That’s the plan, at least.

Still feeling really depressed. Everything seems grey and stupid and lifeless and pointless and flavorless and boring and banal.

And underneath all that my id continues to roar with rage and rattle its cage and threaten to rampage till it founds a new age.

But that will never happen,.

It would be far too interesting.

I feel so pent up and trapped right now. Like just want to mindlessly thump my head against the wall as hard as I can just to be able to feel something.

But I’m not in a psych ward and this ain’t no rubber room and there ain’t no men in nice white coats to rush in and hold me down so the doctor can sedate me,.

In short, there is nobody around to save me from myself.

And there never has been. People have to both pay attention to you and give a shit whether you live or die for that to happen, and I haven’t had both of those at the same time since I started school in 1979,

Since that first day of school, I have felt absolutely utterly alone. Abandoned. I’d say thrown to the wolves, but throwing would have been too much effort.

Left for the wolves, I guess, in the same sense that recycling is left for the garbage truck or food scraps are left for the homeless.

And while being forsaken at such an early age might have made another child tough and resilient and ambitious, it instead made me timid and cautious and inclined to hide from the world and its coldness and hostility rather than go out there and fight it.

The rape and my deep withdrawal from reality ensured that. That’s when I became pathologically cerebral and cut off from my id to the point where it was practically a disability unto itself.

And I am only just now started to find my way out of that icy prison of the mind. I am doing my best to excavate and activate myself and maybe some day actually be truly and wonderfully alive.

But as long as I stay in my lonely garret, the going will be mighty slow. The real sunshine is out there in the world, but I am far too frozen and weak to go find it.

Like I said, I feel frozen, trapped in place. I can see my destination but I can’t move closer to it. All I can do is put as much energy as I can into the reheating process in hopes of thawing myself out and finding out what it means to be truly alive.

And when I am feeling stopped up as I am right now, that basically amounts to pouring hot water into frozen pipes and hoping they thaw before they burst.

Or whatever. Bursting might be good for me too.

Either way, I am hoping to channel my energies into transcending my darkness and ascending to the next level of existence, whatever that may be,

If I make it, I’ll send you a postcard.

More after the break.

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Gonna kick at the darkness

I just realized why that line means so much to me, despite me being at best meh+plus on the song itself.

It means so much to me because it suggests that even the darkest darkness has daylight hiding just below the surface, waiting to emerge and turn night to day if you just kick it hard enough.

And that’s a comforting thought for a dweller in the dark like myself. It suggests that all that midnight tundra I think lies between me and the light is actually an illusion and that there is sunshine in my heart. It’s always there.

That song always fills me with a sweet kind of longing. I so badly want to be part of its normal, healthy, chocl full of goodness world. The world that most kids grow up in, where they had people looking out for them and looking after them and the world was cozy and safe and they learned life’s lessons slowly and at the right ages and got to be raised in the shelter of normalcy.

As opposed to me, who got raped at four and hasn’t felt safe since. It was such a senseless and brutal act that came out of nowhere that it severed my connection to reality and especially to the warm strong wholesome world of the id almost entirely.

I’ve been a floating brain alien ever since. Incredibly intelligent and gifted, like any good floating brain alien,. But physically incompetent and spiritually feeble as well.

The physical side doesn’t matter too much, If I had maintained my middle class trajectory, there would have been all kinds of fields I could have gone into where physical ability didn’t matter one bit.

Like being a therapist, which is what I was planning to be. Nobody cares if their shrink is a klutz who can’t even change the sheets on a bed.

But the weakness of spirit is a much more serious issue. It’s why I didn’t take much action to fix my terrible situation as a kid, or even tell my family about it.

My parents might not have paid me much attention, but I am pretty sure they would have come to my defense if they knew what was happening to me.

When push came to shove, they always had my back when school was being evil.

But I was so weak and scared and passive and withdrawn. And I could always put up on smile and a “Nope, everything is A-OK with me!” attitude when their gaze did happen to stray my way,

Then I would go back to being lonely and miserable in peace.

They didn’t really want to know anyhow. I know because I tried to tell them, Their eyes glazed over and they got this look of panic like I had suddenly trapped them and they had no idea what to do when I went off script and actually said something other than I was fine, just fine.

So I gave them what they wanted. It was the easiest thing to do for a facile shapeshifter like my sad little self.

When I need to, I can lie with almost every fiber of my being.

I’m glad that has not come up a lot, or I would be even more confused. I already have enough trouble knowing who I really am.

I am the one who chooses.

I am he who walks through walls.

I am the Maker of Rules.

And I am just some fat guy with a computer.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.