I'm at work on a Monday. I'm doing this because a friend of mine is popping in from Northern Cali and when she does show up it normally is a whirlwind of activity that honestly taxes my introverted nature. She's a good friend and a pleasure to be around, yet when she comes in she's on the move on a campaign of doing all the things that usually results with some things being cut out at the last minute. This Friday her and a few friends have run about planned with a cherry of a topper of hitting the classy bar. An even that for certain reasons or another I have always missed out, usually due to illness. Well, this Friday I'm game. I'm moving Friday to Monday at work which sandwiches my Crazy Doc day and gives me Thursday to Friday with her and a total of four more days to have to myself.
Awesome, no?
Why am I dreading it then?
There is a slow dread of a social activity that looms ahead with some time, usually, a wedding or party that somehow I was privy to know at least months in advance to prepare. Some days I can just let it sneak up on me and just head up. Others I almost welcome sickness in giving my the excuse to bow out. Other times, I force myself and carry certain things to occupy myself past those odd moments where I wish I was invisible with an adequate amount of time to walk off and have a breather. This event is different. I can usually stomach the running about, having lunch or consuming alcohol. Yet I have to dress up for the night out. In people clothes. To be fancy and simply hang about and just be. I have to be social, not just people social, but fancy time out social. Wear a tie social. Be charming social. Be witty and charming social.
So, yea a bit of dread.
It's not that I can't do it, it's.......I don't know. It's not that I don't know these people or care for them, it's just ......I don't know. It's not that I can't have a good time, it's just.....I don't know. I'm on edge. Like October on edge. I'm looking at this moment, not like a fun time out, but as a challenge. That I can handle this. That I'm not really dysfunctional. Just.....I don't know.
I have dread and I don't know why. I can not explain to you how alien this all is. This should be fun. I used to have fun and declare my time a good day to die and let all the chips fall as they may, but here I'm cautious. I'm nervous and awkward, I can't fucking believe I feel awkward, out of all the people on the planet, I feel awkward. Why is this a thing?
And of course, I don't know. I wish that I can simply wave my hand off with this as if it's just a gnat that gotten too close and has no place with me and my time, and yet.....I don't know. Is it that I have no control over the situation? That it's "different" or simply me being a bit more......undefensive. Do I associate suit time with my inner Man of Stone persona or personal security days? Or am I concerned with being.....off......odd......weird?
But these people know that. I'm always off, odd and weird. Hell, I was formed in the rivers of Off, Odd, and Weird. What am I dealing with? I'm not sure and I'm kind of happy that tomorrow is Crazy Doc day. I'll just walk in, dump it on the floor and say, "This.....make this better!"
Ha ha.....I doubt it. It has something to do with being any degree of intimate or closeness with anyone because I'd rather not. I have my reasons and I have my Crazy reasons, but they're stupid. I know they're stupid. Yet, I can almost feel the crowds. I can almost feel the people and the factors of WTF that can happen. The chances of anything can happen. I'm not in charge there, but I'd be comfortable knowing if I was. But I need to calm the fuck down and just have a good time as if saying that will make it so.
I'm over thinking! That's the problem! I need to mellow out! But how? I'm not going to booze it and I still am too exposed to deal with people. Hell, I've been in some respect avoiding people because of feeling exposed and open. I know you need this, but I have no good connotation with these things and being open and exposed usually get me in trouble.....or hurt. I just need to ignore it.
As if I can.
So, I have until Friday to just, mellow out......find some sort of mental peace of mind and just let them the chips fall as they will....and be ok with that. Simply be fine with any of that. I've done it before and alone which granted my attempts against something I know is difficult to me great rewards. And yet, I don't want to treat this moment as a challenge. I just want to go out, with friends, and be ok and maybe fucking enjoy myself. I know it's too much to ask, but doesn't my history of accomplishments and beating down past challenges give me any form of emotional stay or protection for this? It's so fucking surreal being awkward and emotionally weak when I've pushed beyond the hells that others have chosen as impossible.
Why is trying to be people so difficult for me? Why is this the thing I have the worst fears towards? I can sacrifice, but yield no rewards to it. I can bleed but never heal. I can put work in, but not bask in the glory of the moment won. It's not fair in any way or reason.
*sigh*
I have until Friday. I can do this.
I just wish I didn't have to, because......I don't know or even deal with something as stupid as this.
30 minutes, 1,028 words.
Monday, February 27, 2017
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
Dismantling the Machine, Part 1: There is no ending
I will never understand therapy or how it works. I'm not saying this as if I do not understand how its supposed to work or how it's carefully formulated. At a certain distance, I admire the process. Much like detective work and behavior assessments, I can respect any form of problem-solving that has any x-factor that will cause the situation to change and alter your very approach to solving the situation. Some of my favorite memories are in a laboratory with a stack of Petri dishes and procedures in mind while hunting down and attempting to look at my anal procedures, calculate how much of my process may be corrupt, and if I gained enough insight in order to realize what tests to continue or repeat. I can appreciate the process.
So while sitting in the cozy room with the stained glass lamp, I sit across someone who has to be at least 20 years my junior as she attempts to gain enough of a foothold to help me. I sit there and I do everything in my ability to do three things: Attempt to give blunt and simple answers, even if I can't, counter my initial reactions that have been honed to a discipline that has protected me for the majority of my life., and most importantly of all, to not over think or analyze anything that she says in order to understand her motives, goals, needs, and possible tactical position. I've spent almost a lifetime dealing with people who have taken advantage of me or at least attempted to. I've learned to deal with them as on would deal with a cold or step into some unknown excrement. In my time, I can say with confidence not founded in ego that I can pull apart any form of interaction with people to the degree when I can guess motive and need from them. In that knowledge and practice, I've allowed people free reign, if only to prove the control and to understand if you give people enough of a chance they will take more than what you are willing to give to them. Much like politics, I've learned to take a proactive position rather than trust the vote of masses who time and time again ponder how things could get this bad, never realizing they can not vote someone in and simply forget the rest. There must always be a high degree of vigilance.
I've teased 19-year-olds who wanted to get enough of a verbal foothold to entertain the idea of having coffee. I've dealt with elders whose assumption of age somehow had wisdom and trust as a given. I've dealt with people who use scarecrows to prove arguements and the intellectually lazy who I have learned to cut the jugular, knowing full well that simply writing as I do will overwhelm their argument because....pfffft....reading....the fuck is that? In my time, I'm going to say I met people who are good and kind and somehow I have enough evidence to assume trust, all the while keeping a monitoring eye on them for their chance to strike. I do get a bit lazy when the friendship continues past a decade, but the eye is on them nevertheless.
