you. For me more. I'm trying to lighten the mood a bit because as I started out here I was going with why I write and for what reason.

And that was such a cute butt. Not big or anything. A cute butt because it was petite and so adorable. I wouldn't have looked at her twice, but man.....that was a cute butt. Ah.....but enough with me treating a woman like a piece of meat......I'd nibble on that butt too....so cute.....ok, back to track.....

But yea, there are moments in life just like this one with the cute server's butt in black jeans who bent to pick up a spoon where I am able to communicate verbally with people, even in crowds given enough prep, but I can assure you that outside of two people I've never spoken to anyone about this cute girl with rich dark short hair and a glorious smile about her cute butt. Some things I can do with speech and others I can do withy written words. Writing gives me a time to reflect and actually relive in the moment. She wore a blue denim color long sleeve shirt, Long dark apron that honestly covered most of her until she knelt down facing away from me and lifted this perfectly round butt. There was no sight of the color of her underwear or even skin, but those jeans were hugging her beautiful rear not as skinny jeans would, but just a well-worn pair used daily in a labor intensive job of food service. She had blue studs in her ears too.

Woa....see.....I just remembered that moment just with writing. As I used to say, I have a silver tongue, but golden fingers. I do much better given space and the right mind frame. So....yea, I'm going to say bye bye to our cute server with the cute butt and rich dark brown eyes that just kept me from looking at her face. Sometimes people are just way too pretty for me to look at. I can't help feeling that towards "beautiful people" (i.e. anyone not me). I'm going to let this pleasant imagery go and really cut to the bone now and deal with what's really churning my stomach with bile.

Above all, my writing is a defense mechanism. Back when I was younger and my stutter was bad I could not express myself as well. I've grown of course and I'm able to speak to most people given a certain amount of abandonment I must intake in order to be able to function. I'm the kind of person who collects bad feelings without trying and there have been times my writings have saved me from acts of violence, forcing me to come to terms with what I'm not able to process. Just as I had described my server more than 10 years ago it helps me focus enough on what is truly bothering me if I just give it enough time. If I can just get the literal ball rolling I'll be able to get that momentum revving and pointed to where I need it.

And I honestly do need it right now.

I've been avoiding writing because I know I'm going to have to expell bile, anger, fear, confusion, and a whole lot of hurt in this moment. And somehow just approaching a blank page and vomiting acid onto the screen is not something most people want to read and it's something I can not endure to write, even if it does help me. I would rather write about how cute the server's rear was and maybe even get inventive, changing my true timeline to one where as I was paying our bill I asked for her number and even an opportunity to talk to her on safe and measured ground to not look like a monster. I know people often look at me and see "SCARY". I know that. People cross streets, clutch purses, and hold cell phones as if their lives are in danger was we share an elevator. I'm more then sensitive towards their fear and I'll do what I can to seem non-threatening, but it often does weight me down at times.....she how I'm transitioning here....and even put myself in a less dominant position. I don't mean to make people fear me and I understand if only to recognize that I've been there and I was terrified of the world myself. Not to downgrade, considering the lives of people, yet sometimes I tire of being "SCARY" to people.

It's another saving grace of mine. Exercising my verbal IQ prevents people who have spoken to me to put me in a predetermined category. One of "thug" or "minority suspect". Being the "self def dummy' for more than a decade I've learned that when a class begins women fear me and I need them to fear me. I need to play on their fears to help them realize that there may be a moment where adrenaline pumps and they won't be able to think and only immediate action can ensure their safety. Yet as time progresses they realize that I speak softly, almost tenderly. I have immense patience and even "kind eyes". That I can be collected, intelligent, and kind. That I will allow them to bring my over 200 lb frame down into a mercy position and emphasizing to them that I can be brought down and dealt with if they are diligent, swift and unforgiving. It's a cost to pay to empower women. To make them strong and show them the worth of backing up their worthless no with power to make it stand. To teach them that they should use their illusion of being frail, dainty, a bit heavy, pocket-sized and able to be picked up, weak and any other adjective used to dehumanize them into victim rather than the fierce creature of fury that they really are.

So I play into my stereotype to help, yet I know it also hinders. I've been in positions where I know someone given the means pull out a weapon and shoot at me causing me to fall upon the ground to bleed out. That my large frame is intimidating upon view and if I'm doing anything not normal I can, and in many situations have faced moments where my life could have been taken. Often times people do not see a person attempting to reenter their vehicle in broad daylight and in the view of everyone and taking as long as an hour. What they see is street crime. They do not question if it's their vehicle, they see a criminal. I do not have the luxury of the benefit of the doubt despite if they actually take the moment to read into the situation they see that it's almost a Men In Black moment where either you have the most incompetent criminal breaking in or someone having a really fucked up day. It's why when I get police coming my way, I wave at them to get their attention even though they're coming for me. I don't have much to hide really. And I know given enough time, even in the back of a patrol car, I can vouch for myself.

