I did this to me. I will probably do it again. It will probably kill me. And it may even be worth it....so, yea.....that.

*Most of you won't read this. Cause it's too long. Im ok with that. It's not on me if you finally get me to share and you say.......nah.......too much reading. I mean....fuck that shit.....So I'll warn you now that you probably won't get the payoff you wanted for the investment.

So yea. That's why we don't have coffee together. If you call yourself a friend you have to endure this shit.....because I can talk or write.....until I have no strength in me to do....so yea.....warned. Im good with it. Its a natural filter and I don't have to endure tedious contact.

I already lost most of your with the word tedious. So, yea.....warned*

It's funny, really. All of it is funny. Especially when I have a tendency to forget and usually make an attempt to broaden my horizons.

I watched a recipe for the most amazing food. I always wanted or figured that I can do something culinarily awesome at times and always wonder why I never attempted it before. Usually, I question why and wonder what were my limiting factors and how come I was so limited to trying things.

So I take a chance. Don't ever say I don't take chances, especially since every train wreck of a life decision I have ever made was due to taking a bloody chance. In fact, the only reason why I have made any progress was relearning to take chances after a good couple of decades of train wrecks that somehow still haunt me to this day, most certainly involving a woman who said I mattered the world to her, sometimes a cult, and mostly someone who believed I was too big for my britches in thinking I was should be human.

So don't say I don't take chances. Cause I've taken all of them only to realize that a small decision has always caused me more pain that I could imagine and why I am known to mull over decisions and choices with patience *read, stubbornness* and analytical prowess that involve at least seven to ten steps ahead of any choice, even as mundane as what should I have for lunch.

That's why we're here, no...my choice....why I am in a world of pain and reminded of old rules that should be considered laws since I more than dread that moment of clarity when you realize you did this to yourself. That your choice of food, time or even companionship if causing your anguish in which your own analytical mind is constantly lacing all the factors on why you do not do A since A will lead to F in a natural progression that you cant even justify in not understanding.

What am I trying to say.....not to try things....not to be bold? Not to say good morning to the blond pixie that is trying her best to interact with you in some way to cause you to mumble more than 6 words at a given time. To order the dish that you wonder why you are not enjoying it lately because you adore grapes. Or that realizing that you should trust those around you. You can not out logic yourself out of pain and error, even if your choices cause you immense suffering, such as this moment.

And yet, here we are as I attempt to contemplate why I am here.....again. The same place where I am wondering why this is happening to me and what I have done or negated to do to cause this moment. It always comes to me, you know. I can not control the universe, but I can control my interaction. Or my understanding of it. Or how I should endure it as life decides without my input to cause me to endure what I am now and other times. And yet, I am feeling different. I will say hello to the pixie. I will take chances to be here again. I will order from the back of the menu and try things that will cause me to endure once more, not due to recklessness or my trademarked suicidal tendencies, but just because I forget why I cannot enjoy something that causes me joy, even for a moment if only to cause me a degree of suffering. So I do have ice cream or real cream in my coffee if I choose it. Some things are worth the pain. Some things are worth enduring and showing someone that you can try something you crave or even need, even if you are doubled over in ever-growing anguish.

So yea, Im stupid. I am stupid because I wanted to join the experience and share something with others. I chose this. I suffer the consequences. I will probably do it again, even if I suffer it again or am uncomfortable or have to find a creative way to tell that adorable pixie that I am a bit broken to envelop her in my arms and no, that doesn't make me forbidden fruit because I rather not complicate her existence and these choices keep me out of trunks.

But, yea.......the white miso I bought. The nice stuff from Japan that I chose over price and wanted to make my existence a bit nicer. I cant have that. Cause soy. And it causes me the worse and most enduring pain for the next 8 hours. I forgot I could not have it. Any of it. In any form. Because fuck me. and 8 hours of the most stomach screaming pain.

This is my life now.

I wonder if the pixie likes jasmine tea

Not Worth the Trouble

I realize I cant do this anymore.

Its close to two thirty in the morning now as I give up on going back to sleep. I was fine until I had to wake up to relieve my heavy bladder. Usually, then the rush of thoughts flood my mind more focused on aiming and no tripping. Its been like this for a while now, more lately as I try to block all of the flooding ideas trying to pull me out of a deep need to slumber to what I am doing now.