Stating all of this, I realize that I have removed emotion from my engagement with people. Treating everyone as coldly calculating as possible, I know I have broken down people to a list of needs and wants that I deemed acceptable and have given myself permission to meet. Somehow I have removed emotion out of the situation so that my prevalent emotions are annoyance, awe, and disappointment. I know there's another emotion somewhere, but I'm not in the mood to look for it. It was hard enough to acknowledge it in the first place. I know I described "poor" emotions, but they are as close to emotions as I get a hold of. I know I mention annoyance, yet do not confuse this with your definition. I had teenagers in my life and that is an annoyance, what I call annoyance is a type or realization that I have to focus attention and time. Nothing aggravating, but more as in working on the next math problem where you have to clear the table and go through the procedures in understanding and analysis. That level of annoyance.
The fact that I have to pay attention to you is annoying to me. There, I said what I always said.
I can't honestly register it simply because it's difficult to take in. I don't have that relationship with emotion. And yet, if something happens where I lose my tolerance to suffer it I simply stop working, halt being functional, and I become broken. I don't have emotional breakdowns. I break. I stop doing. I can not move on. Whatever was inside me that cause me to keep moving forward and roll with the punches breaks. That happened last year. That's why I know I have to change or die. That's why I know that if I do not take a proactive approach to my own situation, I will not be among you much longer.
And yet, I am more than comfortable to declare that my actions are in no way helpful. My interaction with people is cold, calculative, procedural and distant. It's how I survived. It's how I can plunge my arms, elbow deep, into the shit that most of you dare never to see and get things moving again. I have always worked damage control and I have to do what I needed to do to make things work or survive. It's why I drank to shut my mind off. It was overwhelming and in all truth, it prevented me from making connections with people I DO care about. It was the only way to silence a constant working mind to allow me peace and sleep. It was the only way one can numb to build up enough tolerance to make it through another day, to look up at the ceiling and wonder, "was it worth the effort?"
So, I sit with the Crazy Doc and I try to feel. The entire statement insults me, but oh well. I try to feel. To reconnect. and to reconnect correctly. It's difficult. It's painful. It's almost impossible to me. And yet, I attempt and I fail and I try again and I silence my mind and I do everything I can to rip apart the defenses that I mastered so that I can leave myself open to the person in the small room and silence all of the screams in me so that I can pretend that they will not rip me apart, much like the Jackels do. What I do is painful. What I do is damaging and it can fuck over the rest of my week. And yet, I do it again and again.
And she sees it. And she appreciates it. And she sees that I'm trying with sincerity.
I'm better now. I was mentally sore yesterday. I will be the same next week.
I'm going to end here. Time to go to work and I don't have an ending because it didn't.
1,200 words in 50 minutes.
So while sitting in the cozy room with the stained glass lamp, I sit across someone who has to be at least 20 years my junior as she attempts to gain enough of a foothold to help me. I sit there and I do everything in my ability to do three things: Attempt to give blunt and simple answers, even if I can't, counter my initial reactions that have been honed to a discipline that has protected me for the majority of my life., and most importantly of all, to not over think or analyze anything that she says in order to understand her motives, goals, needs, and possible tactical position. I've spent almost a lifetime dealing with people who have taken advantage of me or at least attempted to. I've learned to deal with them as on would deal with a cold or step into some unknown excrement. In my time, I can say with confidence not founded in ego that I can pull apart any form of interaction with people to the degree when I can guess motive and need from them. In that knowledge and practice, I've allowed people free reign, if only to prove the control and to understand if you give people enough of a chance they will take more than what you are willing to give to them. Much like politics, I've learned to take a proactive position rather than trust the vote of masses who time and time again ponder how things could get this bad, never realizing they can not vote someone in and simply forget the rest. There must always be a high degree of vigilance.
I've teased 19-year-olds who wanted to get enough of a verbal foothold to entertain the idea of having coffee. I've dealt with elders whose assumption of age somehow had wisdom and trust as a given. I've dealt with people who use scarecrows to prove arguements and the intellectually lazy who I have learned to cut the jugular, knowing full well that simply writing as I do will overwhelm their argument because....pfffft....reading....the fuck is that? In my time, I'm going to say I met people who are good and kind and somehow I have enough evidence to assume trust, all the while keeping a monitoring eye on them for their chance to strike. I do get a bit lazy when the friendship continues past a decade, but the eye is on them nevertheless.
Stating all of this, I realize that I have removed emotion from my engagement with people. Treating everyone as coldly calculating as possible, I know I have broken down people to a list of needs and wants that I deemed acceptable and have given myself permission to meet. Somehow I have removed emotion out of the situation so that my prevalent emotions are annoyance, awe, and disappointment. I know there's another emotion somewhere, but I'm not in the mood to look for it. It was hard enough to acknowledge it in the first place. I know I described "poor" emotions, but they are as close to emotions as I get a hold of. I know I mention annoyance, yet do not confuse this with your definition. I had teenagers in my life and that is an annoyance, what I call annoyance is a type or realization that I have to focus attention and time. Nothing aggravating, but more as in working on the next math problem where you have to clear the table and go through the procedures in understanding and analysis. That level of annoyance.
The fact that I have to pay attention to you is annoying to me. There, I said what I always said.
I can't honestly register it simply because it's difficult to take in. I don't have that relationship with emotion. And yet, if something happens where I lose my tolerance to suffer it I simply stop working, halt being functional, and I become broken. I don't have emotional breakdowns. I break. I stop doing. I can not move on. Whatever was inside me that cause me to keep moving forward and roll with the punches breaks. That happened last year. That's why I know I have to change or die. That's why I know that if I do not take a proactive approach to my own situation, I will not be among you much longer.
And yet, I am more than comfortable to declare that my actions are in no way helpful. My interaction with people is cold, calculative, procedural and distant. It's how I survived. It's how I can plunge my arms, elbow deep, into the shit that most of you dare never to see and get things moving again. I have always worked damage control and I have to do what I needed to do to make things work or survive. It's why I drank to shut my mind off. It was overwhelming and in all truth, it prevented me from making connections with people I DO care about. It was the only way to silence a constant working mind to allow me peace and sleep. It was the only way one can numb to build up enough tolerance to make it through another day, to look up at the ceiling and wonder, "was it worth the effort?"
So, I sit with the Crazy Doc and I try to feel. The entire statement insults me, but oh well. I try to feel. To reconnect. and to reconnect correctly. It's difficult. It's painful. It's almost impossible to me. And yet, I attempt and I fail and I try again and I silence my mind and I do everything I can to rip apart the defenses that I mastered so that I can leave myself open to the person in the small room and silence all of the screams in me so that I can pretend that they will not rip me apart, much like the Jackels do. What I do is painful. What I do is damaging and it can fuck over the rest of my week. And yet, I do it again and again.