Given the fact that I'm not attractive enough to say, "hello, I'm Brad Pitt...." I learned every quickly that I need a pitch and I need a good one. I don't send dick pics, I send fully written messages where grammar is utilized and I use as much literary elbow grease to help argue my point of say, 'you should really give me the time of day in a safe measure and distance and you'll realize I'm a kind, thoughtful person you may be able to spend time with". So give, I can say "send nudes' or even "how big are your tits" even if I am thinking it. I have to pitch woo and speak my already hindered mind with the truth and hope that I get someone's attention for them to honestly say, "oh....my breasts? They're lovely! Would you like to see them? In person? I'd love for you to admire them! You seem safe enough to ensure you won't kill me and might even call the next day I show you my breasts!"

Ha ha...I'm trying to have fun with this.

Yea, if I am in the back of a police car like I have many times before I have to be respectful, kind, not give lip, not seem threatening and even answer with caution because everything can and will be used against me even though I do have my keys locked in, with my bag inside with my id and at least 20 things inside that I can vouch it being my vehicle. Shoot, for preservation means I have to take control of the conversation and say things that they will not imagine me to say. "Officer, could you please help me?" "I'm so frazzled I might start crying in a minute." "I'm not having a good day and I needed to be on the road an hour ago." All the while making my movements deliberate, slow and non-threatening. And mind you, as innocent as I never seem I usually end up with them laughing and even apologizing for the moment. Because in the end, I'm not carjacking, gang banging (80's lingo not now you perv), and not taking part in Brown on any other color crime. I'm having a bad day as a good citizen and I really could use the help.

"DO you want me to call the police!?!?"
"Could you? I need help and you are not being helpful."

That always makes people confused. Embarrassed they even try to save face or bravado with "Well, you were doing something illegal!" They even try to say they are armed and I could have defended themselves, which in all truth I know they couldn't. If I was their predator of imagined fear, I would have torn them apart. I would have been smoother, sleeker, deadlier and even menacing. I would have stolen the car in seconds, instead of being out there for an hour in daylight in from of everyone. If I wanted them hurt, dead, murdered, raped, or eaten I would have hunted them down for my benefit and made sure there was no witnesses or chance to struggle instead of doing nothing of the such. If I was going to do all those horrible things they imagine me doing, I would have simply jumped out of the closet or pulled them under the bed in my hellish domain where the only thoughts in their head would have been that one relative spouting FOX/Briebart/Alt Right warnings of how this was always planned by us and our domination of their foolish denial of my racial and monsterous actions muh ha ha ha.....

*sigh*

Ok, I'm here. I'm near the elephant and I'm going to get it out the fucking room.

A teenaged boy walks to the store to buy skittles and tea. He walks back and he's shot dead by someone who was told to not pursue the scary guy in the hoodie.

Justifications?

• Hoodies are criminal wear
• He smoked pot, therefore thug
• He looked menacing
• He didn't look like he belonged
• He attacked the man trying to be a good citizen 
• The man attacked had his right as a citizen of Florida to stand his ground and shoot his attacker.

Ok, Fine.

A twelve-year-old is playing with a toy gun at an empty park across the street from his home. A concerned neighbor calls police where the officer states that he called the armed individual to cease where the armed individual points said weapon causing the officer to shoot him dead. Recorded footage shows officer stopping vehicle and immediately shooting boy without any word.

Justifications?

• He should have known better than to play with a toy gun
• His parents are to blame for letting him outside unsupervised
• His violent nature is what scared poor police officers into defending themselves.

Uh huh.......

Teenage boy is told to get out the street where he is ignored and is shot and allowed to bleed out before any ambulance or first aid is administered. It was filmed and given to media after the police department began to defame the boy and would lead to numerous protests against noticeable negligence and escalated police action even among protesters with fingers on triggers and rifles aimed. Shown to the world a police force with military hardware and little compassion and police tactics to hold the peace.

And yet.....

• He was BIG. He scared the poor police officer!
• He was a thug, like most of the community they're animals
• He should have got out the damn street and obeyed law officials
• His disrespect is what cause his death and those people don't know how to behave civilly. Those animals rioted because that's all they know!

Ok....sure.......

