This is a test.

This is a test. I lost my laptop about a week ago and with that I figured well can write but then again I wasn't writing that was I but in an act of odd timing I got a phone.

I tried dictating and riding a post down. Good news, work pretty well. Bad news, I wrote some really Bleak shit. Just a mood I'm in. I know how to scale it back so I did. I guess my therapist is going to be the only one to see that oh, but that's not the point. The point is I can write and it's really easy. Just dictate and let voice right. Looks like I said it immensely easily. Bad news, I definitely lost my filter.

Good luck everyone. I know I'll need it.

Dancing with the Black Dog and Learning to Live for the Future

Part One, Knowing When to Say When 

There is no mystery that December has the uncanny way of pulling me into depression until the first days of January. By then Im usually filled with the desperate anxiety of a caged animal released from its holding, as I run through the days with forced optimism and perceived notions of time being limited. This takes many forms. Returning to the gym after a stressful hiatus of gatherings and the end of the world in the form of closed businesses and empty streets. A drop in stress as sleep is regained to their desired amount and even the streets where I roam become a normalized silence, not in guilt, but of exhausted relief of another seasons end. January is where I get to hit the year as hard as I can to ensure I get away from the lingering death of a dying year.

And yet, January also haunts me as I feel the relaxing tendrils of its predecessor release me to harsh epidermal markings. In my late Thirties, I began to reclaim my efforts with runs as I usually either hit the street in the coldest of cold, the dampest of wet, or if even possible in LA, the hottest of hot, although we have been getting muggy weather that has made our Summers unbearable and some worried about a future Floridian nightmare of humidity and stupidity. 

And yet, it was some 5 years ago I began to see it. Perhaps it was due to the celebrations and smoking shisha a bit too aggressively, as if that is a thing, or that my workouts were finally pushing me past a point that my body can heal from. Either way, I began to cough up blood.  Not as in films where the protagonist gets struck with the force of a falling elephant and yet must continue on in pain. This was more of a cough up of something in the back of my throat. Just clearing what is left after sleep in order to speak and not drive others into disgust. Nothing dramatically deep or effort taking, but just a simple cough as the sink turn that color of crimson that you do not see in everyday life. That color that tells you exactly what it is and where it came from. That color that is almost filled with life and it reminds you of what true blood can do even if you think you are desensitized to it all. 

The feeling of dread and horror takes you. Not words I misuse here considering that awesome can describe a sandwich with no irony these days. Despite word erosion, I mean dread and horror that has been mastered throughout evolutionary times simply reminding you that you were the descendants of mammals that were just a bit too weirded out and started to bolt as those who didn't aid the evolutionary progress of another. That primitive fear of something not right and you are running out of time. 

Having been infected with tuberculosis at the young age of 16, I've learned to not renege of going for an XRay. Immediately without eating or preparing for the day, I returned to my university for one. Even graduating in the Fall allowed me to carry on my underutilized promise of healthcare that my fees usually went towards. In the matter of a day, I received my XRay and while in a room of masked individuals I was told that I was fine. That there are no culture growths and my lungs look healthy and strong. And yet, I questioned why would I spit up blood and to the calming response of those trained in offering the worst of information they simply told me that nothing is wrong. All my tests are fine and perhaps I should keep vigilant as I have been before. I was even complimented on my health and diligence of it. 

This would happen twice more only to realize that I suffered from a nasal infection that wasn't prominent, but is what cause me to understand that my butterfly was the origin of humor instead of my lungs. I've since received meds and now make it a yearly habit of taking the flu shot, something I recommend greatly, yet Im not here to promote proactive health. I'm here to plead my case to something lingering my thoughts, even before Turkey was cooked and bells were jingled. 