And she sees it. And she appreciates it. And she sees that I'm trying with sincerity.
I'm better now. I was mentally sore yesterday. I will be the same next week.
I'm going to end here. Time to go to work and I don't have an ending because it didn't.
1,200 words in 50 minutes.
Friday, February 17, 2017
When Even Your Cold Calculative Analytical Mind Says You Can or Praise in the oddest and coldest form
These writing exercises are interesting, if only to me. Some time ago, my daughter gifted me for Xmas a Master Class in writing with James Patterson. It's an odd gift considering the timing. In the middle of house sitting, I scoured Youtube for vids to keep my free time busy and I hit a happy pocket of Stephen King lectures, some with R.R. Martin who asked how the hell was he able to put out so much writing. Watching this vid, I noticed that the room became silent at the question in which he told people that he simply writes for four hours a day, every day. He has more than enough spare time to do what he wishes, including research. And yet he knew this was an altogether easy response that would normally be brushed off as almost uninteresting instead of some mystical and deep secret that needs to be sealed with arcane ritual and blood sacrifice.
He also explained that while he put out Carrie, he has this immense desire to just write. His mind was filled with ideas and stories and he knew that he could write more if only he had the time and to have the time he knew he needed money. He needed the money to allow him to focus on writing instead of stealing away time from work, family and other obligations. So sitting there he sat down and wanted to know how much money he needed to write. How much he needed for at least one year worth of time out of the workforce where his family will not be without financial means, including emergencies and vacation time. Sitting there in the late 70's he calculated how much his contribution was to the household and he came up with a rough number that I somehow remember as something around $64, 000.
He needed an amount near $64, 000, if my memory is on it (still feel free to check my math, the idea is still there, though). If he was able to sell Carrie for that close to the amount he could have enough money for the year to continue writing full time. His wife would continue to work, but that was the minimum amount he would need to be able to write without any doubt or worry. That would be the amount that he would need to follow his dream and use that money to see if he was able to continue writing or if Carrie would be his only book, a fate of most writers sadly who do break through into the industry. When his publisher called back, he was almost ready to negotiate a sum close to what he needed when they notified his that they would like to buy his book for a sum closer to $100,000. And so, you can guess everything else was history.
The reason why it hit me so was that it was his test to see if he had the potential to continue writing as a living. During many of the lectures, sadly, he informed everyone that it seems as if writing was a dying medium that needed immense attention and understanding to keep changing with a society that at worse disregard the value of books until the film or tv show came out and at best changed the medium of how his work would be read itself. Although books will never be a forgotten medium it's certain that tablets, phones, and other contraptions have cause enough of a stir with publishers who often time ignored any innovation as they threat they are or the opportunity they should be seen as. Yet with all that he continue to declare that if you have that need and desire to write you have to do whatever it takes to satisfy the need.
And so starting my Master Class with a green notebook, pens, and enough chance to see if there is any potential in me I began the lessons. One of the lessons I've taken to heart is that you must begin a schedule, if only an hour a day, to write and to see how much you can write. In this, a goal of 500 words was made a goal in an hour. And practice should be built up until 1000 words are met. In 28 minutes I have already passed 725 words written. I know I'll hit 1000 before the hour is over. In this moment, I have some issues here. When James Patterson said that I should aim for that amount of words in the allotted time I sit here and wonder what potential I honestly have. Was this goal a low minimum or a "baby step"? Is there a higher goal that I should be aiming for? What is the golden ratio of words to time that he and other writers average? Is this because I'm not writing fiction and I simply have a natural ability to ramble on? Should I be ecstatic that I have blown away such a goal already or should I be focusing on a higher goal?
All throughout my lessons, the advice I'm getting from an author who has published the most books in his lifetime puzzles me. He says have a journal. I do! In that journal have ideas and plots and other snips of writings that you can store for any future attempts at a story. I have a worn-out notebook with first draft stories and outlines on how they should connect and other snippets of possible stories. Choose at least three to have a plot. I have at least 6. Attempt to write those three. I have six first drafts, as mentioned before. And here I have to question not his advice, but myself. Why is this simple to me? Why is this not difficult? Mind you, I can say that I haven't really written fiction in these activities, but have focused my writings on the two work mornings that (1001 words in 38 minutes) I get here early enough and have nothing but dronish work ahead of me to look forwards to. I haven't written on the other days. In fact, I'm writing a whole lot less in these activities considering that more of my pieces are at least......*leaves to see* 2,000 to 2,750 words.
.....wow......
Am I a writer? I mean, I write. A lot. I write when I have a need and there are moments where I have to take off time and simply be, but if I'm just shooting the breeze at least 1,000 words in less than an hour, does that mean I have potential I'm not paying attention to? Should I push myself? I mean, should I even believe? It's more an exercise in overcoming my low self-esteem. I was going to write a "but" after that statement, yet I have none to add. I have low self-esteem and I think it's limiting me. I'm not saying this as in to praise myself, but more in a cold calculative manner where I can see a given action is not taken advantage. If I look at myself coldly, I can see that I have potential to do so, yet do I have the tenacity to make it work? Is this worth reading? Then again, King said to not worry about that and just put it out there. People will find it who will like it, but if you have the need and desire to write you have to do it. I think I'm there. I have to write. I don't know if this will ever produce a dollar for me, but I have to write to simply be normal. I need to unleash whatever thoughts I have trapped in my head that my mouth is not able to unleash. I need to do so as much as some people find a desire to copulate. I need to simply free my mind in order to be able to sit in a room and veg out as much as I have been doing. It's been at least four months since I've honestly worked out to the point I can call it a decent piece of work, but I have to write constantly, even if it's the stupidest thing my mind can come up with!
And yet, is this enough? Is this what I need to just run with it? At this point, some motivation in the form of a mentor, even or plot device tells me to blah blah blah. Life is not that. Yet I, in my most stubborn and foolish of minds as well as over thinking and immensely calculative seems to state that I should, if only because I can. Not flourish or spice or even petals falling from heaven. I can because I must and I must because it flows. I don't know if this is what people would want to if people would desire to have it. Perhaps given an example or a direction to fulfill my way or something, but I have to state as coldly and calculative as my stupidly automatic and over-analytical as my thought process can be, I can write.
I can write.
I CAN write.
I can WRITE.
I CAN WRITE.
.......1,549 words in 58 minutes.
I think......I KNOW I can write. This may be my talent. This is MY TALENT.
I think I just broke through myself.
........huh, I think this is a breakthrough.
.......now what?
1,582 words in one hour.