It's not until now that I realize that the thoughts in my head are the thoughts I avoid until my stomach or some other physical manifestation comes in and forces me to stop. Being two years in therapy has helped me realize some things that I constantly do. One of them is to bury my emotions to the point I can not register how I should feel until I usually run it by someone. This is a lot more frequent occurrence now that working with the Crazy Doc has taught me to open up and actually communicate, a miraculous act that somehow causes others who have known me for decades to become slack jaw in awe.

Either way, through some consistent patience not my own, I have developed the ability to actually open up and be forward with my thoughts. A feat that has reduced my reluctance on alcohol as a coping mechanism. Yet with all progress, there are some setbacks. One being that even though I am once again open to pour out what I once repressed to those I feel close to once again, I still have no means of gauge emotion. In that, Crazy Doc has been both patient and nurturing in this, allowing me to read her emotions only after telling her what I am thinking. A few times I have caused her to shed tears only to look at her shocked and wonder why she showing sadness. It's a regular thing to stop midway and exclaim that she's feeling this or that emotion and therefore I should be feeling this or that even if I feel.....nothing.

Like now. Something is bothering me and I cant go back to sleep. I have work in the morning and I can not go back to sleep. My mind flooded with thoughts that I put on the back burner for a moment of time that I can deal with them only to not be able to and only realized this when the fire starts on the stove. A stupid analogy, but even now I realize I can not tell someone that I feel this or that. I have to find an example to cause emotion in them, only now realizing that I don't have to as I realize that Crazy Doc gets it without me trying to explain something so complex in my mind.

I don't feel emotion as most and Im not as expressive. A safety mechanism that once made the timid child I once was into someone who has to hide almost everything from those who usually negate me feeling anything of the such as some sort of betrayal and not as a natural reaction to being mistreated. How I feel runs so deep that I can not understand when I am under too much stress unless my stomach churns acid or I am not able to return to sleep. If this was a decade ago, I would have taken enough hooch to numb my physical self and return to sleep. I cant do that now. I cant and I won't. Not out of some well-earned sense of worth, but because I have lost my defenses and walls and Im pretty much out in the open to be hit with its full force. Nothing pleasant in any way.

Ok, so why am I feeling this way. I finally get to the point of this as much as I hate going around, in some attempt to give you some insight and plead my case because I never think my thoughts or feelings for that matter are legitimate or worth the trouble. I don't think Im worth the trouble. I've been shown that I am not worth the trouble. I have had many an interaction to prove to me that I am not in any way worth any trouble. Im not only not worth the trouble, but Im not worth the effort, the attempt, the intention, and the bother. If there is anything my experience on this planet has taught me is that I am not worth anything. In some twisted sense, I almost can place that measure in with an inch being 2.5 cm. It's a mathematical given and an assumption that has more proof than most scientific theories. I many times believe gravity will work, but I know I am worthless.

When I say worthless, Im not being emotional or even hurt. I've already proven to you that I already have difficulties gauge what I should think I feel much less feeling it. And when I go get hit by an emotion it's usually hard and fast as in knock me to my knees and cause a flood of pain that makes me yearn to not feel. No, when I say I am worthless I am saying that in a measurement of time by the extent of action, I am not a priority nor do I have any monetary value. If I had any ego I would use the word is priceless, but Im as valuable as a happy meal toy at a garage sale.

Yet that is not to state that I am not able to produce value. I have always considered myself a verb instead of a noun because of this. My importance is tenfold when I do, but not at a state of rest. I am amazing when funny and social. I am sweet when I care and support others. I am thoughtful and extensive in my methods and actions. I can awe, woo, inspire and cause happiness when I am doing what I do best. I get that. But I have no value.

I say this because there is some sort of function at work, a graph much like the Uncanny Valley where I am worth something to people when they meet me and I increase in value when they get to know me closely and even worth some great value, much like forgotten and safe blue chips that will always earn you some return if you only let it and ignore it to do so, sight unseen. And yet, there is a plummet. There is a sheer drop where people find me the most important person in their life, usually after they have been into their cups, and they are to the point where they have to in some way or another express that only to allow sobriety to detoxify that sentiment with their induced alcohol poisoning.

It would be hilarious if it wasn't so tragic. Or predictable. I am usually one to laugh at a clown falling down the stairs and even roll on the ground holding my sides as said clown has broken their neck and lost all means of life. There is something almost satisfying about watching a train wreck happen as you laugh at it. It's a morbid pleasure. It's that cosmic joke that seems to pile on and keep hitting you in the same place causing a bruise and pain after so many times. Its that choice you make either break down into madness and woe or to laugh at the audacity of the moment that somehow makes it all too vulgar that the same wound, the same nerve, the same whipping boy, the same punchline to the tired joke just goes with almost a distinctive yet faint sound of sad trombones going wah waah.