Man carrying an airsoft gun in it's box within a Walmart in an open carry state is short on sight after being told that this man was pointing a weapon in the store. Not even the NRA protest that this man's right to open carry or in this case walk with a toy gun in a box was violated.

So.....

• Maybe he WAS pointing it at people, you weren't there!
• He knew better than to have a gun, even a toy in the store where he was purchasing it
• He had a track record, probably, and he worse deadlocks. He doesn't look respectable at all.

.....nope no pattern here.

Man shot numerous times in the back after being questioned by police until he falls to the ground. He is then handcuffed. Reported that he was attacked while recorded evidence states otherwise. Later to find out there was no probable cause.

So this one....

• Why was he running?
• Why did he need a warning? He was running away! He deserved to be shot numerous times.
• He handcuffed him for his safety! He could have been on drugs! Police lives matter!
• You have to be safe than sorry! I would have done the same to protect myself!

uh huh.....

Man pulled over in car at a stop. He drives away from the officers in haste where he is met with gunfire until he crashes his car on the curb and dies.

So....

• Why was he running?!?
• He could have hit the officers!
• He was hiding something! You don't drive away from police!
• It was self-defense!

.....moving on.....

A heavy set man was questioned by officers for selling another man a single cigarette. Questioned by police on authenticity of the CDs he was selling. Three officers physically take him down while he didn't resist. Complains that he was not allowed to breathe. Died of crushed windpipe among watchers who recorded the incident on various angles. Officer who was responsible for his death is given a raise despite of being investigated for negligence.

You were saying?

• He was doing something illegal! 
• He was a big guy! He could have hurt those officers! You have to play it safe.
• He resisted. He should have never resisted. When police speaks to you, you respond correctly

........

Man is pulled over in an open carry state where while driving with his girlfriend and child in the back seat. They record the incident via Facebook as a new way to document an alarming amount of deaths at police hands. Man states as for his second amendment right he is armed and is noticing police that he was carrying his gun on his person in which police quickly shoot inside the car killing him. Police, while being recorded, then threaten his girlfriend to comply as he dies next to her and his baby while it's circulated among Facebook. The video is quickly taken down due to disturbing footage where as people continue to upload it in order to keep the footage seen.

....

• He must have made some move on the officer!
• That footage is fake and it's a false flag also!
• He should have complied with police! He resisted somehow!
• Why was he armed? Why would he need a gun? He looks like a thug.

Sure.....

Woman pulled over in a minor traffic violation and is shown on police car footage to be roughly pulled from car and taken into custody. While in custody, she is discovered to be hung within her cell with no visible signs of struggle as determined by corner autopsy. Ruled as suicide. Her case is then settled outside of court as a wrongful death for the sum of 1.9 million dollars

• She resisted arrest! That's why she was taken into custody!
• The officer was rough because he had to control her. He placed a knee on her neck to protect himself
• She took her own life. That's on her.

......*sigh*

Man arrives to find his mentally autistic patient sitting down playing with a toy car as police have their guns trained on him. He announces to police that he was this man's social worker and he did not have the ability to respond to their demands. Police train their weapons on him. In an act of submission, he lays on his back with hands raised high above his head while stating he was unarmed and only wanted to protect his patient who can not respond to their commands. He is shot and survives the wound, later to give an interview where he stated his own disbelief. 

well....

• What? He lived, right?
• He should have not defied police! He got what he deserved.
• Honestly, he just made things worse.

Seriously?

Police kill woman while cradling her 5-year-old son in an armed standoff with two other men. The boy is also shot yet survives. No negotiations are made to ensure the safety of the occupants or any attempts at diplomacy. Woman makes a recording with her son on Facebook stating that police was outside of her door ready to kill them. The video is taken down for being offensive.

• She was crazy! She should have given up!
• She held her gun and used the child as a human shield, you're not going to try to defend this one, are you?
• She was a thug and a criminal. She deserved to die! This is more of a mental health issue. Not police fault! 

.........wow.....

Police shoots sleeping 7 year old in botched raid while filming a reality show. He is tried twice for manslaughter and careless discharge for firearm. he is allowed to return to service.

• That was an accident. It happens all the time.
• Police lives matter also!
• They were criminals. They brought it down on themselves.
• Death from Black on black crime is close to 95%. No one ever protests that!

....are you fucking serious? 

Disabled man in his car was reading. He is shot and killed while police is on the search for someone with outstanding warrants. Claimed that he was armed in the open carry state and he died from his wounds.

• That's no excuse to riot like animals
• You weren't there! How do you know he wasn't armed?
• He should have complied with police! He must have done something!