He also explained that while he put out Carrie, he has this immense desire to just write. His mind was filled with ideas and stories and he knew that he could write more if only he had the time and to have the time he knew he needed money. He needed the money to allow him to focus on writing instead of stealing away time from work, family and other obligations. So sitting there he sat down and wanted to know how much money he needed to write. How much he needed for at least one year worth of time out of the workforce where his family will not be without financial means, including emergencies and vacation time. Sitting there in the late 70's he calculated how much his contribution was to the household and he came up with a rough number that I somehow remember as something around $64, 000.
He needed an amount near $64, 000, if my memory is on it (still feel free to check my math, the idea is still there, though). If he was able to sell Carrie for that close to the amount he could have enough money for the year to continue writing full time. His wife would continue to work, but that was the minimum amount he would need to be able to write without any doubt or worry. That would be the amount that he would need to follow his dream and use that money to see if he was able to continue writing or if Carrie would be his only book, a fate of most writers sadly who do break through into the industry. When his publisher called back, he was almost ready to negotiate a sum close to what he needed when they notified his that they would like to buy his book for a sum closer to $100,000. And so, you can guess everything else was history.
The reason why it hit me so was that it was his test to see if he had the potential to continue writing as a living. During many of the lectures, sadly, he informed everyone that it seems as if writing was a dying medium that needed immense attention and understanding to keep changing with a society that at worse disregard the value of books until the film or tv show came out and at best changed the medium of how his work would be read itself. Although books will never be a forgotten medium it's certain that tablets, phones, and other contraptions have cause enough of a stir with publishers who often time ignored any innovation as they threat they are or the opportunity they should be seen as. Yet with all that he continue to declare that if you have that need and desire to write you have to do whatever it takes to satisfy the need.
And so starting my Master Class with a green notebook, pens, and enough chance to see if there is any potential in me I began the lessons. One of the lessons I've taken to heart is that you must begin a schedule, if only an hour a day, to write and to see how much you can write. In this, a goal of 500 words was made a goal in an hour. And practice should be built up until 1000 words are met. In 28 minutes I have already passed 725 words written. I know I'll hit 1000 before the hour is over. In this moment, I have some issues here. When James Patterson said that I should aim for that amount of words in the allotted time I sit here and wonder what potential I honestly have. Was this goal a low minimum or a "baby step"? Is there a higher goal that I should be aiming for? What is the golden ratio of words to time that he and other writers average? Is this because I'm not writing fiction and I simply have a natural ability to ramble on? Should I be ecstatic that I have blown away such a goal already or should I be focusing on a higher goal?
All throughout my lessons, the advice I'm getting from an author who has published the most books in his lifetime puzzles me. He says have a journal. I do! In that journal have ideas and plots and other snips of writings that you can store for any future attempts at a story. I have a worn-out notebook with first draft stories and outlines on how they should connect and other snippets of possible stories. Choose at least three to have a plot. I have at least 6. Attempt to write those three. I have six first drafts, as mentioned before. And here I have to question not his advice, but myself. Why is this simple to me? Why is this not difficult? Mind you, I can say that I haven't really written fiction in these activities, but have focused my writings on the two work mornings that (1001 words in 38 minutes) I get here early enough and have nothing but dronish work ahead of me to look forwards to. I haven't written on the other days. In fact, I'm writing a whole lot less in these activities considering that more of my pieces are at least......*leaves to see* 2,000 to 2,750 words.
.....wow......
Am I a writer? I mean, I write. A lot. I write when I have a need and there are moments where I have to take off time and simply be, but if I'm just shooting the breeze at least 1,000 words in less than an hour, does that mean I have potential I'm not paying attention to? Should I push myself? I mean, should I even believe? It's more an exercise in overcoming my low self-esteem. I was going to write a "but" after that statement, yet I have none to add. I have low self-esteem and I think it's limiting me. I'm not saying this as in to praise myself, but more in a cold calculative manner where I can see a given action is not taken advantage. If I look at myself coldly, I can see that I have potential to do so, yet do I have the tenacity to make it work? Is this worth reading? Then again, King said to not worry about that and just put it out there. People will find it who will like it, but if you have the need and desire to write you have to do it. I think I'm there. I have to write. I don't know if this will ever produce a dollar for me, but I have to write to simply be normal. I need to unleash whatever thoughts I have trapped in my head that my mouth is not able to unleash. I need to do so as much as some people find a desire to copulate. I need to simply free my mind in order to be able to sit in a room and veg out as much as I have been doing. It's been at least four months since I've honestly worked out to the point I can call it a decent piece of work, but I have to write constantly, even if it's the stupidest thing my mind can come up with!
And yet, is this enough? Is this what I need to just run with it? At this point, some motivation in the form of a mentor, even or plot device tells me to blah blah blah. Life is not that. Yet I, in my most stubborn and foolish of minds as well as over thinking and immensely calculative seems to state that I should, if only because I can. Not flourish or spice or even petals falling from heaven. I can because I must and I must because it flows. I don't know if this is what people would want to if people would desire to have it. Perhaps given an example or a direction to fulfill my way or something, but I have to state as coldly and calculative as my stupidly automatic and over-analytical as my thought process can be, I can write.
I can write.
I CAN write.
I can WRITE.
I CAN WRITE.
.......1,549 words in 58 minutes.
I think......I KNOW I can write. This may be my talent. This is MY TALENT.
I think I just broke through myself.
........huh, I think this is a breakthrough.
.......now what?
1,582 words in one hour.
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
Rummaging out the Confides of a Motionless Tank
*takes a sip of strong Chai tea, swallows the hot liquid in more of a need rather than in relish and begins to write*
I'm not going to say that I'm a quick person, but if you give me enough time to reflect I can map out almost anything with probable solutions, errors, and points of reflection where I can usually sit in a sunny room and ponder my options. Then again, I'm at work writing this outside of the Coffee shop with free wifi with enough time to put in about an hour's worth of work before I have to go up and simply do. It also helps that I'm going to therapy considering that I finally have someone who checks my mental math and see if I'm stuck on something, obsessing, or simply making much about nothing. Having the trust to have in them in immense, but I'd have to be blind to negate the benefit of it all, even if it spirals me into places I'd rather not go and ponder things I'd rather ignore.
Above all, I learned that my past week isolation and angst, for lack of a more dignified word, has been caused by the lack of mental defenses. I didn't notice it at the moment. Usually, I'm either leaving with a mind filled with heavy thought or with an esteem strong enough to push me past my usual low point and into charging into a new day. Last week, I was wounded. There's no real explanation for it. I was mentally wounded and it didn't register. Usually, in these moments I have to work against a certain amount of time where I'm in touch with emotions that I usually can not register or have abandoned for a concept of "it's just how it is" and moved on with the struggle I called life. It's the reason why I'm able to endure immense difficulty and move with a speed needed in these dire moments where the majority of people are still attempting to register what has happened and why it changed. This has its benefits with a hefty price of blood, as I spoke with Crazy Doc. I'm not going to lie about my self-medication with alcohol. It's magnificent in blacking me out when needed and silencing the analytical chorus that inhabits my mind in order to get in touch with my own thoughts or simply to silence them for a moment and put aside the anxiety that I now recently realize have been terrorizing me for some time.
