Deer, Rabbits, Foxes and Wolves
Eat or Drink? Eat or Drink? Watch TV?
Read a book I don't need to read?
What vice will I bury myself under to hide from my responsibilities today?
Most likely not the book thing, that's too close to being productive. People give some credence to reading recreationally.
All my thoughts. All my feelings. They're so common. I'm so very common. I know. I have been told. And I knew before I was told. The feelings I have I can only describe through unoriginal concepts- through sinking, through drowning, through struggling to breathe. So common. My desire to avoid identity is also common, and mostly misguided. Am I trying to rebel against set social structures? Against things I think would strangle out my individuality? In part, probably, and there's also an aspect of wanting the moral high ground. Then...deeper...there's a sense that I'm just going to drag that group down. That I'm not helpful to women, or hispanic people, or straight people- although the last one probably has a large enough pool that one diseased fruit won't destroy the grove. Or whatever mixed metaphors. I don't want to let people down. This might also be why I don't want to have anyone close. I don't want to let anyone down or be let down, and this is so very common as well.
Over the holiday my mother suggested coming to stay. And I curled in my bed a few minutes ago and considered, again, that it would be lovely to rely on someone for a moment. To trust someone for a little while. To let them assume some of the debts that I am running into by hurling myself through every bet on the table in life. A taco- a TV show- a bad hair cut- a drink... so many times I've just put it all down. Threw everything on that next moment. Some bookie is going to come for me eventually. Take my kidneys. Sometime my luck will run out- but that's the only thing I can even partially trust. That I can be lucky, and that that will run out. Those are the two truths of reality. So I told her no. I didn't want her to come over because I should be able to handle it. I should be able to handle it. I am handling it. I have been handling it. I have had help in some ways, but nothing that I trusted to be there. Nothing I let myself rely on. I haven't let myself rely on anyone or anything so I must still be fine. I must be fine. If she came over we would fight. She would smell the weakness like a predator can smell a wounded animal and I would never be free of her jaws again. She can already smell the blood, but I have managed to piss on it and hide just a little further out. In a rage I tear back and do whatever I can to hide the smell of weakness. I try to hurt her first. It's so very common.
Maybe I could trust a therapist- but can you really trust someone you pay to be there? Probably. That's probably the only person you can trust- unless there's a higher bidder. Another, better, offer. A calling, maybe, and the person you paid to trust will be gone to do something that suits them better. That gives them more. So no, there's no one I can trust. I bet you can trust. You lucky bastard. Yet, this is so common. This idea of being isolated. Of having no one to believe in. It's so common, so there should be something easily done. I should have indisputable truths I can reference that prove this is lunacy. Like the philosophy of science, I should have this hypothesis, based on induction, and then it should be disproven, because the inherent truth of the matter has to be that there are people you can trust. I can't reach out again. I can't keep trying to reach out. I can't. This bothers people. This is not helpful. It's not constructive, and no one wants to deal with people urinating everywhere to hide their pain and weakness. I need to do better at faking it. I need to be able to lick the fur over my wounds and run as though they don't exist. To smile, to talk, to behave like a normal person, because I am. This is all so common. I'm so common. So I should be fine. I should outwardly be fine, like everyone else.
I won't keep saying mad things to real people. I won't let them in. I can run. The bone will set as I move. I can run and they'll never catch me.
Read a book I don't need to read?
What vice will I bury myself under to hide from my responsibilities today?
Most likely not the book thing, that's too close to being productive. People give some credence to reading recreationally.
All my thoughts. All my feelings. They're so common. I'm so very common. I know. I have been told. And I knew before I was told. The feelings I have I can only describe through unoriginal concepts- through sinking, through drowning, through struggling to breathe. So common. My desire to avoid identity is also common, and mostly misguided. Am I trying to rebel against set social structures? Against things I think would strangle out my individuality? In part, probably, and there's also an aspect of wanting the moral high ground. Then...deeper...there's a sense that I'm just going to drag that group down. That I'm not helpful to women, or hispanic people, or straight people- although the last one probably has a large enough pool that one diseased fruit won't destroy the grove. Or whatever mixed metaphors. I don't want to let people down. This might also be why I don't want to have anyone close. I don't want to let anyone down or be let down, and this is so very common as well.
Over the holiday my mother suggested coming to stay. And I curled in my bed a few minutes ago and considered, again, that it would be lovely to rely on someone for a moment. To trust someone for a little while. To let them assume some of the debts that I am running into by hurling myself through every bet on the table in life. A taco- a TV show- a bad hair cut- a drink... so many times I've just put it all down. Threw everything on that next moment. Some bookie is going to come for me eventually. Take my kidneys. Sometime my luck will run out- but that's the only thing I can even partially trust. That I can be lucky, and that that will run out. Those are the two truths of reality. So I told her no. I didn't want her to come over because I should be able to handle it. I should be able to handle it. I am handling it. I have been handling it. I have had help in some ways, but nothing that I trusted to be there. Nothing I let myself rely on. I haven't let myself rely on anyone or anything so I must still be fine. I must be fine. If she came over we would fight. She would smell the weakness like a predator can smell a wounded animal and I would never be free of her jaws again. She can already smell the blood, but I have managed to piss on it and hide just a little further out. In a rage I tear back and do whatever I can to hide the smell of weakness. I try to hurt her first. It's so very common.
Maybe I could trust a therapist- but can you really trust someone you pay to be there? Probably. That's probably the only person you can trust- unless there's a higher bidder. Another, better, offer. A calling, maybe, and the person you paid to trust will be gone to do something that suits them better. That gives them more. So no, there's no one I can trust. I bet you can trust. You lucky bastard. Yet, this is so common. This idea of being isolated. Of having no one to believe in. It's so common, so there should be something easily done. I should have indisputable truths I can reference that prove this is lunacy. Like the philosophy of science, I should have this hypothesis, based on induction, and then it should be disproven, because the inherent truth of the matter has to be that there are people you can trust. I can't reach out again. I can't keep trying to reach out. I can't. This bothers people. This is not helpful. It's not constructive, and no one wants to deal with people urinating everywhere to hide their pain and weakness. I need to do better at faking it. I need to be able to lick the fur over my wounds and run as though they don't exist. To smile, to talk, to behave like a normal person, because I am. This is all so common. I'm so common. So I should be fine. I should outwardly be fine, like everyone else.
I won't keep saying mad things to real people. I won't let them in. I can run. The bone will set as I move. I can run and they'll never catch me.
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