So yea. I'd rather laugh.

And yet, this happening has caused me to feel something after so many years.....emptiness.  It is a wretched sensation. Something I never felt even when contemplating my own death. Its a horrid drop of gravity that makes you feel hollow in a T.S. Eliot sort of way. A plastic and fake discernment that you are not real and that you never were. That between tangible human and legend you have become flimsy and fragile, almost porcelain cracked from so much mistreatment, wondering if a strong enough breeze can cause you to crumble. That feeling is prevalent now. Its something I can not ignore and something that highlights how broken I am.

I can not explain it to you. If the action you take in giving a gift or flowers or any token of sentiment to another human being that causes a bond, an attachment towards them all I can say that this moment and the cause of it has made me feel hollow, distant and reclusive. It has made me want to pull away more than I already have. It causes me to make opposite effort to wall myself off of the world and to shut myself to others. Not having worth would be freeing if I had my protections and walls, but I don't. I only have an ill sense of not being able to find enough peace to close my eyes and let sleep take me.

I cant gauge how you are reacting. I cant really feel this moment either. Yet I can contemplate that I am worthless again. And yet, it doesn't feel right. It causes me to question why for once. I never declared myself anything important or even special. Odd maybe, but never special, not even in a Raph Wiggum sort of way. Just worthless. But I can not comprehend the actions beforehand. Am I elusively important.....do I shine enough for someone to stumble and make themselves known in grand gestures only to be examined closely and tossed aside. I don't know. I honestly don't.

Yet, I can say my curiosity is tickled. And come Tuesday I won't hold a front against trying to find those answers anymore. I won't tell Crazy Doc that I don't care if I don't find out why others find me repulsive or worth to be placed forgotten on a shelf next to dead plants. I think I want to know now. If only to make it stop. To be truly worthless. It doesn't hurt that someone has once again tossed me aside once more. It hurts that they once thought I was worth picking up.

That's what kills me.

Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Twenty Three: Don't You Want Somebody to Love

This year marks a decade since I've been celibate.

HA.....I wonder if my High School English teacher would be proud knowing I can finally figure out a topic sentence. Sorry, I'm not in my cups and I have to find the ways to cut to the bone and get to what I want to say. Therapy works and I am a lot more open, but I still find it difficult to talk about heavy topics in our small little gathering. Ok, more like I need to sort out some thoughts to function tomorrow and I haven't been stretching my literary mind as much as I would have liked.

So I'm doing this. Or at least trying. Please have mercy and patience with me, I don't have my old defenses and its hard talking about this. So back to this.

It's now a decade. To say that I don't miss sex would be a lie since this is the most popular question on I get when people outside of WHY. As much as I hate to admit it I am not made of steel and I have the same biological urges that most humans have. And yet as loaded as the question is, I never had an issue with sex. Fucking is not that complicated and its almost easy by the numbers if you can find the willingness to take part in whatever engagement you want. I mean, it's almost as simple as filling out a form and stating what you want, how you want it and how you want it to end.

Sex was never an issue, but contrary to popular belief, I don't like feeling empty. And in my time I come to learn that empty sex is kind of like a protein shake satisfying and has a purpose, but it doesn't fill you up as having something that makes you happy. In truth its never been the function that got me, but how I usually felt afterward. I am a softy. Or old-fashioned. Or to be blunt not lust driven. I learned that when in my young days I've come up with a composite of who I am attracted to and I can state that I have never met her. Everyone who I have had any relations with does not fit the bill enough to say without outliers that I am someone who is more attracted to who you are than what you look like.

I like people. No, I will be honest, I love people. I honestly do, but much like soy, grapes, and milk no matter how much I would adore them, they have a way of making me feel miserable even to the point of death. I tried. Some would say that I was really an optimist who has been torn asunder into a pessimist. An overt attention seeker who has become introverted due to a woman ripping me apart.

Partly true.

I'm kind of tired so I'll just cut to the fucking bone and get on with it.