I've explained to my nausea what life was in my youth with TB. How it made me resemble those unfortunate souls who survived genocide in Europe after the last fascist regime was finally halted. Im not fond of my image back then and I can say I even avoided looking in mirrors until now. I can even understand why I hit the Pile as hard as I can, amassing as much muscle as a Forty Three-year-old can and why I always run at my highest heart rate even if it is as close to physical death as I can put myself through. Im from the school of proactive preparation rather than reactionary. I am not allotted such a luxury as a reaction. To explain once more the issue of TB, TB is an opportunistic infection. It is never killed off, but slumbers in one's DNA until the host's health begins to falter just a bit. Then it begins to replicate and reform aiding the demise of the host and releasing itself usually in an aerosol cough of the host as they suffocate on their own fluids. No, you read it right, the host....I can drown to death. I can suffocate in gasping breath where my O2 lung capacity is decimated and not able to continue to keep me alive and I will drown in my own fluids. I will one day, if not lucky, drown to death and infect others. This means the moment my health deteriorates not only will I be condemned to this horrid death, but I may even pass it along with someone else. 

Ask me again why Im so antisocial.

Im not joking......

Part Two, Why Are You Doing This To Yourself

So....
Yea.....
I just wanted to know....
*sigh* Go ahead.
Are you gay?
No.
Um.....are you sure?
Yes.
Its ok to be gay.
I know that.
Not even shunned that much anymore.
Right.
But are you?
No.
......not even Bi?
No. 
You're attracted to women?
Yes.
I mean, sexually?
Yes.
As in you want to have sex with them? You are attracted....

[At this point, I can tell you're a bit unnerved at this. This is a close friend having that important talk with me either because they have some attraction towards me, someone asked if I was available and they didn't want to steer them wrong, or somehow my celibacy is just a bit too unnerving for them and they just want me to kick down the door of whatever closet Im in so that they can sleep well at night, I know Im a fucking monster. I know YOU care, but I thought that last time I explained myself, usually in drunked state where I can let my sorror out you would have gotten it. Im in therapy for a fucking reason, but hey, here we go again.

.....also, fucking side note...if Whater her face is fucking interested tell her.... HER....HER...I like pussy, alright....Im a CIS male and I love the vag....shit.....*sigh* just have her have a conversation with me. Give her my text and tell her to just have coffee. As in talk. Shit this high school shit is still in my life in my Forties......fuck me....]

.....Ok, should we just cut to the bone. Im getting tired and I don't want my buzz to go to sadness.....AGAIN.
It's just, me and *name redacted* were talking and we are kind of worried for you.
That Im going to die alone and that no one will take care of me?
Well, not exactly that way.......but yea.
I've been taking care of others since I was 15. I married early for whatever stupid reason you can come up, I married early. I was divorced at 21. I raised my children as best as I could until 2007. Since then I take care of myself. Sometimes miserably. Other times quite nicely. Either way, I'm used to living alone, even while staying with others.
Do you miss it....living with someone?
.....yes...yes I do, but the relationship I was in with my ex-wife was beyond toxic as you already know. The majority of relationships have always been toxic. I never beat a woman or abuse her verbally, but for some reason or another they either cheat or leave. I used to question why or if my behavior is what caused it. Sometimes I question and other times I wonder, especially when to this fucking day there is usually someone looking for me. Someone who still wants to know where the fuck I am so that they can apologize and beg me to return. It's sad. I sickening on my part and I just know that somehow I can understand why it happens. How a great friendship or affectionate potential goes south.
But there was that one woman, the one in the office.
Yea.....well. Every now and then I get hit hard. I see someone I become infatuated with and even have a crush. Im too old to have crushes. Shit, I was too old when I was 12. Either way, it's a nice moment where I actually give in to the pheromones and just enjoy the feeling. But it never goes on from there.
Why.....why would you do that to yourself?
I don't know. *lies*

[But I do. Or at least I do now.]

If I had my way, I would like to be in a relationship. I would like to be monogamous. And yet, I have the strongest notion that Im more than damaged goods. I'm perishable. And I say this with as much therapy as I had, you can't have a future when you have a foot in the grave. Yes, I do see myself this way. Yes, it motivates me to do as much as I can and to correct things that I can. but in truth, it's a heavy load. It's a hard thing to do since I know there is always a day that I have to leave. There will be a day where I have to abandon you. No, not die. Abandon. There will be a day where I will have to excuse myself and go far away and die. I don't know if I will have to take my own life, but it's on the table. I would like to die of old age, but the odds of that are not good. I don't have the luxury to have people at my deathbed. I have the luxury of dying in an isolated ICU where heavily protected individuals have to dispose of the threat and process my remains carefully. I don't have that luxury. If I age until my body can not maintain itself, then I have to die this way.