.........ok.....fine.....

Abandoned car is reported as four officers arrive to find a man next to his vehicle. He was instructed to raise his hands. He complies. He is told to place his hands on the vehicle. He complies. He is shot and collapses on to the ground where he bleeds out under helicopter footage of the "bad dude". No weapon is found on his person or in the closed vehicle. Officer who shot claims the man was not complying. It is later reported that the man was walking towards officers for assistance since he was stranded on the road. Police claim responsibility for unlawful action.

Well.......

• There's footage of him without his hands up! He was asking for it!

Wait the fuck one second!

• The Black on Black crime is up to 93%. How come no one protests Black on Black crime?

You have to be fucking kidding me! What the fuck does this have to do with an execution! Everyone agrees that he was nonviolent! He had no weapon! He made no attempt while four officers and a helicopter watched him COMPLY! What the fuck did he do to deserve to be shot! What else could he have done! For being a "bad dude" he was already COMPLYING! WHAT THE FUCK IS LEFT!??!?!

• ........

Well! Are you going to answer? How do you justify this shit?

• You know, you're making this a racial thing and that's really hurting your cause. You are limiting people from helping and honestly isolating people from making things better.

Are you fucking kidding me you piece of shit?

• You also need to praise cops on what they're doing right. It's not all cops.

........Fuck you.

.......and that was my week so far. This shit. All of this shit right here......

*shakes head, almost to tears*

I mean........what can you say? What can you say when words are so fucking meaningless. I didn't even mention race. I didn't mention names. I kept things are blank as possible. Since when is simply being a death sentence? I mean, Judge Dread was a comic book, right? A bad movie with a good movie afterward? It was the left over of old Ron's "Make my day" Merica, right? This is what Dirty Harry wants to come back to, no? The SJW's and pussy generation not wanting this kind of shit? 

Remember when I said, I can talk my way into and out of things? How I can't lie? How I look scary and know I had these moments where I needed to explain to people who didn't see me as someone who needs help. Someone who perhaps is having a bad day or needs assistance. No, I had these moments where someone, if they had a weapon in hand, would have shot me on sight. Because I'm scary. I give you that. I know I look scary. I know I have to talk to people to let them know who I am.....

......I make the joke. I make it, but if I had a way, if I had any chance I'd change my 5' 11' 234 lb Latino frame to Tiffany. Who's Tiffany? Tiffany is a 16-year-old white girl I made up in my head. I want to be 5' 1'' little. I want to look as delicate and fragile as china. I want people to fear breathing on me in case I broke. There might even be a chance where I can be sexually harassed at this point, but considering how lethal my almost 30 years of martial arts and combative training has made me I will chance it. I will take an existence of 70 cents on a dollar for work and being called a cunt for either not putting out or everything else. I'll chance the hell women go through every day, not to mock it but know that it exist. I will trade for this existence instead of knowing that I might be shot without given even a chance to speak. I mean, I have nothing if I can't speak to someone. My existence is not only scary looking now, but actually running the chance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and being shot. 

Not just being shot, but knowing that I will get airtime as the poster boy of "damn right he was shot, LOOK AT HIM!" I would have my entire Facebook page torn apart for any photos that make me look like the imaginary monster that lives in their heads. My writing and my possessions will be investigating. The worst of what I am will be more then justification to why I had to die on the cold ground as I bled to death, maybe even questioning what happened. I survived LA during the 80's gang wars. I survived a cult. I lived through being shot at my young fools with drug money on their mind. I survived protesting to "Stop The Violence" and even walked through Bloods, Crips, and even Grapestreet turf to just go to work or to even have a dialogue with my generation who said they were down, only when it's ok to "kill da police". I even stood with counter point that a gunship heli would be sent. That during the LA riots, the streets were emptied by people and filled with clean shaven muscular bus drivers too pale for the neighboorhood. That you didn't fight and change your place and help your people with weapons or shit slung on the streets, but with your words and story. Hip hop thrived. We stopped killing each other because no one else would help us. We were deemed animal in congress with bad family morals and even our "safe" presidential candidate claimed us to be criminal. 

Then Columbine happened. Guns in school was an issue. Then the epidemic of Narco-trafficking entered the suburbs. So it really was a thing! Then the meth epidemic happens to nice, white kids away from the Urban life. Then all the shit they convinced us being happened to them and they wonder what could it be. They never believed that we needed help, better schools and jobs. Our OG's had to come back and give to the neighborhood. NWA now sell Beats and Bud Lite when they used to tell stories of Lynwood Sheriffs and shootings. Our neighborhoods have changed to the point where people would call me brave for walking at night to being gentrified. High rent and a changing demographic are what's changing Silver Lake, East Los, Downtown, Inglewood, and even the Jungle and South Central. Streets that burned in the riots now have Starbucks and Organic markets where burned out lots used to remain. 

