Writing in the haze.

misanthropy

Main Entry: mis·an·thro·py
Pronunciation: \mi-ˈsan(t)-thrə-pē\
Function: noun
Date: 1625

: a hatred or distrust of humankind

From: Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary

There’s no good way to start a blog entry about feeling outside and alien that doesn’t sound like some teenage angst bullshit. So here in my best teen angsty voice I proclaim ‘You suck!”

No really you do. But that’s okay. You don’t know it. So I am here to tell you. I don’t think you mean to, I don’t believe you want to (though often I doubt even this concession)  and I think perhaps on most occasions of your worst suckage it is me who makes this possible.

My world is one where I often say nothing about my real thoughts and beliefs. It seems what I feel and think offends or disturbs others. I often find that when I do speak my mind I end up in a mess of trouble or I end up explaining, apologizing or back-peddling just to save myself the grief of being honest.

Often I am called weird. What I find interesting and funny is not what you do. I am not vulgar or sexual. I am not rude or mean. But I seem to think in a way that no one really understands or seems to like. It’s really quite lonesome. I think that’s where I feel it most. Where I have no one to share a laugh or a smile with. This is where I feel ugliest.

Here’s the thing, see if you give me enough rope I’ll hang myself, give me enough time I’ll fuck it up and give me enough words I’ll say something wrong and hurt someone. I don’t mean to. You certainly are all decent enough animals. And you do not deserve the agrivation of dealing with my fucked up machinations. But I just don’t fit well, anywhere.

I was born like this, too aware, too insightful, too sensitive for anyone’s good. Especially my own. I seem to see where no one else does, I connect lines no one else does. I feel emotional when no one else is. It’s sort of the invisible version of being born with an extra foot  growing out of the middle of my forehead. It makes me ugly to you. Anything you can do to get away, to just not see the freak of nature. To climb into your ignorance. I am not particularly clever or notable. But I disturb your sense of being.

So I do two things. One is I hurt, I try hard to relate and try to understand you and be gentle and kind. I search faith, life and nature to see some peaceful coexistence with you. Hey I even purchased a new Bible this week (Though what this means I don’t know) . I want to know you, to live among you. But again and again and again I am reminded I am the animal/machine. Wired bone and cogs. Flesh clinging to gears and a screaming engine of thought and perspective. I am hate in love and ugly in beauty. Now this is not meant in some silly dramatic way. Marilyn Manson re-born as some mopey fucker with a blog. I conflict with so much, life for me is this twisting path of seeing the incredible and being gutted for it. Does that make sense?

Does any of this make sense?

The second thing I do is live like a terminal patient might. I think this is probably the most disturbing aspect of this whole mess. I have come to expect that some day and probably sooner than later I will reach my limit. The prospect of suicide is real. Most people hate hearing this. They react strongly and say things that amount to cliché. But the truth is the truth. I try hard to balance living in a world that I feel most unwelcome in and the wonders I see alone. And eventually it will tip and I’ll release myself. I’ll undo the tangled wires and wounded thoughts. I’ll finally become human in my failing.  It’s not tragic or terrible. It’s just setting down a burden I am not equipped to carry.

I find peace in this thought.

Terrible words from a strange man. I can almost hear your thoughts now. About how my values and thoughts are incorrect and how I should consider this and that and another thing. All mental health arguments and religious values aside. My choice to stay or go is a conscious one I make every day. So far I have chosen to stay. But the scale is slowly tipping. I won’t change that or apologize for it. I just feel the need some days lately with some pretty strong conviction. It feels inevitable.

Now I am rambling. So I’ll just leave it here.

Just shaking out the trees.

Be well

“Oh, dear Dad, can you see me now
I am myself, like you somehow
I’ll wait up in the dark for you to speak to me
I’ll open up…Release me…”

– Eddie Vedder –

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2 responses

  1. I love reading your blog, man. As tripe as that may sound, anyways. Don’t stop writing. The upside is, shit can’t get any worse.
    Just do what I, and many others do: Vent to your keyboard. Shit man, clicking keys beats a noose anyday.

    February 14, 2010 at 1:38 am

    • As it goes shit ain’t really ain’t so bad. I just get tired. And feel like this is never ending.

      February 14, 2010 at 6:00 am

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