I don't have the best track record with women. Whoever's theory it is there is much substance there, although the stories are never straight. I'm not gay, bi or poly. If truth be told, I'm rather old-fashioned and like to be committed. I never cheated or played with the hearts of others and I was never down with opp. *Ha....I am old!*

And yet, if I told people what my main issue is, its trust. I don't trust anyone and with my time on with Crazy Doc, I have to say that I am open to being defenseless if I finally know that people can not hurt me. I can be open if I know I won't be torn apart and used. In my time I can say that I have gotten my life out of the jaws of depression and actually discover my life IS livable. A huge change from survival and fighting the Big Black Dog. Crazy Doc even thinks I can deal with being intimate with others and right there and then, I hit the brakes and say no.

But why......why no to that idea...why not be open to being loved and loving back without fear of being .....I don't know....hurt....miserably hurt. Well, I'm kind of there at the crossroads and I wonder why I would or would not. Why I would try and why I would cringe once more and make it a solid twenty years. I mean why would I have an issue with being touched. Why would I have to pull back and not flirt with others or simply take the offers of sex from the happy willing?

.....

If I have to say, I have been the fucking block. I am the block and you all go around me. I may not be as sexually adventurous as most would think, but I don't have much reason anymore. If I can state what my life was all those years ago, it would have to be chaotic. Ever meet those people that are just pure train wreck. I mean, I'm not going to say I traveled the easy path of life, but I will say that I have never been scared of a challenge. It's just now that I am learning that life shouldn't be so hard. That it's not always filled with pain, drive, and adrenaline. I once told a friend that I would never have the white picket fence in my life and its not because I never wanted it. I like the idea of monogamy with joy and happiness and no hint of wretched agony. I would love the idea of sharing the bed with someone who I don't have to worry about hurting me while I sleep. I think that would be nifty.

Just not real. Or at least for me.

Mind you I have done a lot of cleaning house with my mind and I am healthier than before, but some survival actions cannot be undone no matter how I would want them to. To survive as a single father struggling along with so much opposition and miserably few sanctuaries to rest my head I had to give up alot. I am not allowed chaos in my life in the form of a relationship when I have volatile people who need me most. I am not that selfish. That and I learned that just to prevent my children to go without I had to make choices to ensure their happiness and not mine. Is it right? No. But no matter how I want something, they always came first and dad had to be on it even if it means not touching another human being outside of aid and kindness.

Few people have comforted me and usually against why wishes when I was too numb to feel. Nothing more than a tight hug and a whisper that I matter. Never believed it then, but I am trying to believe it now. Either way, it still chokes me up knowing that someone saw how hard it was and understood. Yet, anything more is just.....phantom. I say phantom because it hints that its there, but I know it isn't. There are moments where biology betrays me. I will even say its kind of a welcomed sigh of relief knowing that I am not dead down there and few individuals have aroused me in ways that remind me of my early twenties. I mean that's nice, but a fast heartbeat, flustered speech and a hard-on of steel are not enough.

I met amazing people, but I know that whatever I locked away is still there and even if I feel attracted to someone it doesn't mean anything. I never had an issue getting aroused. I have issues with trust. Much like a tourniquet wound, it doesn't mean that everything is going to be alright. Most of you have tried. You either reached out, set me up *as if I am too stupid to notice*, and even cut to the fucking bone. Yet I can say out of the train wrecks of relationships I have been in, only a miserable few on a hand with spare fingers can count the functional relationships I have had. I'm going on a limb here and say that's not enough.

If anything I have made women despise me in one way or another. Maybe it was them. I'm going to say a lot of it was me, now knowing what I just created boundaries. And yet, can old dogs learn new things and make things better or perhaps my issues are not enough. I am not a believer in the Disney happy ending. That shit is not real and I will go to my grave telling people no one is that loving to work with another persons crazy. Fucking period.

And yet, I have sad haunting moments that happen and all I can do is know they happened and move on. Can Crazy Doc help me here......who knows....can I get things fixed to be functional enough to be happy....*shrugs*.....will I be ok.....I don't know. I honestly don't know. I just know I'm having a hard enough time not dying and trying to rebuild what most of you take for granted.

I'm trying, but even I don't believe I can be happy. Sorry, my track record is just that crappy. My outliers are the best moments of my life and they are hard and bitter still. Hope is too expensive for me and being told people love me is like telling slugs there was life on Mars. Its lost on me and all I will do is not believe and recoil away. I don't even have an idea what I look like or how I am worth attention.
I'm wrestling with the concept of not being in pain and living rather than existing. If anything my curse is living past the age where my legend would be sung and my memory not disparaged by reality.

