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Realization
15 years ago
I came to a real, true conclusion. I'm fucking useless and not good for anything. Anything. I can't do anything right. I try to help people and come out the pariah every time, making things worse and being hated for it. I can't keep a stable relationship, I can't draw consistently, I can't write in a awy that makes sense to anybody else, I can't edit because I get too fucking distracted, I can't get a real job since I can't actually pay attention in a learning environment and I forget almost all of what I learn anyway. I can't even see things clearly. I have no real talent worth noting, I always make things worse than they really are, and I cn't control my temper in an argument, always making me look like the one at fault and the one who's an idiot--and always when I'm the one who's right. My reputation isn't big at all (although I delude myself into thinking I am at least noticeable to others, which I'm not, even in the slightest), I compusively steal things from people and don't return them (I can't fucking help it), I eat too much (I don't gain any fucking weight, but I burn through my pantry too fucking fast), my voice is horrible (which disqualifies me from singing), I can't get my ideas down in any way, and I'm generally too involved in my own stupid imaginary events to really notice what's going on around me in real life until somebody starts to shout at me. My only real friends are my imaginary ones, and even they aren't there for me when I need them the most...none of them except one, and I always push her away...never give her a chance to voice her opinion...she's a real person with real thoughts and feelings, even if she is imaginary...and I never listen to her. I should have--if I did, then all the shit I got into could have been avoided. I'm morbidly obsessed with death and painful things, and I sometimes think that I'm addicted to the feeling of loneliness, betrayal, heartbreak, and sorrow. It's like I can't get enough of it, even though I hate it so much when someone leaves me...it happens so often, but not fucking often enough to make me feel satisfied...I don't want to be satisfied with that....I need help, but nobody will ever give it to me. I help other people but in the end they leave me for dead as if I never even existed to them, or as if I was just a fucking tool to get to what they really wanted. That's how most of my relationships end. I can't even tell when somebody is joking or if they really mean something, and I start a fucking fight over it. I can never sleep...I wake up late and miss appointments and school over this stupid fixation on things that I can't even begin to explain or understand myself. My only real solace is in music--not in making music, since I don't have and never will have the skill to actually make music--but in things like Renard's works, or in Bush or 3 Doors Down. Renard especially, though...I listen to his lyrical works like the Figurehead album and Take Me To Space And Back, and I can never get over how extensively and perfectly they mirror my real thoughts and feelings...if it weren't for his music I probably woudl have killed myself a long time ago. I feel like I can only feel at home in a desolate, abandoned place like a post-nuclear Earth, or something like Folsom or the fictional Black Mesa after the bomb had destroyed the surface. Things like The Road are like far off, perfect realities for me. I want more than anything else to become perfect, and my version of perfection is seemingly unattainable--but only because nobody has ever seriously put time and effort into trying to make it a reality. I know how it would work, but fuck if I could ever do it myself or even with help. I will probably never be perfect. Even if it did work somehow, I would be hated and demonized more than I ever have been in the past, and probably hunted down and killed, scared, tired, and alone in the world. The human race is fucking abominable. It really makes me sick. Physically sick. I'm out of steam now...I really can't think of anything else to say at the moment...I'll leave it at this for now. Not like anybody cares about me enough to read this anyway....I need a drink and time to talk to my original love and only truly understanding friend...the one that's not "real". We need to make up for past failures...mostly, if not all, mine.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0jmYZI7RZg
Everybody hurts.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pudOFG5X6uA
I imagined a perfect video for the REM's song: a furrie in a city, somewhere, slowly dressing a body armor, attaching weapons, shield modules, jumpjets, at last a self-destruct fusion core, in preparation for an urban shooting. Somewhere around 2:30 the furrie comes to a bridge and jumps into the city sprawl, beginning a bloody brawl with the police and military, destroying buildings and vehicles, the shooting continues through the city. Then the image stops and the furrie is in his room, looking at the dusk sunlight, content that it's all in his head. 3:55.
The people who use another persons as a sex tool are just as bad as rapists. But I devised an antidote.
Go to a gay club and have fun!
You have something they could never take away from you. You have yourself, your body, and they also have their bodies, shivering bodies in need of touch. Because all the single people are in deep need for someone else. They may deny it, stick to the bottom of their heads and forget it, but it will come back anyway. You - you can give them what they need, and thus you don't lose anything. Somewhere in your chest there's a large dam waiting for someone to pull the cork. Once you realize that well of love is endless, you are practically free. Remember to stay safe, that is.
It's hard for me to think of a solution with so little info, but usually it's good to know that all you need is in yourself. All the thoughts, all the emotions, are just animal memes playing in the meta-forest of your mind, but you alone are more stronger than those thoughts. You alone are the sole master of sorrow and delight, of despair and ecstasy. You can make it happen.
Here's a practice: imagine it's the last day of your life. What you do?
For myself, I'd call a guy I know from highschool and admit him that I had a huge crush and that he can come by my place if he wish. If he refuses then I'd go to a friend I know is gay and fuck him until his eyes pop out.
I wish I could help you anyhow... *hugs*
In the darkest of the nights, always remember, there's at least one person in the world who's dreaming of you, wanting you at his side, wishing you well. There is someone who loves you. Even if the world's gone nuts and there are violent bloody riots and civil war fallout and who knows what, even if you did horrible things - as long as you got that quantum of hope in your heart - there's at least someone who cares, someone who's hurt of the emptiness in his bed that should be filled with your warm fur. You're never alone, remember that.