I don't want that.

So the option is always on the table. If I want to die the way I want to either death has to come beforehand or I have to take the initiative. I have to end my life before the bacterial bomb in my chest goes off. And that means suicide. 

There. I said it.

Im always dancing with the Black Dog]

Part Three, Dancing with the Black Dog and Living for Today

My ex-wife and I had a though back when we were young and stupid. 

Live for Today

This was back when I loved her immensely. Before the abuse. Before the atrocities, she would commit to our children in the name of religion and ghod. Before she would leave scars on us all that would not heal without some painful effort. I loved her. And yet early 90s interracial dating was not the most accepted thing. Half of our effort to remain a couple was fighting against our families and society we never realized that maybe we were not compatible. I learned so many years then that someone may be desirable, even fuckable, but you don't want them in your bed. Some people should remain, friends, even if most think you'd hit it off. Best to keep a legendary friend than to make an enemy in your bed.

That is as best as I can see my ex-wife. If I ignore the fact she is as comforting as a hurricane.

And not just a year into marriage and a daughter born do I realize that I have been infected with TB. I've already explained that ticking time clock and I don't want to give it any more thought. I have to continue today and I rather not fall back into depressions.

Hence my point. 

There are those who live for today and those who live for the future. I'm not the latter, but I'm trying. I don't have much of a future. Those of your closest to me know that I have a lot against me. Its why you're so proud of me and what a few years confiding to someone what I would rather eat broken glass than to tell you. I'll admit I carry a heavyweight, but if you work out with it, it feels like nothing. I'm your heaviest friend. Im the one who you can't be around for too long because I start to make you think of the hard questions and no one likes to think about. The questions I had to answer in my teens. 

Even the way I love you is to protect you. I've always been a Dad, some of my happiest years. I'm used to giving you that support you need and to spoil you when I can and to give unconditional love is not as hard when its all you can give. And yes, some of you want more. I cant. Or at least I cant now or even ever. I know, I suck, but you have me willing to die in your corner. I'm probably a bad fuck at this point considering the decade of celibacy, but we can have tea and laugh and I can tell you I love you and know that I do in every way. Except for that one. 

Sorry.

And yes, in other conditions I'd would have jumped at the opportunity and then some. Come on, you know what I do at an opportunity and only some of those stories are true. Some. What Im saying is, yes I'm totally fucking onto you, but one of us have to think of the future of the other and just....not fuck someone over. Even when you love them. 

Even when you love them. 

I don't have a future. I'm working against that, but its the most core thought I have. I don't have one. I have to cheat and hustle to get what I have now, but I have to look at it as a realist so at least I know what I'm up against. Its what in part makes me wonder why women leave. I can't allow myself to give them a future so they seek it elsewhere. The irony is that I might outlive you all, but the reality is that I will always see myself as something dangerous and broken. Something that should have never been allowed to walk freely or to become a risk. I have to see myself that way because someone who didn't even take the time to think about their actions got me infected and just now I realize that its what has shaped my life and relationships with others. How can you allow yourself to be vulnerable to someone when that can be a health risk. Yes, I isolate myself and I live in a safe quarantined distance and even those of you who have broken me down to the point where Im either too open or trusting or just drunk realize that this has been crushing me as of late. It's nice to feel like people and not as the walking dead from time to time, but it is not my normal. I have to live for today and maybe seed a future I may never reap.

It sucks. 

I have to dance with the Black Dog. I have to wear my pin and remind myself that I'm only a moment away from taking my life if things go wrong. I have to tell myself that I have to give what I can and do as much good as possible all the while keeping my distance from you. I rather leave you with stories than with grief. I don't have much choice in either, but its what I can do. So I joke. I plan of a funeral that will make others envy. I plan of a circus event to show how I felt and now that its over to hope that the survivors who know me will leave me to their memories rather than their grief. Its empowering as much as it is devastatingly depressing.....well, to you. Some of us have to carry the weight. I can either choose not to feel it as I get stronger or get crushed by it. 