But we are still plagued with this belief that we are animals. That we are going to rape your white little girls and destroy your peaceful way of life. That we are going to make them listen to the Beyonce while the Black Panters walk down your Main Streets on the American flag. We will bring you the drugs you heard on tv and how you how you need your Dirty Harry, Walker Texas Ranger, Charles Bronson, and Arnie back. You need people who are gonna pull the trigger and not be politically correct. To teach us a lesson with your stockpile of weaponry when we uppity march, speak, sit dow, kneel or just fucking be! Merica has lost it's way, even if crime is down despite the 95....93% Black on Black crime that somehow is justified because you are animals. The high police death rate that's really at an all time low. I would like to question the validity of #AllLivesMatter when they were shooting AK's on our streets and crack made life dangerous. I do know that #BlueLivesMatter especially when that other uppity nig.....URBAN gentleman was pulled over in Silver Lake and beaten on camera and it was decided that videotape lie.

Fuck, even EZ E went to Theodore J Briseno's aid during that ordeal. Fuck the Po Lice, right?

*sigh*

This shit.......and the election.....and the Alt Right.......It's really scaring me now. At a time where we can even pretend that these people were killed on accident. With footage of this shit happening while people justify it short of saying, "Ya'll #%@$% deserve to die" a la Trumpism. At this point, people are just getting executed. Like when they showed America that one Vietnamese man being shot in the head so close to the end of the war. Can we just drop the facade? Can we just stop with all the justifications and excuses and just say it. Say it. Say the words you are thinking. Just stop lying to us. Say your piece and be honest for once. Say it.

They all deserved to die, no legal course or due process.

Why do we have a legal system? Just to incarcerate more of us? Why do we have a system to pretend that people are being 'redeemed"? Why not just say that everyone, from a woman who may have had some mental issues deserved to die while holding her child. That no negotiation could be bothered with to save the life of a child. Why? There's a 12-year-old shot for a toy and several men killed in open carry states simply just standing. How many of them were just shot? How many of them were praying prayers or trying to wrap their heads around the people with the guns pointed at them. How many believed that they were going to die while other were certain they were going to be ok. What is the justification of execution? What do we teach our children to do now? Don't buy candy or tea? Don't play outside? Don't wear this or that? Even gangs used to take a few minutes to see if someone wore a color before shooting at them. Don't we get that much? Do we get a chance to run? Call for help? Stand our ground? Shoot back? Hold our hands up and say we will do what you ask? What is left? What is left to do? Can't even read in your own car. Or drive. Or walk. Or own a firearm. or shop at a store. Or play outside. Or continue to smoke your cigarette you bought off of someone else for a quarter.m Or just be at the wrong place at the wrong time having one of the worst days of your life. Shit, having the last day of your life.

No words. I don't have the words to get through to people. Why must people be shot on sight by people who are trained to hold the peace? Why must they aim guns for their protection? Why must we follow people's instructions who will simply bring death to us? Guess what, the gangs are pretty much an old memory. We need protection from you. Like before.

Then again, we'd have to assume that you were supposed to be protecting us in the first place. I wish we can ignore history. I seriously wish we could. Then we can smile a bit more and maybe dance in the street for the right to live and not get shot. 

I don't want to feel useless. Or scared. Or angry. Or lethargic. This happened before I was born and it seems it will continue. The only difference now is that we have a new branch of apologetics, demanding that we comply even if we are executed on the spot. 

.........

I kind of wish I wrote more about the girl with the cute butt. She was pretty and I would have been more nostalgic rather than apprehensive on what tomorrow will bring. 

I really wished I felt better after this. I really wanted this feeling of dread to leave me. For my stomach to stop hurting. To not look over my shoulder again for Blue like I used to for Blue, Red, or Raider Colors. Huh, football. The Rams are back now. Those used to be safe colors. Yellow and light blue......maybe.....ha ha.....the man kneels in protest and no one realizes that he's trying to stop the execution of people if only to get them to trial. Is he really asking for so much? "Stop killing us."

• but...............

Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Twenty Two: Modern Love

I have a problem with my weight, hence my health and therefore my mental outlook of life and self-worth.

Wow, that's cutting to the fucking bone, right?