I would love to be loved, but I don't know what that is without pain. It's nice, but I can not afford fairy tales. Life has taken too much. My body is intuned to numbness or quick reaction to when shit hits fans.

....

I don't have any way ending this to make you feel good.

Sorry.

Why Explain when you can have Squid? or What are you, a reporter?

Been some time since I've sat down and written. Its often time a difficult thing starting again. Sometimes the investment in getting things running is just as exhaustive as simply drowning in your thoughts. That and the strong compelling desire to share all the things is often a daunting task that I'd rather not take.

It's almost like building a sandcastle on the beach and not knowing where to stop. There's always something to add and more to go into. And yet I do have the urge to at least attempt to share something I've been chewing on for the past three or four months, but having to catch you up is much time as loaded as just saying that everything is fine. It's all fine. If you know me well, its just fine is my sad attempt at lying.

So yea. Already into my third paragraph and I still have to focus on a topic or at least a train of thought to steer this piece towards. And once more I'm overwhelmed in a where do I start moment that has me almost loading infinite thoughts in my head causing me to lag at where to start and where to elaborate. So I sneak into it as I am doing now and simply saunter by hoping that you do not question me on anything deeper than me just showing up at your doorstep with no idea where I've been with plenty of squid under each arm. I mean you can question why is this a thing or you can just prep the butter and wine sauce as I slice thick steaks of magnificence.

I mean, come on.... its me. Chances are after this point I may not be back for a long time. I mean, why complicate and make it harder by for me to come back. And with some time.....a long and long time, I can get comfortable enough on how returning a muffin got me on into the much epicness that caused me to think of you and wine butter sauce.

I mean, I did bring squid. Isn't that enough?

And see, somehow I created a false sense of normalcy and we are all still friends here while we enjoy our squid that I can sigh enough and relax and take off my slicker....did I mention I had one on....uh huh.....I did....and you can see the several eels attached to my back. See, I can explain this. And you are more than welcome to ask why I have them there and simply stating that they were mad at something or another and they simply refuse to let it go and on the good side, we have eel. Eels make dragon rolls. I mean, who doesn't like dragon rolls.

And you have your answers, just not the ones you were hoping for and yet you know that they will come. And why I have to keep moving at times since greenpeace honestly frown upon punching dolphins even though they fucking deserve it. And yet, we are having squid and we are enjoying our time together and I am not burdened with the task of having to explain everything. And I can work on the hardest part which is simply returning and sharing on a consistent schedule once again without letting the world take me away from you. Because sometimes its difficult just trying to get back. Harder with even explaining where I've been.

So yea.....hi. I'm backish.

579 words.

When leashes pull you Back

It's been more than a month since I've last written. Not writing is like walking the yard with a leash, no matter how far you get you're going to get pulled in back into the direction of where the leash is pulling you. So much like this leash, I can not stray too long without getting tugged backed to what you need to do.

For me, dreams, nightmares and night terrors take on a surreal approach as they get interrupted at some point becoming so blatantly odd that I know I'm dreaming and I need to wake up instead of enduring the campiness. To give some idea in how odd it has gotten for me the last four dreams, all in the same night was me being covered in hatching scorpion eggs and they all popped out singing, "Hello, my baby", one of my best friends being impaled by a large shard of glass at the throat while refusing the assistance of homophobes because "reasons", contemplating exploding the earth with a button as a small group of people argue the reasons to not do it (spoilers: Tacos save the day), and one dream that had me question everything as someone explained that I could not be part of her personal harem of nerd boys because she has no domain on me considering that I was poly at heart.

Yea....see......all that shit. Same response waking up...." I need to write fucking soon".

So once more, I am here dipping my toe into the pool of thought only to splash shallowly much like children do in puddles instead of plunging in and arching my head out of the water in a Fibonacci swirl of sexiness. I am a child of chaos and doing so would mostly satisfy my urge for extremes, but I must take heart and slowly acclimate to the waters instead of plopping in and shrieking from the surprising chill.

There is much to share and much to say and yet I know I will do no such thing. I want to confess much and yet I should know better to keep quiet on certain things. The reason for my pull from writing is because I was dealing with some heavy issues and it was the only thing I could write about and knowing that is the death of creativity I gave myself the time off to clear my mind and to cleanse my mental palette. And as much as I'd like to share, I can not without unearthing the things I've passed on and kept silent about. I know, very cowardly in some respects, but I have to remind you that I could only write about one thing and that almost made me give up completely. So, what is past is and I try to step forward with what I know now. What I can share.