Ce la vi, no?

Part 4, Carry On

So what do we do now? Now that I shared what has been chewing on me for so long what do we do now. As for you, nothing. You carry on. You do what you always have done and continue to annoy the fuck out of me by trying to connect and the such. You are not the issue or the problem. I am. I will continue to go to therapy, I will continue to work against time, and I will continue to resolve my fears and concerns so that I can make you and others happy. If I am lucky I can overcome this. If I am able to do so, I will live a long and happy life and do many things I can not believe possible. I've been doing well so far. I just wanted you to understand what I am going through and why Im such a miserable fuck. 

We will not talk about this and I will deny if this ever come to pass. I am holding enough and I do not need to know what I'm doing. I can either do what I can or I can put more thought behind it and that will only make me worse. I have to do what I can to make thing better for you. And maybe for me. Just know, I'm not being difficult to be. That no matter how much I want to be close to you and others that I can not. I have to think about the risk even when I don't want to. That's my life for the past few decades.  You either stagnate and die or you live until you cant. So I chose my death. I choose to push myself until I break. I choose to do what I can and when I cant I wait until I see my opportunity. I keep positive and tell you to fucking shit up when you feel the urge to tell me that you love me and you understand. Im past crying, or at least that is what I tell myself. Crying only take up my time. Yea yea, life sucks, but I can still steal the moment and get what I want, even if I know it may not go well. 

I will do and live the best I can until I can not. Then I will go. Alone and end it. So that I am not dangerous. 

And that is that. Best we had this talk if I fall off the world. Leave me some mystery instead of watching a dying biohazard between glass. You will never see me in tubes, I promise you that. I would not do that to you or me. 

I love you after all. Mystery is sometimes best. Leave me that, no?

I'm saying my goodbye now because I don't have the luxury to say it beforehand. I mean, you have issues if I Irish Goodbye your events, so here we go.

I love you. I have to go. Take care of each other. Be kind to yourself and others. Know what hills you want to die on and when to let go of the petty things. Always floss, say may I and thank you. And make sure the other person gets off twice before you call it. And if you have the chance to make an epic memory for someone else, do that! They'll love you for it. 

.......

Yea......this is good. 

*leaves to walk the dog*

3,496 words.

People waiting for me to leave a closet that I never was in or Tell me why are you not Fucking...

*The following is a satirical view of things that have been said to me, a collection if you will. Names and identities have been removed to protect the identities of individuals as well-meaning as some are, really have to fucking business in what they are asking. Enjoy and if you see yourself here.....yea.....can you stop that shit. Just an idea*


Hmmm.....how to start this one. This one is going to be fun, but I realize you only have one introduction and as many ways as I can start this I can not help to think I have to choose one.

So here we go.

*coughs*

People are really interested in me fucking. They really want to know who I am fucking. I mean, they want to know details. They want to meet people who I have fucked. They want to know outside of graphic details for some, or at least I think they don't want to pry that much, on who I'm fucking. I mean, people fuck and they fuck at a suitable frequency that they want to know you are fucking. I mean, if I was fucking TOO MUCH or what I like to call My Twenties,  then that would be too much fucking. I mean, seriously....why so much fucking. Can you just hit the showers? Can you not fuck too much. I mean, if you are fucking too much then there is an issue, no. Too much fucking is bad as not fucking at all and there should be a reasonable frequency of fucking that will keep you under the radar and just no the talk of the moment.

So no, I'm not fucking at the moment. In fact, this will be my tenth year not fucking. I KNOW! How time flies while not fucking at the moment. I have been celibate, a fancy term for not fucking, for a decade now. And I know its confusing others that I'm not fucking and they must understand why I am not fucking.

Is it because no one will fuck you. No, I have had, have, will have plenty of offers.

