On Writing (Something i wrote a while ago)

Writing is stupid but I do it anyway.  Why? Because I feel like it.  Is that not enough of a reason to do something?  I’m so sick of sacrificing my needs and desires for the benefit of other people who could literally give a shit about me.  They showed their hand so plainly over and over again before making a bet and all for what purpose?  How dumb is this tactic.  Belittle everything that I am and do over and over again for years.  Yeah I get it, can’t let go of all that shit.  I understand now, no minds are going to be changing anytime soon about me, the most important minds in my life so utterly against me without pity.  I was a poor shmuck for so long before the revelations came at my own behest it seems.  I was asking for it and I received it.  But they just always seemed ready to forgive and forget within the last two and half years that I really did give it an opportunity to normalize again.

It hasn’t, and I know it never will.  This sentiment will never change.  I wasn’t wishing for a clean slate and I really did want to die for the guilt because I couldn’t escape it.  But it was force-fed to me through wily scheming of deranged entities.  My mistakes are my own.  But my real downfall was a combination of oblivious idiocy and pure psychotic behavior that tore the very fabric of who I really am and who I appear to be and is almost impossible to mend.  No it is impossible to mend this, I have to accept it.  I have accepted it.  No manner of polite passivity and non-action can clear my name in their eyes.  Three years nearly and it’s the same and it will always be the same.  There is no forgiveness, there never was for me. 

I really did want to die because of them, for there benefit.  They made me believe I was some sort of monster.  But I accept I am mentally ill, even if they cannot really accept or even try to understand this fact.  And sure, it isn’t so simple, mentally ill is an aspect but is nothing more than a passing thing, a part but not the whole truth.  I am also a fucked up individual.  Sure, I am not entirely as human as others, something of an outsider.  Sometimes, I was just an animal, acting like an animal.  And my crazy thoughts which are frenetic and were just all over the place so acutely articulated when I talked to myself.  I never ever thought it would lead to this.  Just stupid obliviousness in the wake of so much resentment.  I never saw it coming because I was high, disconnected, and just didn’t care enough to be aware.

I tried to tread lightly these passed years instead of continuing the antisocial behaviors I had learned and even mended myself somewhat after a complete breakdown either nervous or mental.  But these are just words.   I realized too late when I was first hospitalized that all those things might have been gathered rather nicely into a package….a profile if you wish.  And the prognosis was heavy, almost a complete reduction of any sympathetic character I had before into a monstrosity, all the horror plucked out of everything that could be gathered and analyzed until I had become lost in the minds of the people who truly loved me.   Steve was dead and this new “thing” replaced him.

But to me, I was the same.  I was still the same scared chickenshit who couldn’t deal, a little boy walking lost like some boy scout in some ancient forest with absolutely no tools, no skills, and not one friend.  I kept feeling like I ought to be pitied and consoled, that I should be someone others ought to have treated kindly because I was so pathetic.  That those people who loved me since I was born should show the same love for me without any questions.

But this idea was all wrong.  I had grown into a man and, even though I had always felt the love of family, at the point of my first hospitalization I was not so much changed inside but the world had changed.  So began a continual harassment and passive aggressive declaration that I was not to be liked, not to be trusted, and not to be pitied.   It was so hard to consider these things to be happening and I could not fully process what had changed even though it was thrust at me so many times I can’t even count them.  I tried to fight the truth, I tried to believe things would go back to normal.  But when they got worse and my ears were assaulted by the so-called “voices” (even recordings of somethings I said in the past?), it would make me completely and utterly broken.  I couldn’t bear it but at the same time I could not even do anything about it.  It was happening all the time, even when I was doing nothing for long periods of time to entice the ire of these people.  As a result, I really wanted to die but I really didn’t at the same time.  Half assed attempts, heightened drug use, and more hospitalizations and all the while they show support on the surface while underneath they completely abhor me.  I couldn’t accept it, so after these events they show pity and love to me and want me to come back and say you can stay as long as you want and we love you and we don’t talk about you and there is no “conspiracy” against you.  “You are hearing voices, are you taking your meds?”

How many times did I just say “okay, I’m just hallucinating everything and I accept your love as everyone else can clearly see you are my support”   how many times did I just act like this was okay? For how long have I willfully abandoned awareness and sense to this lie?  How many opportunities have I given to them to give me room enough to breath so I can get back on my feet?  I mean, it is quite impossible to try and recover when the only people who apparently love you and are there for you want nothing but the worst for you and do everything in their power to keep you trapped and try to fill you with so much horrible guilt on a daily basis...oh and the threats.  Look, I’m sure I deserve some form of retribution or punishment, at least to some degree, but now I see this is not right.   Committing crimes you should be punished by the law.  The only law I broke was using illicit drugs….I really don’t think I have committed any other actual crimes.  Then, if there is a God, surely I’ll get some divinely inspired punishment when I die, okay.  And I guess if you upset your family, it is within their rights to have opinions and dish some ugliness out.

But I no longer accept this.  I no longer accept the method they seem to have adopted for their own benefit.  Continued superficiality while an utter ugly hate in the other room or behind my back.  No one talks about what upsets them….ever.  And if they watch me, for what purpose now?  I do things and they can’t even confront me on them.  Hell they can’t even confront me about anything because it would automatically reveal their own guilt.  They created a situation that has no solution and now has created a real problem.  Me.   Even without what I will officially call “the profile”, they have all the right in the world to completely disown me.  Who would find this unjust or inhumane….or who would think “they are not good people because they no longer care or even talk to their son/brother (or whatever).”  Are they seriously worried that people look down on them?  I don’t know, but I don’t get it either.  But I guess that’s sort of moot at this point cause they should have done this a while ago, they had so many opportunities.  And I know my mom might be the one who stopped that from even becoming a possibility but….was this really the better outcome?

I kept putting faith in this family only to get it dismembered and just get disrespected and harassed like a whore during the inquisition.  And it took more than two years before I recognized that I’m not the bad guy.  I have done bad things and will continue to do bad things, but I’m not really the bad guy here.  Nothing was done to anyone, no one was hurt by my actions.  Of course, when I was in my early twenties I did some questionable things but I still never hurt anyone or got anyone hurt in any way.  And no matter how you look at it, saying or writing something for your own PRIVATE enjoyment can only hurt a person if they are poking there nose into a place it doesn’t belong.   And either way, it’s just fucking words.  I could have said anything when I was drunk or high….like literally anything.  But this is not really the problem here.

Whatever was done than was done….but it was finished.  The suspicion of privacy infringement is the real heart of the problem.  Proven without question, I cannot tolerate this sort of fucked up injustice.  I cannot even contain my anger, it just rears its head now and instead of cowering I want my own sort of retribution.  But don’t worry, the anger is controlled as long as I don’t drink alcohol (I made that mistake and won’t again.) and I may rage against a door now and then or punch a plastic bottle or crush a soda can or stomp my feet or whatever against the inanimate.  I know this to be a very poor substitution even if it does give some form of release.  Violence is not the answer either way and to commit a crime of any sort is out of the question, and honestly not because I’m against it but because I am a dedicated citizen...oh and I will not be imprisoned ever again neither in a hospital, jail, or prison. Besides, no matter how much anger I have, I am not a terrorist, I do not want to create terror, I don’t want to hurt people...even though they hurt me…I just hope nobody attacks me first than it’s a different story

This is a different, more interesting problem that requires a better solution.  And what is that solution?  This right here is the solution.  I have proof, all the proof I’ll need.   So cheers to your tablet.