In order to uphold the immense stress and pressure of my place in life, I understood not knowing or acting on an conceived whim would cost me more than any chance take. When you carry such mental weight you learn to adapt and speed up everything. You calculate your situation faster than needed and understand the meanings behind meanings and the chances of a misplaced word. I can usually figure out motive, action, counteraction and even possibilities of the moment. It forces me to move in automation and many have considered inhuman and almost legendary.
Yet it's not life. It's not living. It's not experiencing the moment for what it is. It's being the best machine for the job. And lest week, instead of having my defenses slowly rise to the point of feeling once more my confinement of my sense of self in a protective and imprisoning protection where I can relate to the situation at an emotional distance, they simply did not rise.
They didn't take hold or take over or numb me.
There I remained anxious, irritable, annoyed, and sensitive. And it was hell. I was insufferable to my own senses and I knew something was wrong and yet did not notice that I was vulnerable in the real sense. I simply knew I didn't want to be near people or outside. So despite leaving for work, I remained and dealt with it, even though I tried to take my mind off of it with whatever task that would take my mind off of it. And yet, not one drink was had. Not a painkiller was taken. No coping mechanism was implemented, almost as if my defenses cost me more than my perceived weaknesses. I see that now. I understand how being made of stone cost me more than simply being vulnerable and open to anything to rush in and tear me apart.
The Jackels never came.
So if they never came, shouldn't I remove the tank worth of armor I continually don in hopes of never being exposed to an attack? Will the bad people leave me be or have they left me be? Am I more than capable of protecting my emotional self from any situation without always being on?
Wait.....I was off? I mean, I have lived my entire existence now as "ON". How was there an "OFF"? Was this me at my "OFF"? Was it really bad? With everything I've faced in life, is this "OFF" a bad place to be? Can I live here with some anxiety and perhaps a bit of uncertainty instead of constantly calculating my every thought and action before I begin to contemplate to take them?
I honestly don't know. I'm a bit confused. This IS new for me. This is something I never faced or felt and I can't bring myself to understand it because I have no reference. How you explain RED? I mean, how do you explain something so elementary to someone who doesn't have the concept of RED. Am I making sense? I mean, I just learned 5 months ago how to implement boundaries, so this is fucking new. I mean how do I interact like this. Can I even interact like this? How in the world can I? I mean, yea......how? How do I do? How do you RED?
It all feels so stupid and yet, it's so simply to be overlooked. I might be overthinking this. Then again, how would I know?
Much to Grok.
1,014 words in 42 minutes. 509 words in 22 minutes.
That and I'm realizing that 1000 words is nothing to me and I need more in order to express what I honestly think.
Much to Grok.
I'm not going to say that I'm a quick person, but if you give me enough time to reflect I can map out almost anything with probable solutions, errors, and points of reflection where I can usually sit in a sunny room and ponder my options. Then again, I'm at work writing this outside of the Coffee shop with free wifi with enough time to put in about an hour's worth of work before I have to go up and simply do. It also helps that I'm going to therapy considering that I finally have someone who checks my mental math and see if I'm stuck on something, obsessing, or simply making much about nothing. Having the trust to have in them in immense, but I'd have to be blind to negate the benefit of it all, even if it spirals me into places I'd rather not go and ponder things I'd rather ignore.
Above all, I learned that my past week isolation and angst, for lack of a more dignified word, has been caused by the lack of mental defenses. I didn't notice it at the moment. Usually, I'm either leaving with a mind filled with heavy thought or with an esteem strong enough to push me past my usual low point and into charging into a new day. Last week, I was wounded. There's no real explanation for it. I was mentally wounded and it didn't register. Usually, in these moments I have to work against a certain amount of time where I'm in touch with emotions that I usually can not register or have abandoned for a concept of "it's just how it is" and moved on with the struggle I called life. It's the reason why I'm able to endure immense difficulty and move with a speed needed in these dire moments where the majority of people are still attempting to register what has happened and why it changed. This has its benefits with a hefty price of blood, as I spoke with Crazy Doc. I'm not going to lie about my self-medication with alcohol. It's magnificent in blacking me out when needed and silencing the analytical chorus that inhabits my mind in order to get in touch with my own thoughts or simply to silence them for a moment and put aside the anxiety that I now recently realize have been terrorizing me for some time.
In order to uphold the immense stress and pressure of my place in life, I understood not knowing or acting on an conceived whim would cost me more than any chance take. When you carry such mental weight you learn to adapt and speed up everything. You calculate your situation faster than needed and understand the meanings behind meanings and the chances of a misplaced word. I can usually figure out motive, action, counteraction and even possibilities of the moment. It forces me to move in automation and many have considered inhuman and almost legendary.
Yet it's not life. It's not living. It's not experiencing the moment for what it is. It's being the best machine for the job. And lest week, instead of having my defenses slowly rise to the point of feeling once more my confinement of my sense of self in a protective and imprisoning protection where I can relate to the situation at an emotional distance, they simply did not rise.
They didn't take hold or take over or numb me.
There I remained anxious, irritable, annoyed, and sensitive. And it was hell. I was insufferable to my own senses and I knew something was wrong and yet did not notice that I was vulnerable in the real sense. I simply knew I didn't want to be near people or outside. So despite leaving for work, I remained and dealt with it, even though I tried to take my mind off of it with whatever task that would take my mind off of it. And yet, not one drink was had. Not a painkiller was taken. No coping mechanism was implemented, almost as if my defenses cost me more than my perceived weaknesses. I see that now. I understand how being made of stone cost me more than simply being vulnerable and open to anything to rush in and tear me apart.
The Jackels never came.
So if they never came, shouldn't I remove the tank worth of armor I continually don in hopes of never being exposed to an attack? Will the bad people leave me be or have they left me be? Am I more than capable of protecting my emotional self from any situation without always being on?
Wait.....I was off? I mean, I have lived my entire existence now as "ON". How was there an "OFF"? Was this me at my "OFF"? Was it really bad? With everything I've faced in life, is this "OFF" a bad place to be? Can I live here with some anxiety and perhaps a bit of uncertainty instead of constantly calculating my every thought and action before I begin to contemplate to take them?
I honestly don't know. I'm a bit confused. This IS new for me. This is something I never faced or felt and I can't bring myself to understand it because I have no reference. How you explain RED? I mean, how do you explain something so elementary to someone who doesn't have the concept of RED. Am I making sense? I mean, I just learned 5 months ago how to implement boundaries, so this is fucking new. I mean how do I interact like this. Can I even interact like this? How in the world can I? I mean, yea......how? How do I do? How do you RED?
