I often wonder if others realize how much pain I am in. I wonder if they notice how depressed I am, how sad and reluctant to keep living I am. Then I wonder if they see just the tenth bit of this how they sit and ignore my pain. I suppose it isn't their place to intercede into my pained life, but I feel that it isn't my place to interject my pain into their probably fucked-up life. It becomes a bit of a cycle where I stew in my own self-hatred while others let me do it.
Everything in life is my fault. I understand this on a deep intellectual level. The thing that always strikes me is that everyone must want to have something or someone to blame for their mistakes and foibles. I am certain that genetics and divorce, and abuse play roles in my physical and psychological shortcomings, but in the end I should be able to overcome many of these things. What I lack is strength of will.
There is no gun-to-the-head scenario in real life. No one is holding you hostage and saying feel better, lose weight, stop drinking, sit up, get a better job, move to a place that you like, and have friends. So, what ends up happening is that I fall back to a state of motionlessness. Items at rest will tend to stay at rest unless acted upon by an outside source. Let me assure you I am surrounded by enablers. Plus, with a gun to my head I am just as likely to beg for the wielder to pull the trigger as I am to act in any positive manner.
This week hasn't been great for me. This month, Not so wonderful. This year has been little better and much worse than many previous years. This decade, This decade has been a fucking waste of my life. Frankly this life has been a waste of my life. I am certain someone else could have used it much better than I have or will. All I'm likely to do if I survive for much longer is procreate and further pollute the gene pool. I'll probably also consume valuable resources like food, petroleum, and water. I am likely to drink a great deal of good beer, wine, and bourbon whiskey.
Then, when I come to my end, I am going to wreak havoc on the emotions of those who have claimed to care about me. I'm sorry I was a sink-hole for my entire life. I wish I had been aborted before birth, but apparently that wasn't in the cards. I don't have those emotions about loss. Things are here and then they are not. I have a minor curiosity about things dead or destroyed, but I do not know the feelings of loss or mourning. Yet again, on a deep intellectual level I understand that nothing lasts forever. The timespan that something lasts is virtually irrelevant. I may last for twenty-nine years, I may last for ninety, but I don't place any greater value on those additional years.
I would hope that some outside force would dramatically influence my lifespan, but that is unlikely to happen. Sure, occasionally shit happens, but by and large the world I know is incredibly mundane. Which I suppose plays into the old adage that "it is what you make of it." I just don't want to make anything of it. I've lived in a room with white walls all my life, but I've always been to afraid to splash those walls with any other color for fear of retribution.
It is kind of humorous what being beaten into submission from a very young age will accomplish for a person later in life. At least I imagine that is what the punching and reprimands were about. Though, looking back it was almost certainly someone who had not accomplished anything trying to beat the fight and spirit out of someone that they never wanted to show them up. It worked, big brother. It worked wonders. I will never-ever go full tilt toward anything. I will always be afraid to go after the things I want. And I will always second guess my safe decisions. Then when everything goes wrong I will always know it is my fault, and you'll blame me, and I'll agree, but you'll still rub it in.
The one thing I really don't need in my life is more fucking criticism. I know that I have made mistakes and missteps, and I know what they were. I grind them through in my head hour after hour. I consider how to avoid making the same mistake twice. I still do make the same mistakes over, and over, and over, but I know that they are mistakes, and I make them with less idiotic fervor the second, third, fourth, and fifth time. I will never get it quite right. I was wired all wrong from the beginning making me unable to get IT right. I will try though; I'll do my best to avoid failing like I always do, but it will never be enough.
Sound: Boris -- DronEvil (combined)