I'm still struggling with things

I'm working through a lot of things on a weekly basis. Crazy Doc has me working through things that I've never contemplated. There is an emotional void that I had never noticed that in some ways explain why I can not understand certain nuances between people. I understand being told things and explained things, but I am not very deductive when it comes to hints and Reese's pieces trails. I'm too much inside my head and I already have some stated answers where I "know" or "know enough to negate" anything outside of blunt communication. So trying to understand how far this void comes in and how to find a reason to why it's there is something that I can not do on my own and I need the assistance of someone who can pull me out of things if I fall in. So far all I can do is acknowledge it and that is more than enough at the moment.

I don't know what I look like, bit I know how others see me.

I have some issues with mirrors and what I think I look like. There are times where I feel humongous and bulky, almost too large to hide and too obvious to blend in. I don't like this and it makes me feel threatened. It's the equivalent of having a spotlight on me. It makes me crave isolation and dark spots to brood until the feeling either goes by or someone drags me out of my self-imposed exile. Other moments, I feel small. Tiny, dainty, and delicate. Almost glasslike. I feel as if the harshness of a breeze will shatter me into pieces. As if just the right amount of attention will cause me to resonate and crack into dust. So between the two extremes, I try to see what I am and go from there. Not difficult when you don't have an honest idea of what you are and associate yourself with verbs rather than nouns. I'm trying.

I'm trying to do things I would not because there is nothing left in doing what I always do.

I'm trying to reach out. I'm trying to trust people. I'm trying to have patience with people instead of cutting them off early to protect myself. I'm trying to lower what defenses I have left even though they have been down for the past few months and I have been cowering emotionally for the hell storm to come. I'm pulling myself out of the edge of your sight to center while bracing myself for the worse. It seems that I can not endure ghosting any longer or at least until the next person rips me open and reminds me why I crawled myself into the edge of sight in the first place.

I'm trying to see myself as person rather than thing

This is the hardest of all considering that I am not people and have some great difficulty in believing myself to be people.

......

So yea, I guess you're caught up.

So yea.....that. Maybe I can get some decent sleep now.

I doubt it though.

1000 words, 40 minutes.

Keeping away from the Places in One's mind that Scare us all

Writing has always been an organic process for me, meaning that it has more of a flow of movement that I often times can't control even if I want to. For the past week, I've been staring at a blank screen wondering how I would begin to write with others attempts has been made well into a couple of paragraphs when I erase it all realizing that it's not something I want said. Not for the sake of censoring myself, if you know me well, I never censor myself even when people believe I should not say something. These are the moments when I usually cut to the fucking bone and get it out, but it's hard to cut through something when there is nothing to cut through.

The sentences that I know as much as I would know the faces of my children that are perfect sentences that would allow me to pour out everything that needs to be said happen in moments that I am not able to take advantage. The last time was between mile 3 and 4 into my run on Tuesday Morning. It was perfect and inviting and knowing that I was nowhere near any form of writing materials, much less capable of resembling human from a 5-month lapse in my running regiment. I would have placed it up there with the point where you know you are going to win and win big with any offense made mute by months of preparations and the awaiting arms of a lover with only a draped sheet separating us. Not joking. Those magnificent sentences are worth more than my weight in gold or what you'd find valuable. And to see those moments of great brilliance slip between my fingers are the equivalent of hold one's arms wide in giving some idea how large the fish was that got away.

Writing is difficult for me, something I have to be in the right mind or mood to flow without mental opposition. To connect the thoughts that I have been mulling over for longer times than most decide to choose a life-altering path in their future. If there is a more personal thing to me I would not know it. I have changed clothes in the open in front of many who either turned away or simply stared on and sharing my thoughts have always been more intimate than I could imagine. I've befuddled people who'd I shared a bed with only to have them declare me distant and cold when they could not pull the thoughts that I would sometimes chew on for some amount of time. Part of it is that I do not know I'm doing it and others have been simply too lost in the process that would have most consider my existence on the level of some cats who stare off to distances unknown only to lick themselves in a second with no continued exertion of mind.