It all feels so stupid and yet, it's so simply to be overlooked. I might be overthinking this. Then again, how would I know?
Much to Grok.
1,014 words in 42 minutes. 509 words in 22 minutes.
That and I'm realizing that 1000 words is nothing to me and I need more in order to express what I honestly think.
Much to Grok.
Friday, February 10, 2017
The Struggle for Trust: Taking Control for your Moral High Ground
I'm going to state the given now so that you can keep in mind that I am not an instinctually intelligent person. I do not understand how many people I come across who for some reason believe me to be some sort of intellectual phenom. That somehow some sort of internal spark of brilliance resides within me that somehow separates me from the rest of the people I meet. Somehow I have an inside track in math. An analytical mind to understand politics, history and social issues that are often masked and even criminal.
What bothers me the most is that the majority of the time I have a certain feeling that I can simply state whatever comes to mind without so much as a fact check, much less a challenge. I've done it before and even watched people sometimes swallow statements I've uttered with tiny errors just to see fi I can be corrected. Often times nothing gets mentioned. So I ramp up the bullshit. Never close to "Avacado" level if only for my own sense of humanity causing me to vomit blood and blie, but close enough for a certain few to actually mention, "wait.....I thought......" and receive a rewarded laugh seeing that someone does see an issue.
I'm going to remind you once more that I am not brilliant. I am not some sort of X-man level brainiac that somehow KNOWS. To be perfectly blunt, I was always considered stupid. Mind you, there was always a consensus among my family that I was some sort of brilliant considering how much stupid crap I've done under the guise of "puckish intelligence". I find this filled with bullshit considering that I'm now considered brilliant and all that stupid shit I've committed was just out of that. No, in truth I may be curious and even inquisitive, but I've always been considered stupid.
S-T-U-P-I-D.
If I have ever redeemed myself it has been because I was placed in a position where I was the only one there, no safety net or backup. Placed in a position where people are not only blatantly called me stupid, but were banking on my stupidity to remain so that I could be the whipping boy for whatever excuse. If I didn't do anything people whose daily life include train wrecks, stupidly criminal actions under the guise of "no choice" and the need to blame someone on Trotsky levels to unite people under their banner to mask their actions.
I fuck with you not!
What are you willing to do when you have no choice or exit. Can you allow people to continue to take from you until the last thing you have, your name, is taken also? Can you allow yourself to be the family joke? The "at least I'm not.." example? Can you allow people closest to you to lose any trust in your ability? Can you take that amount of ridicule that in truth fit the scenario? Would you allow people to write you out and to conclude that all of the ills of life originate from you? Can you live with that?
There is a part of me that will allow you to malign me and treat me as bad as you wish to. There is a part of me that exists that will endure it and allow it. That will let you abuse me in as many ways as one can conceive. Yet, when there are the lives of at stake, I launch myself as a rabid dog. I've always defended my children, friends, family, and others even if I took the worse of it all. I learned to endure and what I could not I medicated as best as I could. I can account decades of allowing this, all with a Zen resolve that the truth will be told one day and I will be vindicated.
Yea......problem is that once it is out often times it's simply ignored. I can state with strong comprehension that my greatest error of my existence was that I remained silent, allowed myself to be used as a shield, all with hopes that somehow someone/thing will come and justify my actions, intents, and defend who I was. Sadly, there was no such savior. One of the reasons why I abandoned religion and actually entered a period of time where I contemplated taking my life, was that the turn the other cheek doctrine that so many people of faith subscribe to cost me so much and solved nothing. Why does God allow horrible things to happen to good people? Because good people for the majority allow it, to themselves and to others all under the faith of something intangible. The belief hinders the actions of good people to defend others and themselves in order to allow others who know a good deal about gaslighting and other manipulative methods to take control of the fate of others all while good people hold true to a standard that the "good guy" does not do this or that. A standard that harms you and shows your ignorance in never being in a fight.
I use the example of a fight because of it, in all honesty, cuts through many assumptions and is actually experimental. My experience in combatives has taught me a lesson that is applicable in many ways. The only reason someone does not fight dirty is because they believe they have that advantage, not the moral high ground. People will only follow rules if and only if they assume the rules are to be accepted. I've have dealt with many opponents and I learned that in order to ensure my safety and theirs to an extent I must place my influence upon them immediately and must take full advantage of the situation. If not the x factor that results in the worse situation for myself and others is increased phenomenally. You must take full advantage of the situation and use every means to take full control and dominate the situation so that you CAN implement your ideals of a moral high ground. It will not be assumed. I know this from hard questions asked, training, and knowing if I am in a nightmare situation where I have a gun pointed at me, I know that I can not shoot that individual for MY moral high ground. And yet, I am resolved in being as "dirty" as possible in order to remove that weapon and to cause as much damage to the individual where they can not use that weapon and my choice of abstinence will not cost me. Everything is an assumption and knowing that I must take full resolve to take control of the situation.
If you do not take control of the situation you can not dictate the moral high ground and you can be certain that those who do control the situation will not agree to your definition of it. If anything I've learned this past October that I must struggle with the choice of taking control of my situation after decades of allowing others to dictate how things are. I was a victim for the majority of my life and have sacrificed much in hopes to protect others. A lesson I've learned through hard effort and sitting in a small room with on of the two people I struggle to trust. In this action, I learned that my concept of trust is skewed and dangerous. It's something that I need to redefine under new terms that are beyond difficult for me. I must struggle now with learning to live in a normal world with a definition of normality that is not my own. I must open up when my experiences dictate that that is how the wrong people take hold of you. I have to face the idea that "the Jackels" do not exist anymore, or perhaps they never had. Hard to when you're this scarred, but something that is needed to move on into living rather than existing.
I have to learn to take control of the situation, exert my dominance and state my moral high ground all while dropping defenses, allowing myself to relax and to know that the seven times I think and analyze every statement and thought shared may just be a bit overkill in a word with #TheMostGloriousofDumpsterFires.
This is difficult for me. It's something I've never done and it limits everything that associate as being human. I have no other choices in the matter outside of taking my life or continue to endure the same way before I take my life. I can not live in such a manner anymore simply because my act of resistance is poisonous to me now. This is what I'm working on. This is why I am alone and secluded. This is why I sit in that small room and expose my fears and dreads to someone who I honestly hope will not tear me apart as "the Jackels" would and have.
I don't have anything else to say outside that I'm trying. I don't even know if I can get out of this. I just know I have to try since I have no other viable solutions at the moment. I've lived and endured to the point when I was past due on principle alone.
I'm trying. I honestly am.
1,562 words, one hour.