Is it because you did something REALLY KINKY that prevents people from wanting to fuck you. No, contrary to popular belief, Im really vanilla, but I do like to please others. A lot, so usually with plenty of consent given and a long talk, Im usually, key word here, willing to give into the desires and needs of others.

Is it because those slutty womens will not fuck you and they embargoed you getting fucked so now you am the mads and have to teach these feminist womans to fuck you or they will all pay! See how stupid it sounds and no, not even close.

Is it because you are secretly hiding an affair or fucking on the sly and don't want people to know cause SCANDAL! No, and you should watch less tv. I've had moments where someone did offer and are in a relationship and I said no. Even a few in open relationships and I still said no. It has alot to do with my....

Is it because you are part of a secret fuck society....NO and stop. Jesus, I mean seriously, stop watching tv!

Then what can it be? Why are you not the fucking. Unless......OH!

I will support you. I believe in your gender choice and or life partner gay thing. Huh...

You know its ok to be the faggo....um...gay, right. Its ok and I will support you. Wait where are you going with this.

I know some cute guys who will fuck you. You like twinks. Bears. Daddies, like you. What do you like? As long as we know you like dick we can get you plenty of dick. No. No, thank you.

But I mean, if you are not fucking women, you must like men...or men who are the womens...or women who are men who are women or that thing I saw on FOX that......STOP! Seriously, stop and listen to me. I want you to listen to me once a fucking again to why Im not fucking!

Then you are gay. No.

But you support the LGBT and many more. Yes.

But you are not the gays. Come on, you really care about the gays too much. I also care about the homeless, runaway teens, the environment, bees, and just not being a piece of shit to others, but it doesn't mean I am any one of those in the community. I have gay friends. Trans friends. Asexual friends. I have Bi friends I care about many people, but I don't have to be one of them to care about them.

And you want to fuck them..No, are you not listening to me.

AH, you are an ashamed homo! No.

YOU ARE! *sighs* No. My first kiss was with a boy. I was 6. I didn't think too much of it. My first kiss with a girl was when I was 15ish. That was awesome to me and I knew I wanted more of that. I knew at an early age I was straight, but it didn't matter to me cause I was busy being a kid and figured if it did come up then I'll be ok with it and such. In fact, you can say I was a late bloomer.

So...wait...Im confused. Are you not gay. Never was, am, and as far as I can tell, not going to be.

So.....wait...never ...... do you find others attractive... No, I found men attractive as much as I found Transwomen attractive. Attraction is natural, but it doesn't mean desire. Im sexually attracted to a certain type of woman and oddly enough my taste have branched through the years, but that doesn't stop me from noticing a man is attractive as much as a woman is. I can pass by and look at something I would not eat at a buffet, but have no desire to eat it. It can be nicely prepared and even a thing of beauty, but it doesn't mean I want it on my plate or want it taken away from me and others because I might want it alot. I like what I like and what I don't I don't. Doesn't stop me from saying what is attractive or not.

Wait...Im confused...did you just say you are gay. Im not gay. Just going to have to believe me. And if I was Id still be celibate because my celibacy has nothing to do with what I find sexually attractive.

Ok, then why are you not fucking, Why...

And it took how fucking long to get here.....shit, man.

In truth, a decade ago my social life was....chaotic. It was abusive and unhealthy. It was really bad and I knew I need to do something about it. The easiest thing was to stop having sex and to remove it from the equation. It did make my life easier and I realize I had a problem. I assumed all relationships were as bad as mine were. In fact, I realized through some of you that your relationships were healthy and I knew mine were not and was not normal. So I stopped. I had a long series of abusive relationships and I didn't want to be abused or even become abusive. I didn't have boundaries and it caused me hell.

In the past decade, I have worked through a lot and even Crazy Doc understand why I am celibate and if there is anyone who wants me to start fucking, it would be her, but oddly enough for the right reason. In fact, she's not fixated on me not fucking. Shes fixated on my lack of trust with others and that I can not place myself in a vulnerable position with anyone even if I was in dire need of help. I don't see myself as a person. I don't see myself as a valued person. I don't see myself with needs as a person and if I do not work through that I will only return to the harmful effects that caused me to be celibate.