I've before shared my thought process only to horrify and confuse many who do not realize that when I do have enough nerve to share my thoughts that it's usually to gain some insight to their reaction with a partial or even an impromptu thought experiment. A miserable few have ever been willing to give into the processes I endure daily. Most have to have that mental foot being slammed down, not even willing to entertain things that are disturbing and horrid, never knowing that they are proving my point and would have never considered anything outside of orthodoxy, almost as if they want to hide something bigger than they are willing to admit when I'm more than willing to expose my shame for some reflective insight that can assist in my train of thought. Never things that just get yucks from people like, "wanna fuck a dead body?" or stupid waste of effort in thought, but usually, attempts in placing myself in shoes of individuals that would have made other to cross themselves against figments of imagination when their own dogma does not require it.

I enjoy studying the edge. The place where most have crossed with enough pariah shame placed upon them while others would never go near for fear of it pulling them in and never allowing them to escape. I entertain the thoughts that people believe I have and the moments when words become useless and barbaric acts usually get justified in the end to redeem blood on hands. I subscribe to the Stephen King academy of villains being broken people who are pushed too far and usually are conditioned to being under the heels of monsters. I've met my fair share of family loving individuals who do share some tidbit of their process only to have it chill me to the bone. I've seen grandmothers justify rape as an act of beneficial gain for society. I've seen women condemn their own gender to toil when they have never had a callus. I've seen people who growl and foam at the mouth like rabid animals and wonder if they hold small children and tell them they are loved and protected. I've seen people laugh at some of the most horrifying things that can happen and thank their personal deity for it.

And I'm more than one willing to admit I have been among them and in some cases taken part. It's why I can not help to rethink and rethink the moments that I have been placed in those horrid moments without some inner conscious of telling me to leave as I do now. Most of my actions are often fueled by a guilt had in times of such ignorance that if I spend too long pondering I often times snap out of my thoughts with shock at tears shed. There is few moment of raw evil. The kind that children's tv always tell you exist. For the most, they are people who'd are more than human as must of us are, but somehow will debate you against another individuals or groups conceived humanity and how "they are not like us". Those words always chill. That strong assumption mistaken for law, revelation, or epiphany. Those thoughts that you'd shake your head and tell yourself that it could never be you. You are a good and kind person.

I question, what it would take. What would have to happen to cause you to be the nightmare you'd never want to have. Do you have to lose more or gain some? Would you need to be pushed or coerced even tempted? Would you have to have a way out or know that the one thing that keeps you a good person OR ELSE does not exist and that would naturally become your default setting? If the worst has happened to you would that be the justification? Is breathing justification? Is it by default justification? Would you feel this way 10 years ago? 10 later? Could there never be a moment where you'd simply snap or are simple people who do not share the seal of OKness that you project only susceptible? Are only the weak able to become such or do you have to reduce "good people" to such an inhuman state to be capable of said actions? Are some people simply made of shit or are they conditioned to be shit? These are only a few thoughts I ponder, especially when large groups act out in a way most are taken aback by and mockery is the only thing acceptable by small minds.

Perhaps I'm distant for a reason. Perhaps I'm just an ass. Maybe I have no idea what intimacy is or that my definition of it is something that would never be taken to the definition. I ask these questions now. Therapy is said to work, in which I can not believe, but most have said that there are most definable changes in my persona. I can't tell. I'm deep in and only attempting to find the hard questions I shy away from in hopes of not being trampled on by life once more. I know they exist if only because I am this way and I can not "openly be".

Sometimes I wish I had those perfect sentences like now. They would prevent me from digging up more things that pull me in ways that I'm told are harmful. I never noticed. Then again, I am in therapy and I am learning.

1409 words in 50 minutes.

Aversion to Adjectives and Acceptance in Amending them to Adverbs

I always have some difficulty when starting these out. Not for the fact that I do not have much to say, but I always fight a constant and nagging feeling that no one really cares what I'm writing about. I guess this is why I usually wait for the most interesting of moments to share, the kind of moments where I'm given advice from sex workers, climbing through windows, and having to hold someone's hair while they expel all that demon hooch that they have ingested in a guise of being absolutely fine. Oddly enough, with this writing exercise of getting to a minimum of 1000 words and learning to write frequently I"ve come to the point of not spinning a story that pulls people to attention, but more of the random thoughts that I usually share in small confidences only to hear them declare I should share things such as this.

This week is only halfway there has been odd in some way. Once more I'm going to spout a given that should be known that I am odd when it comes to social interactions and cues. I don't understand anyone hitting one me, complimenting me, or even going out of their way to speak to me. Not only do I carry this belief that I'm not worth the trouble, but I honestly believe that it's better that I am left alone. Considering all the work with Crazy Doc I've learned that I have in some way walled myself off from such interactions that do not place me in a position where I offer a service. I'm all too familiar that I see people who I do not know as someone who wants something from me and I want to keep that as blunt as possible. Ha.....if you're thinking that this was the advice from the sex worker, no it isn't. I wish it was, but no.