What bothers me the most is that the majority of the time I have a certain feeling that I can simply state whatever comes to mind without so much as a fact check, much less a challenge. I've done it before and even watched people sometimes swallow statements I've uttered with tiny errors just to see fi I can be corrected. Often times nothing gets mentioned. So I ramp up the bullshit. Never close to "Avacado" level if only for my own sense of humanity causing me to vomit blood and blie, but close enough for a certain few to actually mention, "wait.....I thought......" and receive a rewarded laugh seeing that someone does see an issue.
I'm going to remind you once more that I am not brilliant. I am not some sort of X-man level brainiac that somehow KNOWS. To be perfectly blunt, I was always considered stupid. Mind you, there was always a consensus among my family that I was some sort of brilliant considering how much stupid crap I've done under the guise of "puckish intelligence". I find this filled with bullshit considering that I'm now considered brilliant and all that stupid shit I've committed was just out of that. No, in truth I may be curious and even inquisitive, but I've always been considered stupid.
S-T-U-P-I-D.
If I have ever redeemed myself it has been because I was placed in a position where I was the only one there, no safety net or backup. Placed in a position where people are not only blatantly called me stupid, but were banking on my stupidity to remain so that I could be the whipping boy for whatever excuse. If I didn't do anything people whose daily life include train wrecks, stupidly criminal actions under the guise of "no choice" and the need to blame someone on Trotsky levels to unite people under their banner to mask their actions.
I fuck with you not!
What are you willing to do when you have no choice or exit. Can you allow people to continue to take from you until the last thing you have, your name, is taken also? Can you allow yourself to be the family joke? The "at least I'm not.." example? Can you allow people closest to you to lose any trust in your ability? Can you take that amount of ridicule that in truth fit the scenario? Would you allow people to write you out and to conclude that all of the ills of life originate from you? Can you live with that?
There is a part of me that will allow you to malign me and treat me as bad as you wish to. There is a part of me that exists that will endure it and allow it. That will let you abuse me in as many ways as one can conceive. Yet, when there are the lives of at stake, I launch myself as a rabid dog. I've always defended my children, friends, family, and others even if I took the worse of it all. I learned to endure and what I could not I medicated as best as I could. I can account decades of allowing this, all with a Zen resolve that the truth will be told one day and I will be vindicated.
Yea......problem is that once it is out often times it's simply ignored. I can state with strong comprehension that my greatest error of my existence was that I remained silent, allowed myself to be used as a shield, all with hopes that somehow someone/thing will come and justify my actions, intents, and defend who I was. Sadly, there was no such savior. One of the reasons why I abandoned religion and actually entered a period of time where I contemplated taking my life, was that the turn the other cheek doctrine that so many people of faith subscribe to cost me so much and solved nothing. Why does God allow horrible things to happen to good people? Because good people for the majority allow it, to themselves and to others all under the faith of something intangible. The belief hinders the actions of good people to defend others and themselves in order to allow others who know a good deal about gaslighting and other manipulative methods to take control of the fate of others all while good people hold true to a standard that the "good guy" does not do this or that. A standard that harms you and shows your ignorance in never being in a fight.
I use the example of a fight because of it, in all honesty, cuts through many assumptions and is actually experimental. My experience in combatives has taught me a lesson that is applicable in many ways. The only reason someone does not fight dirty is because they believe they have that advantage, not the moral high ground. People will only follow rules if and only if they assume the rules are to be accepted. I've have dealt with many opponents and I learned that in order to ensure my safety and theirs to an extent I must place my influence upon them immediately and must take full advantage of the situation. If not the x factor that results in the worse situation for myself and others is increased phenomenally. You must take full advantage of the situation and use every means to take full control and dominate the situation so that you CAN implement your ideals of a moral high ground. It will not be assumed. I know this from hard questions asked, training, and knowing if I am in a nightmare situation where I have a gun pointed at me, I know that I can not shoot that individual for MY moral high ground. And yet, I am resolved in being as "dirty" as possible in order to remove that weapon and to cause as much damage to the individual where they can not use that weapon and my choice of abstinence will not cost me. Everything is an assumption and knowing that I must take full resolve to take control of the situation.
If you do not take control of the situation you can not dictate the moral high ground and you can be certain that those who do control the situation will not agree to your definition of it. If anything I've learned this past October that I must struggle with the choice of taking control of my situation after decades of allowing others to dictate how things are. I was a victim for the majority of my life and have sacrificed much in hopes to protect others. A lesson I've learned through hard effort and sitting in a small room with on of the two people I struggle to trust. In this action, I learned that my concept of trust is skewed and dangerous. It's something that I need to redefine under new terms that are beyond difficult for me. I must struggle now with learning to live in a normal world with a definition of normality that is not my own. I must open up when my experiences dictate that that is how the wrong people take hold of you. I have to face the idea that "the Jackels" do not exist anymore, or perhaps they never had. Hard to when you're this scarred, but something that is needed to move on into living rather than existing.
I have to learn to take control of the situation, exert my dominance and state my moral high ground all while dropping defenses, allowing myself to relax and to know that the seven times I think and analyze every statement and thought shared may just be a bit overkill in a word with #TheMostGloriousofDumpsterFires.
This is difficult for me. It's something I've never done and it limits everything that associate as being human. I have no other choices in the matter outside of taking my life or continue to endure the same way before I take my life. I can not live in such a manner anymore simply because my act of resistance is poisonous to me now. This is what I'm working on. This is why I am alone and secluded. This is why I sit in that small room and expose my fears and dreads to someone who I honestly hope will not tear me apart as "the Jackels" would and have.
I don't have anything else to say outside that I'm trying. I don't even know if I can get out of this. I just know I have to try since I have no other viable solutions at the moment. I've lived and endured to the point when I was past due on principle alone.
I'm trying. I honestly am.
1,562 words, one hour.
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
The Hell of Trusting
The beginning is always difficult, especially when you know that every mental faculty you have has been conditioned to question, revise, analyze and usually toss out numerous attempts at communication. Perhaps it's because I always lived under the umbrella of stupid, but not just stupid, but a special category of stupid where your brilliance that has never been questioned when you are not present puts you in positions where the birds of your feather usually enter the same situation with a declaration of "hold mah beer...". Maybe it's because I was in a cult where critical thinking was frowned upon for belief, faith, and unquestionable acceptance. It's easy to look back and analyze where I have gone wrong and what situations have caused me to become this amalgamation of mental checks and balances with the possibility of reviewing what was, what could have been and what I could have done if.......
