All i’ve ever wanted

I do not feel in the least embarrassed, self-conscious, or regretful about any of my writing on this blog. It’s all for me and noone else.

All i’ve ever wanted was to learn, to go to college and make something of myself. Being born into a poor family with parents suffering from psychiatric disorders didn’t really provide me with the kickstart I needed to aim my being at success; in fact, it inhibited me from ever considering the possibility that I would even attempt to attend college.

I hate sounding like a victim. I hate speaking in a manner that could be mistaken as merely playing the victim card, but as I look back, I cannot help but conclude that the deck was severely stacked against me. Growing up with a mother with bipolar disorder and a father with severe, untreated PTSD meant that I suffered a lot of psychological abuse and trauma I wasn’t even aware of. I struggled with anger issues all through that time and still do, to this day. I absolutely hated school. I was bullied a lot and never made a lot of friends. My only outlet was drawing. I literally wished death upon my parents because I thought it would end my suffering at home.

The conflict in my home never stopped. Two fully grown adults and one child quarreled continually. The only kind of stability I knew was isolation, alone at night. It was peaceful because there was no fear, no yelling. This tension mounted for years until my father kicked me out. Having never taught me anything about how to live, how to be a decent person, and never contributing to the well-being of my existence in any other way than merely keeping me alive while I lived with them, he now callously jettisons me from their house and expects me to be able to fend for myself. If anything, he taught me how not to live. In all honesty, i’ve never met a more pathetic, cowardly person in my entire life. Having never taught me anything, he finds himself wanting a relationship with me in his old age, and places the burden entirely upon me. I inherited the most defunct, buggy, maladaptive model for a relationship from them. No wonder I find it difficult to sustain relationships.

I am affectionate in my own way; i’ve become fluent linguistically. I’ve practiced the art of poetry and writing to great personal satisfaction. My dearest friends appreciate this trait and I find common ground and love among them.

I successfully moved out and got into a relationship for a while, and even after she revealed herself as a cancerous, cheating bitch, I stayed with her for 4 years, desperately clinging to the only other person who seemed to love me. I was utterly, romantically infatuated with her; since I voluntarily cut her out of my life, I feel somewhat less so. I betrayed my oldest highschool friends for her, opting to move out with her instead of stay and live with them. This created a rift that has been mostly repaired. After this, I moved in with another highschool friend and he slowly revealed himself to be a bit of a cold-blooded sociopath. He plays psychological games with people for his own amusement; one’s displays of vulnerability with an assumption of trust are leveraged by him into ammunition to attack with. Little by little, everything I revealed to him out of trust was leveraged against me to make himself seem superior in the most passive-aggressive way. It was quite awful. Thankfully, around the dissolution of that friendship, I reconnected with a friend I had only made a few years prior.

This friend was the light of my life for a long time. She is perhaps the most solid and endearing of friends, only equal to that of Jeff himself. What I learned and am still learning from her has paved the way for even more wonderful people to come into my life. Little by little, in this manner, I am lifted out of a vast gulf of darkness. I am learning what true friendship means, what it means to be human, the plaintive sincerity of the plight and redemptive qualities as a mortal among other mortals.

Despite, over the course of this long journey, having never achieved any real material success (i’m actually in debt), I’ve made strides at recovering from my initial circumstances and the new sources of strife i’ve had to work through.

As I progress, I uncover ever deeper layers of misery to scavenge from and repair. I am again in the abysses of this twilit world; Their arousal seems spontaneous and disconnected to what I do. There is always suffering. That is the default setting. I wish at least I could find a way to plateau on a relatively stable perspective. That requires specific knowledge. I must know enough to climb that high in the first place, and I must further apply that knowledge in creative ways that directly address what it is that I am contending with at that moment. Not only that, but I must also do this in a coordinated way, attacking enough specific points at once. Otherwise, I won’t be able to make it at all. I’ll stay in this horrific state of idle, comatose complacency. Worse than pain, than death; a conscious appeal to all of existence to choose stubborn decay sitting in one place instead of a virtuous attempt at overcoming.

The immense anger I have at my circumstances is almost unbearable. If I thought of it, if I think too much, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. It doesn’t come from any violent impulse at all. It’s just outrage that I must be unfortunate enough to have this heaped upon me, that through ignorance, I really have suffered immensely. It’s a kind of outrage that I can’t see through, that I don’t have the knowledge to see through. It’s a breakdown in communication among systems. I try to verbalize my outrage, and I realize that information and communication would have solved most of my problems. At least, I simplify it such in the most abstract way. I didn’t even ask for the mind that I have and a criticism I often get is that I make things too complicated or that I sound pretentious! If I could tie one of them to a chair, I wouldn’t torture them. I would just force them to have a real conversation.

Even at this moment, the beast slips back beneath the waves, back into the unconscious depths. I’ve but circumscribed some of its shadowy surface features into symbols upon a page. Next time, I hope I will have the wisdom to take a serious, long look at it. If it is truly my own self-master I should work at and worry about and not most outside circumstances, no matter how much through my own ignorance I am bombarded by awful people in a fractured, chaotic society, then I am truly unstoppable.


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