I fear any form of intimacy because intimacy was used against me.  I can not repeat this enough. I'll even make it simple my love was used against me to hurt me and others around me and Im unweary in doing that ever again. Because someone caused that cycle I have been used by others. I have been mistreated and even led to believe that this is what love is. It's something nice with a side of abuse and emotional scarring.

That's why I went celibate. I didn't want to continue that cycle and I wanted some control over my life and the easiest thing to do was to shut myself down as a sexual being and just eliminate that out of my life in order to get things on tracks. Its why my therapy is now poking this bear. I've worked and healed so much that now I have to face why I am celibate and attempt to believe that there are women, yes I am attracted to women, who are not abusive or manipulative. That I CAN have what you all have, a healthy relationship void of abuse.

So....can you understand why Im not fucking...

......Id fuck you....you know, if I didn't think you were gay. Unless if its a threesome, then I think I can get down with that....that would be hot...

*raises hands in the air and walks away*

When survivors maul the victims

I was vagabonding it on Saturday when NPR had a talk about suicide on the view of the survivors. I couldn't help getting a bit angry as I listen to an analogy given by a writer whose father took his life very young at her age and who resented his ....cough....choice....in not existing anymore. Even her analogy was a bit hostile in my case. Being from either Minnesota or some other frozen hellhole, she compared depression to being lost in the snow storm while suicide just the individual becoming tired of not being able to see clearly and decide to lay down in the snow to sleep their life away. Often times she remarked that they were just feet away from home or shelter or whatever example of safety they wanted to frame it and.....here it fucking comes.....if they ONLY had just A LITTLE MORE FAITH and given A LITTLE MORE EFFORT none of this would have happened.

This still pisses me off. I initially yelled back at the Well-Meaning White People that just fucking frustrate me each and everytime they fucking miss the bigger point, screaming out something in the range of Fucking daft bitch, they gave all their faith and all their effort and they still died, in heartbreak and horrific disappointment that they could not be saved! Hell, no one came out for them. No one lit torches. No one made any fucking attempt to save them if I use your fucking analogy. And yes, even though the end result of suicide is that the loved ones and those closest to the victim, Im going to use the word victim here, have no idea and its almost a betrayal to THEM that they took their own life and it's their fault that they did it, everything we honestly know from suicide is based on those who remain and not of those who take their lives simply because the dead tell no tales and what clues they leave behind are usually hidden to protect the privacy of the family.

That's some one-sided bullshit. I know because I was going to take my life. And I was trying to find a solution to my issues outside of taking my own life. And if it wasn't for a mentor taking his first I would have not reached my radicle assumption that I will always leave those who have no idea or are blatantly oblivious to reach conclusions without them know. And often time a note is not enough to express what happened and why this was the only viable method at conflict resolution.

It's almost an insult to many who have taken their lives and I know being someone who stood on both sides of the fence. I understand that I stand here no screaming at the radio at all the well-meaning insult of well deserving victims who had to continue and who are tainted with the view of if they only know how their selfish choice cost everyone one around them. 

With immense respect, fuck all of you and I hope there is a special place in your personal hell where your lost one gets to confront you and tell you of their pain and anguish for all eternity.

Just a week ago it hit me. The perfect analogy for suicide. It encompassed everything I faced and felt and how close I was to take my own life. People with depression or some other mental illness are in a high rise on fire and at first, there is no sign and no symptom. And more and more as the fire builds and gets worse the occupants are forced to go higher and higher, not because it's logical or the best thing to do, but because the fires are so immense that the pain of burning forces them to move away and up is the only way to go. All the while they hope and wish someone helps them somehow while not believing so. I mean, who can not see their building on fire. Maybe they see and it's not a big deal. Maybe everyone building is on fire and Im the only one who can not control the flames. Why are my sprinklers not working? Why am I going through this? What have I done for this to happen?  Why am I not getting help and why is no one coming for me. Am do I deserve this. I can get out, I'll just keep at it. And you logic your way through it all until you reach the top and there is no other place to go and you start contemplating the hard questions. Should I let the fires take me or should I jump? How painful is it going to be to not jump? Why didn't I run through the fire then when now there is no chance of getting help. What will I do?