Yet every now and then new people do squeeze their way into my life even if I do my best to keep them at bay. As antisocial as I can be I can not hide that I have a good cluster of people after more than 10 years had held on and made sure that I could not shake them off, much like a dog with fleas. These people are valuable to me, more than others and oddly enough some friends made their worth more in pulling in people of greater value than themselves, not lying, who I trust more than anyone else. I've always worked with an almost militaristic, mafioso form of loyalty with those who were closest to me, a loyalty that I had in the past had to end if only to survive. I'm not one to shy away from a me standoff for a greater principle of friendship, but I have a strong sense of dying stupidly that keeps me from making my last stand over things that I find so frivolous.

Yea, that's over.

And yet, I am amazed at people and the confidences they have with me. In this week, people close to me have puzzled me with things that I have difficulty in seeing myself. I don't have an image of what I am that I've been told is healthy. It's a mixture of a huge monster with a loud roar and bravado to make most cower, even when I'm simply trying to lay low. The other extreme I'm small and unseen. I'm hidden and I slip through crowds of people, even when surrounded by my companions. A survival reflex where large crowds are simply a dangerous thing if only an ingrained instinct gained from the One Time and people who see me as a threat in their mind built up by people who'd would shoot me on sight. Not healthy. It's why I"m always on the defense and move. I don't enjoy parties or festivities and if I do, someone has to make me comfortable enough that only alcohol has gotten me in the past.

I guess it's why I enjoy house sitting. I get to uproot what weak roots I have and pretend to be someone else. It can also be why I always give another name when asked for one that does not demand personal information, think coffee, although I'd sooner connect that I have issues with remembering names, numbers, and small important information that is not drilled into my head in practice. Yes, I have forgotten my own phone number and name. It's awkward, but then again I live in awkward, hence why I enjoy uprooting.

Being someone else, sitting in a cafe with the laptop out and simply trying to blending in, if not hide. I simply want to see if people will rally the townsfolk and light the torches to chase me out of town. Somehow I build up a persona with known places that may be attached to any legend and only with decades amount of time do people forget me. A small corner, warm coffee, and time alone to people watch helps me build up enough of an immunity to being outside and is needed, yet without it, I at times forget how to go outside and would rather remain in one place and stagnant.

And yet people close to me shock me at times. They want my time. With them. Sharing time and a moment, usually with food without asking me for some great task that I'm always used to. Sometimes they just want me near and I am almost bothered with this. I don't understand people not wanting me in a role, or in a position, or even doing something. To have people accept you as you is a hard idea for me. People who can put me at ease is already hard enough, but then asking for nothing in return can seriously fuck my head. It confuses me. I'm used to being used, but used for me where is not being used? Why? Because of me? Then who am I?

Why me and who am I to you? That's the question that hurts me.

I don't know what people see in me and it's confusing as hell. Every now and then I get snippets from people who think I'm this or that and the adjectives puzzle me because they are usually connected with people with enough confidence to take advantage of those adjectives. I've been called the following, "buff", "sexy", "engaging", "entertaining", "life of the party", and even "amazing", not for the actions that I do, but in reference to the noun and I am that noun.

"That's sexy."

Um.....it's a push-up.....I can see that, but it really focuses on your core.

"That's Amazing"

Oh....this.....took a long time to work on and I had to work at it, but you can do this too.

"Lifting that makes you look buff."

Oh......huh, really? I just lift to lift the things to lift.....you know....like your couch.

"You're so funny. I love hearing your stories."

Yea.....they're hilarious now, but hey if you can learn something from them.

I can deal with that. But I as the noun? "You are _______."? That one is as confusing to me as string theory.

In truth, my work has been trying to build up some sort of persona that isn't ENFORCER or MUSCLE. Even REPLACEMENT. I don't really know what I bring to the table in truth and usually know that if you give me enough time I will master something, but before then I look as if I spout chaos. So.....yea.....just something that I'm trying to understand. That concept of accepting the adjective as a noun instead of making it an adverb. I can be THIS if you give me some time, but I don't think I AM THIS.

.......does any of this make any sense......because it doesn't to me....*Sigh*

1,309 words in 45 minutes.