It's the second month of getting healthy again. I've done these many pushes throughout the years and I'm always active to a certain degree where I can catch something with needed speed, help someone move numerous heavy items, many of which I'm usually moving on my own simply because I can. I'm a big guy. To give some stats I'm 5'11'' at 235 lbs now at 24% bodyfat which is healthy overall, yet I've been heavier before usually due to injury and I know when I'm starting to slip. The fact that I'm 24% body fat kind of worries me to a degree as much as any red flag. I know that if it rises too high I won't be able to function as I normally do. That my clothes will begin to tighten in the wrong places, my thighs will rub, and worse of all my aging knees will ache.

So I run and I have progressed in my running since 2013 where at my worst weight I simply cut to bone once more and realized that I have a degree behind me and I've done enough math and research and practice to know that I can trust the theory of body augmentation. I've worked out many people for physical gain, athletic edge, and even just to improve their lives and prevent any set in of health related issues. I've collected data and ran calculations as close as possible so that I know how much to push someone and more importantly when to pull them back. So above all, I'm my best guinea pig and learning many lessons of leadership I know I can not instruct anyone to do anything I'm not more than willing to do myself. That saying I'm usually pushing myself to points where much as last night's run had me throwing up a meal I'd had almost 4 hours before.

Yet, then again I've been told by those who know me and who also share my interest of profession that I am hell on myself. Not hard, hell. Something that I'm quite thankful learning the proper methods and knowledge since I've many times have hurt myself in order to "tough it out". I have a very sore spot for crossfit and anyone who does not understand the limits of the human body. It's one thing to push myself to breaking point because it's my body and correct or stupid I paid the price. Telling someone else with shoulder injury that they should just use smaller kettlebells just because gains will be lost. The body must rest, heal and develop properly and know that my mistakes may have a grave reaction towards someone's health has me rechecking math, monitoring form and intensity to ensure that the primary goal of constant stimulus rather than having them out injured over bravado. So I care about the health and well-being of others. If I'm paid to help someone reach goals I do so. It's more than a job. It's a passion. I understand the why's and I try to provide the how's.

It's not really work

And yet, I have the greatest difficulty with myself. Running daily measurements I've made progress with how much to eat and of what macronutrients to watch. I'm diligent with water and I have limited my vices to an occasional drink on a weekly basis on a cheat day. Yet, I realize that my efforts being hindered are not physical, but emotional. I'm anorexic. Mind you I've given my stats and you can easily see that I do not fit the usual definition of being so since the poster child is usually some teen trying to starve into jeans. Yet simply defined it's anyone who does not take in enough nutrition to support their body's needs. So being large hits me double since I do have moments where my diet is on point and other days where I barely eat 1000 calories. This only shuts down my metabolism and makes developing muscle difficult since it's usually used as a food storage device since it's easiest to metabolize instead of fat. Fat will be used, but the body's first choice is muscle since effort is needed to convert it back into carbohydrates and usable once more. I've been doing well outside of a day or two of just not eating enough. I'm not one to binge on junk food unless I've called a cheat day or allotted enough calories for that purpose. And yet, there are moments where I have to fight to eat. It's a mind fuck considering that there are many people who can not eat enough and sadly I was one of them.

To sum quickly I was part of a cult where one of the tenants was to eat only one meal a day where the science proves that this would put you at a perpetual state of hunger. Funny how cults always want to stress stringent dietary control in order to keep those in line. This and the fact that my young family at the time were struggling to support ourselves, I often went without simply to make sure others had enough. Did I mention the TB? Yea, I caught that in my late teens when most males my age developed muscle. If I show you any photo of myself back then it would make me cringe considering that I resemble the poor souls starved in concentration camps. I'm not joking. It hurts me to see any of them and I only have one of an id card where I keep close whenever I get nostalgic for my time in a cult.

Terrifies me

Never gonna fall for

God and Man

Took me years to gain healthy weight. That and not learning how to eat healthy until in my mid-thirties. This was hard learned. I had to remove a lot of old cult crap and relearn how to properly take care of myself. Even now I have difficulty eating enough, perhaps out of habit of not eating enough for others to have. At the root I realize I have difficulty creating healthy boundaries, knowing my worth, and even trying to convince that I have a right to certain things. Gas lighting, berated, just being told that I have no worth by those who claim they love me. It's a mind fuck. It's the elephant in the room I'm still trying to grasp. It's the guilt of letting down some people who mean the world to me and others who want the worst for me, regardless if they admit it or not. In my time, I've had many people try to return to my life. Many on a continual loop of begging for forgiveness that I had given decades ago just to keep them away from me. Many of them never knew what I could endure, yet they forced me to. Many had treated me as something unwanted, yet needed. A constant reminder that I am worth nothing to many yet enough for reasons not of my own.