This is why people make plans and continue with their lives until somehow they just die. I was supposed to have brunch with them the next day. I was going on a trip with them. I just booked time off for our visit or was just at their birthday. Why would they do this?

In the end, they may have jumped. The fire forced them to jump out of reaction. They were consumed by what causes them so much pain and they pass. These are the questions they ask but not how come we didn't see their building on fire. And in honesty its because its a shame to show your building on fire. Mental health is still taboo. No one wants to come out and say I distrust my senses and I need help because I can not think straight enough to not cause myself immense pain. I can not hide it any longer or worse.....everyone ignored me until I took my life. And in the end, they reaped the sympathy and help that someone else so direly needed.

Suicide is the inferno consuming your building and forcing you out of it, either by horrific reasoning or by instinct to not be consumed by it.

There.

Not poor me. More poor them. Awwww.....they would never know how great life is and they missed out....because they made a choice...Seriously, how fucking shitty are you. This has nothing to do with you. They took their life and out of your own need to protect yourself you place the blame on the dead. You feel better, but it doesn't prevent those who die. And it doesn't prevent others from dying.

Seriously, fuck you. Im sure your father would have loved not suffering and not taking his life. Duh. Everyone would have. I know I would have. And if it wasn't for someone else who took their own life before me, I would have not understood that those of us who suffer in silence will only make ourselves the villain of our own tragedy. Yodon'tnt win. You just stop feeling the pain. And much like Milton's Satan, you're already doing to be made the villain then why not end it all in style and go out screaming.

I did.

I said to my best friend, Im not doing well and I wanted to take my life if not for X doing so before me.

Regardless if he believed me or not, I said it. And then on I kept saying it. And I screamed it. And I yelled at anyone else who would listen that I am not well and I jump rather having it consume me.

And then, someone heard me. I got help. Those around me didn't or couldn't help because they and I don't know how to. Or how to deal with it. Our generation who sees condoms are normal and not as a way to not die, still has much to learn on what will keep us from not dying. Then it will be normal.

And yes, that path to normalcy will cost us more lives. That's the horror, much like condoms needed to be normal.

I don't know how to end this. I didn't even think I was going to write about this.

So...yea.....end.

Its not that I dont know as much as I dont have anything to give.

My back is throbbing a bit.

Durning the past month or so, I helped two friends move homes and that has most definitely has tweaked my lumbar a bit. It's not in full pain, but it's in a place where I know that if I don't take some time to heal it, I will make it worse so, Im in a recliner when I should be going to sleep for work and Im here writing again after so many months.

But as you already know, I cant just get to my point. I have to ease it in and attempt to write again. I know its time when I start to write in my head full well knowing that I may just lose what I wanted to say, but may just hope to say it the best way.

It's always a challenge.

Im at the point where I am now blatantly opposing my Crazy Doc.

She's a worthy opponent and has spent more than a year at understanding how I think and how I function in my odd logic that never seems to make sense outside of those who spend immense time with me and myself. Im not too worried that I will out think her or that I will fight her on every point, but I have at this point have called her out and asked to check her math.

There are very few things I will take on faith and in fact, I don't have faith in anything other than human beings and for that the point. With her help, I am not suicidal. I am able to create boundaries that I never had before. I am able to disengage in anything that is self-destructive and harmful to myself and even others. My drinking has become an almost nonexistent outside of finishing a can that I used earlier in cooking. She has helped bring me peace and allowed me to forgive others and to care for them without ripping myself asunder. So, please understand I trust her, I believe her to a point, as you will see soon, and respect her word, especially when she stops me from over analyzing everything. If anything she has proven to me to be the closest person in my life and actually have no horse if I live, die, harm myself or become healed.

