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Pain
11 years ago
General
They say that you made me in your image.
But how can you be perfect if I was?
How can a holy man look me in the face and tell me that I was made perfect and in the essence of your glory when all I can see are the shot gun shells and fallen dreams of a million lives around me?
I've seen it everyday. It's not easy to forget, or easy to miss. You used to open the newspaper and read it but now it's blasted from the walls of the Internet like an endless cacophony that won't stop!
People that've been murdered and hurt, children that are starving and dying, wars that are carried out without fear or retribution or absolution because you made us that way. Because supposedly, you made us like you.
So what does that make you? Does it make you a sociopath? Does it make you a rapist? Does it make you some strung up, drug-abused asshole that rapes his little daughter while she cries at night and wishes mommy would come and take her home to heaven with her?
"But no, he gave man free will."
That's the response.
The empty response.
And what a funny response it is.
Man, the very thing that has made life impossible for me. The gender of oppression and war, of passion and violence, of hate and aggression, of hope and lies! The gender that held a knife against my throat when I was nine and violently fucked me. The same one that got drunk and raped me in college because he didn't want me to have any other people in my life, he wanted me all to himself, and I was too afraid to call out and ask for help. The gender that calls me big man and big Jon because it doesn't already hurt enough to want to be unseen but can't be because of my form, my statue, my broken facade.
Then what about the people that made the choice to be good? All the social workers and big time government players that sit behind a phone bank and tell you to go to a website, a thread of lies, to wait, to be patient, to see if something comes in the mail so you can wait and see if the roof above your head vanishes or not.
Where was the manual when we were born that told us that life was more pain that good? Where was the sign emblazoned with characters, in bold, in italics, underlined in deep red that said, "you have no fucking hope!"
It wasn't there, they never warned us. They just told us we could be what we wanted to be as long as we kept reaching and trying, but when your knees break and you fall and you can't stand up or lift your hand what's left?
There's nothing except anxiety and panic. There's pain and it will always reverberate through me like sound goes through a cello made of wood that was selected, but that could be easily rejected and thrown away! Because there's always going to be a better model, a better person, someone who can withstand the winds and doesn't remember the pain! Someone who can process the sorrow and neglect and disappointment and carry on like a soldier, lock step, while I can't even pull myself out of a recliner and into a shower without feeling like I'm gonna faint!
And then there's the fear. The fear of the man that they made in your image. The fear of going into public and the fear of tight spaces. The fear of being forgotten when you can't make friends because your heart can't open wide enough to feel trust, because when it does it only finds empty promises and broken dreams. So they tell you to fill out the forms, wait in line, be patient, and nothing ever comes. Not because you don't need it, not because it's not obvious, not because they can't provide it but because they can dangle it in front of you like a steak in front of a starving dog. Because they like to watch you suffer.
Don't even try to taste it, don't even try to take a bite. The closer it comes the quicker it slips away. And then when it's gone that smell remains, and you crave it, and you take pills to pretend like it never existed. But then one day the pills quit working and you realize that you reached out for help too late and the help isn't gonna come in time. You're gonna watch everything you built wash away, because of one foolish decision here and another one there! Because life isn't about forgiveness, it's about pain!
And that pain... is all you're ever gonna feel.
But how can you be perfect if I was?
How can a holy man look me in the face and tell me that I was made perfect and in the essence of your glory when all I can see are the shot gun shells and fallen dreams of a million lives around me?
I've seen it everyday. It's not easy to forget, or easy to miss. You used to open the newspaper and read it but now it's blasted from the walls of the Internet like an endless cacophony that won't stop!
People that've been murdered and hurt, children that are starving and dying, wars that are carried out without fear or retribution or absolution because you made us that way. Because supposedly, you made us like you.
So what does that make you? Does it make you a sociopath? Does it make you a rapist? Does it make you some strung up, drug-abused asshole that rapes his little daughter while she cries at night and wishes mommy would come and take her home to heaven with her?
"But no, he gave man free will."
That's the response.
The empty response.
And what a funny response it is.
Man, the very thing that has made life impossible for me. The gender of oppression and war, of passion and violence, of hate and aggression, of hope and lies! The gender that held a knife against my throat when I was nine and violently fucked me. The same one that got drunk and raped me in college because he didn't want me to have any other people in my life, he wanted me all to himself, and I was too afraid to call out and ask for help. The gender that calls me big man and big Jon because it doesn't already hurt enough to want to be unseen but can't be because of my form, my statue, my broken facade.
Then what about the people that made the choice to be good? All the social workers and big time government players that sit behind a phone bank and tell you to go to a website, a thread of lies, to wait, to be patient, to see if something comes in the mail so you can wait and see if the roof above your head vanishes or not.
Where was the manual when we were born that told us that life was more pain that good? Where was the sign emblazoned with characters, in bold, in italics, underlined in deep red that said, "you have no fucking hope!"
It wasn't there, they never warned us. They just told us we could be what we wanted to be as long as we kept reaching and trying, but when your knees break and you fall and you can't stand up or lift your hand what's left?
There's nothing except anxiety and panic. There's pain and it will always reverberate through me like sound goes through a cello made of wood that was selected, but that could be easily rejected and thrown away! Because there's always going to be a better model, a better person, someone who can withstand the winds and doesn't remember the pain! Someone who can process the sorrow and neglect and disappointment and carry on like a soldier, lock step, while I can't even pull myself out of a recliner and into a shower without feeling like I'm gonna faint!
And then there's the fear. The fear of the man that they made in your image. The fear of going into public and the fear of tight spaces. The fear of being forgotten when you can't make friends because your heart can't open wide enough to feel trust, because when it does it only finds empty promises and broken dreams. So they tell you to fill out the forms, wait in line, be patient, and nothing ever comes. Not because you don't need it, not because it's not obvious, not because they can't provide it but because they can dangle it in front of you like a steak in front of a starving dog. Because they like to watch you suffer.
Don't even try to taste it, don't even try to take a bite. The closer it comes the quicker it slips away. And then when it's gone that smell remains, and you crave it, and you take pills to pretend like it never existed. But then one day the pills quit working and you realize that you reached out for help too late and the help isn't gonna come in time. You're gonna watch everything you built wash away, because of one foolish decision here and another one there! Because life isn't about forgiveness, it's about pain!
And that pain... is all you're ever gonna feel.
But i don't want a better model o.o;
this one is special and important!
I know it won't be the same without you, but I sure hope it'll be ready for when you come back!