Don't believe

It's just the power to charm

No religion

So let me grab this elephant at least. I know I am not able to budge it or even hurt it, but I have to try if only to state what no one will say. I don't think I am loved. I don't think I am capable to love anyone. I don't think I have worth to deserve love. Considering the moments I've spent with people, I offer what they want the most only to realize that it's not what they want. I've played the role of the enabler at times until realizing that I am one. I've given of myself only to realize that I received nothing in exchange. I've soothed others of their rough moments only to have them leave and return despite if we were intimate or not. I've somehow had always been the other man, a supplement for 'dude, bros" and really sick individuals only to realize that I am disposable. I've always realized that anything I call love has been hospitality in the old sense where I tried to cure pain and ache in others and never finding cure for myself. I've always believed that people carried a missing piece of me, where they will give in return of what I could offer and yet I now know that no one has the piece. I simply become what they needed most until option are greater then I can renegotiate with.

Wow....I said it. Huh.....kind of freeing.

No confessions!

So after the last time I was torn asunder by someone I realized that patterns must fit. there has to be a running theme only to realize I am the common factor of all of them. It's not them, it has to be me. So celibacy was easy. But sex is fun and good and it bonds and such. I know that, even on a biochemical level, but when you bond to someone who isn't good for you time and time again you start to taste the bitterness over any sweetness. So it was easy to just stop. Do I get urges? Of course. Have I been aroused? Sure, I'm still human. Have people aroused me? Really fucking rare and those moments I'm kind of surprised that everything works considering I've put them into mental storage. So what do you do? I work out the urge. I do what I can to just not. Don't you miss it? I think I miss the idea more than the practice considering I'm not someone who can just sleep around. If I had the inclination or just an asshole vein in me I'd be ok! I'd welcome it! I'd would love to be a sociopath, or selfish or just to objectify others, but......

But things don't really change

There's no sign of life

.....been there, had it done to me, and I'm still hurting for it. I can't use people. I've had enough of that on the receiving side, even if it was mutual. I don't have that dead part or selfishness I need to do so. Hell, I can't even take care of myself. I don't have that thing that most people have to keep going. I don't have a sense of self-care. I know how to give everything and then some more from somewhere I have no idea. I give, I get pleasure in giving, and I can do without to give more. See the problem? It's getting a bit better. trying to want things and find it ok to want them, but they're superficial and I still have to try and justify it. I have to understand that it's ok to have a sense of self-perseverance and I'm not hurting anyone for just wanting a soda. Or a game console. Or a foot rub. Or just a kind word.

It's a mind fuck and I have it.

(God and Man)

I honestly don't know what I look like or if I attract others or why I do so. I don't trust anything, especially anything in a romantic nature. I've turned down a lot of people and played dumb if only to show them that I can't do this.

Don't believe

In Modern Love

18-year-old cutie jut want to fuck? Um.....you do know my daughter is older than you? Oh, you're really mature for your age? (NOPE!) Um.....no thanks and sorry.

It's just the power to charm

Oh, someone who really IS amazing and I have the greatest time with? Someone who I look forward to seeing each and every time? Um...yea, I'm not really people and I'm a bit of a train wreck, but I'm doing better since I've found the tracks now! So...yea....I'm going to have to pass.

Never gonna fall for

Oh, someone who is just cute? I'm actually feeling as if I can do this? Just a little flirting? Yea.....I just flipped the car and it's on fire and also I am carrying a torch cause I lit it on fire because I don't know how to people, but I do know to have a really fucked up moment with someone who doesn't speak plainly.

I'm still standing in the wind

Oh, you speak plainly? And you have intrest in me? You think I'm ideal and kind and worthy? Why? I don't believe you, no sorry. Also you seem as if you have everything ok with you and I'm afraid I might infect you...no no, I don't have HIV or the herps or other sex cooties. I just have the black cloud of WTF overhead and since I really do like you a lot I'm afraid I might make it shoot lightning meant for me onto you! I know.......I'm sorry too.....*waves bye bye*

But I never wave bye-bye

But I try, I try

.......ha ha ha ha....sorry, I have to laugh. I've done something to myself where I laugh off really fucked up things because if I start to cry it just fucks me off and if I laugh it off I can at least scare people with my reaction of not giving a flying fuck of any sense.....