I don't say this because she doesn't care or that she does not want me to do better, but it's her motive that forces me almost to trust her without challenge. She is not doing this because she needs me to or that I affect her life in one way or another. She is as neutral as an individual as possible. What she says is not loaded or sharpened. She state everything as close to meaning as possible and without any hidden meaning as I can figure. It's this reason why I can say that she has nothing invested in me doing better or worse. No pressure. Fail is needed. Succeed when able. My actions have no connection to her outcome.

Very freeing.

So why am I having difficulty now...

Im having difficulty now because I am in some respect functional and whole. I do have my rough moments, but I am functional. I am able to exist and even relate to most of you. As far as I know, there are no longer many windmills to challenge. In fact, there is only one as far as I can see. And with that, she is trying to unpack my anger. She is trying to unpack my reluctance. My sense of inferiorness towards everyone. My belief that I am just trying to ghost through rather than have anyone offer their belief on what I am worth. She wants me to be happy. I say I am as happy as I can get, which is for the amount of work I put in immense. She wants me to rely on others, a task that I would rather chew and swallow broken glass than an attempt. She wants me to try and reach out to others even if I feel deep in my bones that I am burdening them with myself and is best just not calling attention to myself.

I would rather not speak or cause attention in my general direction if only to prevent me being chased out of town with torches and mobs. And most of you close to me can even understand that I out of everyone who you know, have more than right....more of an authority on how my survival is to seem as small as possible than to get noticed and even have hell itself come for me. Even now I know that my back tightens and aches, I would tolerate it until I cannot endure it. Then I will only adjust my mind and call it fine.

Crazy Doc wants me to believe that I am forcing people away. I told her I know I am. She wants me to stop and allow them to get close. I said no. I can not, if only their own safety and sense of worth, they should not complicate their lives with mine. She wants to know who and when someone made me feel less than myself. I give her a list and with proof of when, how and why. She tells me that there are people who want to enrich my life. And I tell her, I believe her and keep my distance for their good. She wants me to know that there are those who want to make me an important part of their life, that they are trying to get me involved with their existence and nothing would make them happier than to have me there.

I tell her, I know. They are difficult to remove and yet I keep them at bay with even attempts to have them understand that I am not good for them.  She knows my past. What I keep to myself. What I live with. What I exist with. What I accept with no solution as I struggle to endure. And yet, she has an insane idea that this would not limit others to my or my woes. That they would not go away. I tell her that plenty have already and that's with my attempts to keep them near. Now I accept that I am at most a fetish and once people know enough, they will remove themselves in time. And if lucky without me noticing.

Others love me. I know. Others want me in their life. I say, only to a point unless I bring hell towards them. She states that I deserve to be loved. I state that I can not confirm nor deny, but I know that it doesn't work out if I have any say. That its best to be a legendary friend and companion instead of having another person recoil and move on after realizing my life is not so easy to place in their lives as so imagined.

I carry a heavy burden. I carry the burden of others. I carry the hope of many and I know that its too heavy for most to wrap their heads around. I will always be a flash in the pan. An interest. A story to tell and maybe a photo to brag. I am not human even if I wanted to be. I am a hybrid of mule, stone, and despair attempting to drag on towards another day. Never of my choice.

No one would choose this, even for those who love those closest to them.

I will die alone, if lucky. I will have those who will miss me and even tell a story of mine or two. I will have those who will even miss me and realize when time has past and things are complete that I have done much, not because I took it as my duty or chose it in some romantic gesture towards Greater Romantics, but as simply needing to be done. That takes a heavy toll that so many years ago, most would not want to endure. Very few love the infirmed or those with limited time. Most will also shun me in such a way.

I know people are not evil or even cruel or difficult. I know I ran into the worst at a bad time, but yes...I walk with a taint that no matter how many magnificent and fantastic benefits I bring along, I am not one to be chosen outside of a happy distant. One does not go into the pound who the lame or the weak unless they suffered their own afflictions.

So......yea...I can not believe in fairy tales or a happy moral when my life has been without such lighthearted and careless joy that even if I wanted to I would never be able to comply as much as those in wheelchairs can simply get up and run.

I will go. I will disagree and I will allow myself to listen to such Amazing tales of redemption and love. I just won't wish upon any star.

Best as I can do.

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.