all day @ SS again today. lately it's all i've been doing. in bed, reading SS. thank you, everyone. some would say i've got "a problem" -- they're gonna wanna pluralise that.
some people aren't "all there"; i'm not even "part there". i have zero integrity because i have almost no self-knowledge, almost no self-knowledge because i have no courage, and i have no courage because i can't make choices. my self-knowledge begins/ends there.
why can't i make choices? nobody else knows either. everyone is telling me i can control my thoughts. doesn't seem that way to me, it seems i'm only reacting. i would blame everything on myself, but that seems like attributing a value to an empty set. i can't blame anything else, in case others are like me too but don't know it. that's almost as cynical as it is arrogant. the biggest drawback to being so arrogant -- ignorance and confusion: 10/10.
i was so ashamed of my past that it crept up and bled into the present, soon i was wishing for the worst and coveting the best. now i hear that most people want to be loved. i can't relate to that at all. i can't relate to wanting anything but to control my mind. to a certain extent i've found a way (drugs) but tolerance builds fast and i slide back into off-the-cuff mode. the biggest drawback to being so defensive -- other people get tired of defusing threats, mine and theirs, that don't exist. their intolerance builds just as quickly.
in real life, i make friends and find partners easily; just can't keep them. they expect things from me that i don't have. could be my fault for making them believe i have these things in me, but again, that's just how i seem to operate. all my life i've hunted others' spirit, i love it, their intractable character. everyone has one. well, courageous people do, and the more courageous, the more beautiful.
i embroil myself in the people whose spirits confuse me the most, cherishing the one-way intimacy, cheating them with lies as solid as they are desperate, reinventing myself to most complement them. it's like i wrap myself with exotic paper and turn myself into a customised gift, which also hides me completely. people remove the paper, and me with it. then they get angry, as they should. i think i miss them; i don't act like it. my last remaining hope, that i don't think i mean any harm, has worn thin. there's something underneath that delicate unassumingness. something cold and blank and hard, and i think we breathe together. just what the world needs: more muddled mask metaphors. but i'm repeating myself.
whatever, i can't justify my existence for much longer. i'm alone now, except for my family, whose hearts i'll pierce when i stop my own. that will be a dead loss. literally, i am a deficit, win/win. maybe i do know more about myself than i dare to face, not all barrier. i'll be dead before i find out. maybe i'll find out as i'm dying, or when i'm dead? the truth/my allergen. fact may be stranger, but fiction is worthier. telling, selling our stories. here we are, works of art, a worldwide exhibition... SSers peering smilingly over the balustrades.
don't point that thing at me, swap the stethoscope for a sniper rifle. put me out of our misery. i could use some sunshine, a breath of fresh air, some brisk walks, more fibre in my diet. maybe a few positive affirmations, i could put them on the fridge (the mirror's out of order). nah, i'll just keep reading SS.