.....but I do. I do and I don't know how to not train wreck. I honestly did discover the tracks and I'm trying so hard with Crazy Doc and I really want to....fuck me to hell, but I want to say it.....trust other people because they trust me and it kills me that I can't trust them if only because I know I'll fuck things up somehow and I don't know that I will or won't because of the past, hell, or just surviving actually moments that should have left me dead with people I love instead of being the one to walk away.

There's no sign of life

......these are the moments I wish I didn't get up. Sometimes dead is better than surviving. There, I said it.

I know when to go out

.....but I have a sense of vengeance. I have a sense where things have to be made right. That you don't let the fuckers win. EVER. And even if they do win you make that victory hard won on their part and you make the sweetness of your loss bitter and nasty to their palate with a promise of more fucking hell behind it. I want to make all the shit people put me through, willing/knowing or not, go away and have them know they didn't stick. I won. I endured. I beat it. I shrugged it off. I'm not a victim of circumstance and the shit they carried.

And when to stay in

So I force myself to eat calories that I have not eaten enough of. I force food into me in ways that work against my screaming desire to not consume. I run like the spitting llama I am and beat my body down the street. I work out and tell myself that I care. That I love me even if I don't know what that is. I try to find some worth if only on excel. I have to stay positive as if I was my own client even though it's the hardest thing being your own cheerleader when you're busy berating yourself as your drill sergeant. Like the mirror says, I have to be kind to myself even if my initial response is to laugh and say I don't need that. I need another boot up my ass and to keep going until I break......then I start all over while healing the manifestation of the hell I give myself.

But I try I try

Get things done

But things don't really change

......so, I'm trying. It's hard and I'm trying. I don't even know if I'm doing it for me more than I'm doing it for the principle. I don't have worth in my eyes, but the thought of this happening to anyone else does. So......here come guinea pig as I try to be positive, kind and just not continuing the hatred and anger of those who I removed decades ago because it's not right and I can't say "I don't deserve it".

I don't know if I'll get there. But I can eat another can of tuna when I'm sick of tuna. Or chicken. Or when no one is looking, hug myself and whisper that they're not here anymore and that I'm trying to care about the last person that I feel needs it.

But why?

I don't know, but I tried everything else and failed. I've still have to start being nice to me. Doesn't hurt. Maybe it will help. Maybe not, but at least I'll let everyone else kick me around instead of me. At this point, all I can hope is to look back and see if there was any progress. I don't have hunches. I go to the Crazy Doc. He tells me to work on this or that. I throw myself at it until one of us breaks. Pick myself up and repeat. I don't see a future. I don't see good times. I don't see myself getting old with loved ones. I see the process and maybe what I need to do tomorrow. One day I might be victorious. I might be remembered through this because I've committed a lethal temptation and people need to look over what they didn't see in order to find mental release. I don't know. Just keep writing. Keep working. Never assume anything and try to not hate who I am despite that I am quite good at it and seem to do it without knowing I'm doing so. I can only go with what I have instead of what I think or hope or believe.

I honestly can't trust myself, but that's ok. I have someone who I can trust and they say work at it and you'll get it. You'll find self-worth. You'll find peace. You can be happy. I realize that he's the last person I can trust because he has no stake in me making it or failing. He wants me to make it, but he wants me to make it my way so I know I did it. So that if I do finish I will realize that I built that in me, what I never had and it can not be broken.

*sigh* I hate trying to be positive. If I'm not you'll worry about me. I also hate being a miserable fuck not being able to lie well. Then I could do what desperate people do when no one sees. I want to just not hate myself. I want to be kind to others and not have people tear me apart anymore. I don't even see a day where I will find love, the picket fence or even normalcy. I don't think I'm there or meant for it. If I can give of myself without tearing myself apart I'll call it a victory. If there is any good from all of this I stopped believing that someone can save me. Love me. Make me whole. Not gonna happen. It's going to be me considering that this is the last bit of woo I let go. Some people can believe in soul mates, god, or the kindness of strangers. With everything I know, all I can depend on is the work of my two hands and if kindness comes my way I will return it.

Maybe I'll be disproven. Maybe I'll find a love to rival the ages. Maybe I'll meet god and they can apologize for some really fucked up shit I've seen, much less the shit that has happened on an imaginary watch. Maybe I'll trust humanity again. Maybe I'll fly into the air and live my life with dragons. I can't afford hope right now. The calvary will never come on time and the Warm Jets will not reach me when needed. Just my effort and work. I'm just thankful I have someone to correct my errors and point me the right way.

I have to save me. I have to love me. I have to take care of me.

I don't know if I can do that.
I just have to try.