I’ve fought life and people’s attempts to change me for my whole life.
Part of my fiery spirit, I suppose. But now I wonder why I bothered because it’s not like the self I have now is a particularly great one.
I mean, I (mostly) don’t hate myself but I definitely could use an extensive retrofitting and some basic repairs.
And yet, by instinct, I fight. Hell, one of the main reasons I am such a loner is that I absolutely refuse to allow my identity to be subsumed into another.
Hence my being a non-joiner. I am me, no more and no less, and I refuse to submit to any sort of identity or ruleset that I do not fully control.
To me, the idea of joining something that will then say “you have to do this thing you don’t agree with and don’t want to do because we say so” provokes an explosive response made of equal parts fear, rage, and defiance.
Fuck YOU. You don’t get to control me. I make my own choices based on my own choices every single fucking time, and to hell with anyone who thinks otherwise.
We understand that, Mister Bertrand, but you DID agree to pay the minibar charges when you checked in….
Now the way I described it might make it sound like a noble statement of passionate dedication to the fundamental principles of a free and democratic principles, but like the American libertarianism is resembles, it’s really just a halo drawn above a serious personality defect in order to make myself feel better.
Truth is, I don’t know why I am so compulsively combative. Plenty of people join things and enjoy being part of them without a problem. They can trade a little of their autonomy for the comfort of feeling like part of something bigger than themselves and be totally fine with it. They have that shit installed.
But not me. From the very beginning, I have been defiantly myself. Why? I assume the rape must have had something to do with it.
Being so brutally violated at the age of 4 was such a life-scarring violation of self that it completely blocked my progressing past the toddler tantrum stage into something more socially health and able to connect.
Not going to kindergarten only made that worse. I entered elementary school socially retarded and it only got worse from there.
Anyhow. Dragging myself back to the point by the scruff of my neck, it would not by the worst thing in the world if some outside influence actually did manage to change me.
And it’s happened before. Some piece of media manages to penetrate all my defenses and truly touch my heart and connect with me, and I become a different person.
Only by a small amount. But I treasure it nonetheless. I don’t want to be so goddamned alone all the time. I don’t like it.
I wish I could truly let people in to my lonely little world.
But I don’t know how. I’ve never been truly close with anyone. The door to my heart might as well be frozen shut forever.
And that makes really connecting with people nearly impossible.
It would take something far, far more powerful than I to melt the ice around my frostbitten heart to let those rusty old doors swing open again.
Something truly profound. An emotion and/or revelation so big that it eclipses this lonesome planetoid and can overwhelm all my damned defenses and finally get through to me and wash away my pain to let me be reborn, fresh and new.
Not sure where I would get such a thing. I’d probably have to build it myself. I have little faith that somewhere out there is a ready-made solution that would work for such a strange and unique creature such as I.
Guess I will get to work on that now.
More after the break.
Here it comes again
Feeling crappy and crabby today because my periodic state of sort of almost but not really having some kind of respiratory infection has returned.
Runny nose, raspy throat, scratchy lungs, mild headache, and that ever so fun feeling of malaise, like someone turned up the gravity dial a touch.
Presumably, it will pass in a day or two, like usual. Although when you’re immuno-compromised like I am, you can never take that for granted.
I still remember having pneumonia so bad that at the ER they kept checking my blood oxygen levels with increasingly senior nurses present.
Thank goodness I was too out of it to notice this at the time. It was only when I was lying in a bed in the ER on oxygen that the gravity of it all struck me.
Even then I was like….
As usual, my theory as to why this mode of mine keeps coming back is that somehow my body fights off the infection but doesn’t quite finish it off. So it just hangs around in my body, waiting for another opportunity to strike,.
Kind of like the villain(s) in an 80’s cartoon who just keep coming back despite being defeated literally every episode.
Well let’s hope that continues to be the formulaic plotline.
Ya know, it could be both funny and poignant to do a piece about a bunch of supervillains who just….. gave up.
Built themselves a pleasant little retirement colony somewhere where the weather is consistently pleasant and the living is easy. A little Caribbean island tucked away someplace way off the beaten path where they can sit around and bullshit while keeping up with all the super-heroes and super-villain news on a huge TV.
Making snide comments on other, still active super-villains. Thanking Whomever that they are out of that life. Cheering on their fave on both sides, like they were sports teams. Sharing stories.
Could be quite touching, if it was written right.
In other words, by ME.
Like the titular character of Grace Under Fire said, “I’m not a control freak! I’m just the only one who knows what’s right…. all the time. ”
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.