They call it evening but you never see it even.

Anyhow, I just woke up so I feel like crap. Nevertheless, I must blog now , as I will be busy in the evening hanging with my friends, and that got me to thinking.

The inevitable future scholars of this august publication will no doubt note that there is a distinct difference between the entries written while I eat lunch having only recently awoken^[1] and the ones written as I eat supper and have been awake for a while.

There’s certainly a big difference to me.

Whether said difference would truly be detectable on a literary level is debatable. For all I know, it’s the same deathless prose no matter when I write it.

But writing it fully awake and raring to go is sure as heck a lot easier then trying to cudgel my brain for words when I am barely awake and feel like crap.

Oh well. Like Mikey says, I’m not happy about it, but I’d rather feel like shit than be full of shit.

 

Damn I love that song. Even though Mikey looks like a cross between Axl Rose and Bobcat Goldthwait in that screenshot.

The song speaks to me. I feel like that is how I would have turned out if someone had cared enough to try to control me.

Instead, I had to raise myself, knowing there was absolutely nobody out there trying to keep me from hurting myself (and some eager to hurt me themselves) and absolutely nobody to pick me up if I fall (and someone all to eager to make it happen then laugh at me while I bled).

It’s hard to describe just how profoundly damaging that is. No discipline to internalize, no rules to protect me, no opposing will to test myself against and learn from, no social group to fit into, no faith to lean on, and absolutely nobody to kiss it better.

Just a sad little boy with a big, big brain.

Sometimes it seems weird that nobody could see how miserable I was. But then I remember that I was very good at hiding it. I still am.

When people are paying attention to me, I am all smiles and jokes and such. To let them see my sadness and loneliness would be the opposite of that. I want them to keep paying attention to me. Making them sad via empathy will make them go away.

Or at least, that’s what my bad programming tells me.

And because I have had so little nurturing in my life, when I do open up to people I tend to go to the opposite extreme and dump everything on them.

I suppose I am also testing them by doing that. I want to see if they will abandon me when I become too much for them to take and therefore more effort then I am worth.

That’s what I expect of the world. That people will abandon me when they get close enough to me to get beneath the song and dance on the surface and start having to deal with my sorrow and pain.

And it’s not entirely irrational for me to feel that way,. It has happened in my life. My contents can be quite toxic to those without a lot of experience in dealing with depressed people. Even those who have that kind of experience can find me hard to take because of all the negative vibes I contain and conceal.

I mean, I even hold back when I am with my therapist because I don’t want to end up destroying him with my pain. Even with him, there have been times when I have seen that “lost at sea” look in his eyes when I am truly unloading my pain.

I don’t think he will abandon me. Not really.

But I don’t want to break the poor man either,.

Maybe I am not giving him enough credit, though. Maybe I could go supernova right in front of him and he would be fine.

But I can’t take that risk. And I always have to worry about scaring people because of my size. A therapist can totally abandon you if he or she feels like you are a threat.

Ain’t that a kick in the nuts. I didn’t ask to be a big bear of a dude. I have the same emotions and needs as anyone else. If you prick me, do I not bleed?

And yet, I have to worry about  scaring people away when I express my emotions in the exact same way everyone else does.

Being a gentle giant ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.

So even with my therapist, I hold back. Nobody gets to the real me, unshielded and unfiltered, in all my radioactive glory, pain and sadness and rage and bitterness emitting from every inch of skin, naked and wretched and toxic as hell.

That would kill most people. Not physically, of course, but psychologically. People cant handle exposue to that kind of pain. It would dissolve the walls that they have and I don’t, the ones that keep them sane, the ones that they have and I don’t.

Oh no, not me. I am He Who Walks Through Walls. I am the magical dude who sees that social reality is optional and consentual and therefore I can take it or leave it as I see fit. I am the Other, the one who is outside the normal rules and who can use that detached vantage point to see things more clearly than any of the rest of you zombies.

Lucky me. Despite my rationalist materialistic mindset, I am a powerful mystic. And I have mjy own kind of magic, though I don’t always know when I am using it. I know secrets about how things really work that would blow most people’s minds.

And that would be great if I was content to being that dangerous weirdo lurking around the edges of society, tempting the young ones into my web with forbidden knowledge.

But I want love.

I want someone to care for me.

I want to live my life.

And that’s going to take a lot of work,

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.