And this is where I am, IF. I'm going to say that the scientific method is one of the most amazing processes of investigation that can foster critical thinking, skepticism, and a healthy appreciation of fact over feelings. Yet it can not help me where I am at the moment. It can not offer any way to out of where I am. It's why I now can say with much difficulty and hard earned work that I trust two individuals and they both are or were my therapist. In a small room that brought me much joy outside of the need to stare out a window and know that I am not trapped in any enclosed place, I do what I have taught myself out of necessity and survival to never do. Here I allow the person who is sitting opposite of me to engage me in difficult conversation as I handicap myself in every way possible to not challenge, question, or analyze their words, choice of vocabulary, body language, eye movement, tone, and overall meaning including between the lines. I hinder myself, as many of you know having dealt with me since my very nature I have to have the answer. You find it annoying. I find it a life-threatening need. I have to have the answers or at least search for them since it's only me between the worst that can, have, and will happen. I have no safety net, backup, nor do I have anyone to bail me out if the world shatters as it has many times. Your annoyance on how relentless I must be to know everything possible is probably one of the deepest scars I have and in essence, it's what holds me together.
Here with this individual far away from the world that I relentlessly save, the same world that crushes me with an indifference that I to this day will always find personal I attempt to do what I can not: trust. Every second phrase I speak is one that betrays me and offers the woman with notepad in hand scratching away insight that I never share with others. I share intent, need, and reasoning.I expose more than I would expose with others, and considering that I have blatantly shared nightmares in many of your times of devastation and woe, if only to show you what many can survive if only you have the will to endure and strive, and shared moments of my life some would only hold dear and share with those of trust, none of this shames me in the least. I am in control. I have even disrobed in front of you and find my body of no importance or intimacy. I've shared sexual escapades and moments that would cause medical doctors to pause.
Yet never out of trust. Only from an abandonment of what most would consider personal. I do this much like one would take their hand and stab a knife between the fingers, in a show of disregard of one's being and no concern for one's safety, as long as I am the one harming myself. It scares many away, as intended and it offers me an open existence, but nothing more.
I exist. Nothing more.
I never trust, so in this room, I expose myself to this other person with more shame and fear than one would reserve for an intimate meeting of a sexual nature. Here I leave myself vulnerable as every instinct, natural and hard earned scream at me to stop. Here I offer another person the opportunity to not only help me but the chance to strike me down in the worst of ways. I do not trust because those who I have ripped apart the part of me that would allow any means of intimacy, bond, or .....I actually don't know what else. So help me, I'm so hindered here I don't know what I lack and it scares me.
I was happy not being human. It makes life easy, but hollow in the way of having something torn from you and only realizing once you discover you don't have the means of being. It's a hell that many of you do not understand and I would never wish upon. If I had ever met someone who suffered my fate I would have offered them a mercy that I always sought. And yet, death never came and I'm living past a point where I should have left you all. Instead, I'm crippled in the worst way and trying to learn how to be at an age where I've gained master above many things. Legends are meant to pass on, not exist past their point where the sacrifices are so blatant that they become a monument of sorrow.
So I expose and remain open until the point that my very nature takes hold of me and raises up defenses to allow me to move on. And yet, I do not medicate. I do not hide away outside of my reluctance to be among you. I sit and I suffer growing pains never felt and fears that haunt me once more. This is the price of trusting someone not among you and have no connection to you.
This is the work I do. This is the hell I face. This is me fighting for a chance to live rather a means of existence.
And now you know.
1057 words. 50 minutes
And this is where I am, IF. I'm going to say that the scientific method is one of the most amazing processes of investigation that can foster critical thinking, skepticism, and a healthy appreciation of fact over feelings. Yet it can not help me where I am at the moment. It can not offer any way to out of where I am. It's why I now can say with much difficulty and hard earned work that I trust two individuals and they both are or were my therapist. In a small room that brought me much joy outside of the need to stare out a window and know that I am not trapped in any enclosed place, I do what I have taught myself out of necessity and survival to never do. Here I allow the person who is sitting opposite of me to engage me in difficult conversation as I handicap myself in every way possible to not challenge, question, or analyze their words, choice of vocabulary, body language, eye movement, tone, and overall meaning including between the lines. I hinder myself, as many of you know having dealt with me since my very nature I have to have the answer. You find it annoying. I find it a life-threatening need. I have to have the answers or at least search for them since it's only me between the worst that can, have, and will happen. I have no safety net, backup, nor do I have anyone to bail me out if the world shatters as it has many times. Your annoyance on how relentless I must be to know everything possible is probably one of the deepest scars I have and in essence, it's what holds me together.
Here with this individual far away from the world that I relentlessly save, the same world that crushes me with an indifference that I to this day will always find personal I attempt to do what I can not: trust. Every second phrase I speak is one that betrays me and offers the woman with notepad in hand scratching away insight that I never share with others. I share intent, need, and reasoning.I expose more than I would expose with others, and considering that I have blatantly shared nightmares in many of your times of devastation and woe, if only to show you what many can survive if only you have the will to endure and strive, and shared moments of my life some would only hold dear and share with those of trust, none of this shames me in the least. I am in control. I have even disrobed in front of you and find my body of no importance or intimacy. I've shared sexual escapades and moments that would cause medical doctors to pause.
Yet never out of trust. Only from an abandonment of what most would consider personal. I do this much like one would take their hand and stab a knife between the fingers, in a show of disregard of one's being and no concern for one's safety, as long as I am the one harming myself. It scares many away, as intended and it offers me an open existence, but nothing more.
I exist. Nothing more.
I never trust, so in this room, I expose myself to this other person with more shame and fear than one would reserve for an intimate meeting of a sexual nature. Here I leave myself vulnerable as every instinct, natural and hard earned scream at me to stop. Here I offer another person the opportunity to not only help me but the chance to strike me down in the worst of ways. I do not trust because those who I have ripped apart the part of me that would allow any means of intimacy, bond, or .....I actually don't know what else. So help me, I'm so hindered here I don't know what I lack and it scares me.
I was happy not being human. It makes life easy, but hollow in the way of having something torn from you and only realizing once you discover you don't have the means of being. It's a hell that many of you do not understand and I would never wish upon. If I had ever met someone who suffered my fate I would have offered them a mercy that I always sought. And yet, death never came and I'm living past a point where I should have left you all. Instead, I'm crippled in the worst way and trying to learn how to be at an age where I've gained master above many things. Legends are meant to pass on, not exist past their point where the sacrifices are so blatant that they become a monument of sorrow.
So I expose and remain open until the point that my very nature takes hold of me and raises up defenses to allow me to move on. And yet, I do not medicate. I do not hide away outside of my reluctance to be among you. I sit and I suffer growing pains never felt and fears that haunt me once more. This is the price of trusting someone not among you and have no connection to you.
This is the work I do. This is the hell I face. This is me fighting for a chance to live rather a means of existence.
And now you know.
1057 words. 50 minutes
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