It's There

It’s There

Look, do you see it
It’s there.
Listen, do you hear it
It’s there.

It’s there where you are.
It’s there when you’re not.
It’s there in the evening.
It’s there in the dark.

What is it that’s there.
When does it appear.
Where does it come from.
Why is it right here.

The answer is simple.
The answer quite clear.
It’s there for a reason.
Though that reason’s not clear.

So what is it that’s there.
What is it we see.
When we look in that place,
That we only can see.

It might be a thing joyous,
Or a thing of great fear.
Secret to all,
But to us it’s quite dear.

So this is Christmas

As you get older it seems that Christmas becomes less important than it was in years past. If you have attained any kind of financial security you find that waiting for Christmas or your birthday is no longer necessary and it's easier to just go and buy the stuff you want.
The religious aspect of Christmas has long since vanished from most western cultures. It is now a time of greed and avarice. I don't even see any attempt to be civil to each other.

The religious aspect has never been important to me as the date of December 25th is an arbitrary date that is linked more to the Germanic tribes than to any Christian traditions. Most folks know that it was much easier for the Church to co-opt local winter customs than try to invent their own. Much the same way the Romans did with the Greeks.

So is it worth the effort to “celebrate” Christmas? I found that this year it was. I had my family over for dinner and it was nice to have them all together. It was fun to watch the abject greed of the grandkids as they tore into their loot. Evonne gets a great deal of joy from buying just that right gift for that one person. And for one brief shinning moment the world does not seem like such a bad place.

We get the paper the next day and see that nothing has changed, but at least , on one day we can hope that it has. And one day is a lot better than no days.

Eyes in the Mirror

Eyes in the Mirror

I look in the mirror
And all that I see
Is a strange being
Staring out at me.

It has my face,
It has my eyes.,
It examines my soul,
It fills me with lies.

It says I have class,
It says I have style.
Its words like ground glass,
Its smile drips bile.

Its mirth is toxic
Its words are insane.
“Do what you will
No matter the pain.”

“The world, it owes you,
For you was it produced.”
The words they are tempting,
My will is reduced.

The lies have convinced,
The lies are believed.
For if they ring true,
The guilt is relieved.

The faces I than see,
I feel the retched pain.
I now know that it’s not real,
My center will not sustain.

It comes in a flash,
It comes with a shock.
It makes the thoughts flow,
It makes me take stock.

The world was created
Not for you nor for me
The world was created for no One,
But We.

Life Is

Life Is…


Life is great
Life is fate
Life can be grand
Life can demand.

One way
Then another.
One and you want to play
The other, Oh’ brother

So what do you say
Would you like to stay
And test the state
That is fate.

Know Me

You Don’t Know Me

You do not know me,
You have not seen the things I’ve seen
What’s in my mind, what’s in my dreams,
How I feel, what I imagine.
Only I can know.

You cannot know me
You have no way to understand.
Unless your in my mind,
Sense my feelings, see my dreams
These things only I can see.

I do not know you..
I don’t know what you’ve seen.
Your mind is yours, how you feel, what you imagine.
Your dreams hid from view
Only you can know.

I cannot know you.
I have no way to understand.
You mind is yours, your dreams unknown.
Your feelings personal.
These things only you can see.

But we can know one another.
We can see the world as one.
We can share our thoughts, reveal our dreams.
Tell how we feel, what we know.

A choice is made, I path is taken.
We can travel alone, safe from contact, safe from pain
Never knowing sorrow
But never knowing pleasure, living all alone.

Or we can reach out for each other.
Learn from one another, share our pains and joys.
Find the path together. Risk knowing sorrow.
Find in one another the things we all can share

Our Humanity. Our Love. Our Souls

Dark/Light

Dark and Light

Here where I live it is dark.
Abide within and it is dark.
Sinister beings dwell in the dark.
Seeing is not possible in the dark.
They are Dark.

Cavort about in the dark.
Come and surround in the dark.
Laugh and howl in the dark.
See them not, hear them yet, here in the dark.
They are Dark.

Not always do I live in the dark.
Comes a time without the dark.
Sinister beings exists in the dark.
Cannot survive without the dark.
They are Dark.

When it is not dark,
And it is not always dark.
Beings of warmth pierce the dark.
Crack and splinter the dark.
They are Light.

Then sometimes I live in the light
Warm and safe in the light
Want to stay in the light.
Surrounded by life and love in the light.
They are Light.

Sometimes light, sometimes dark.
In one world, than in the other.
In one fear, love in the other.
Back and Forth, Light and Dark
I am Dark! I am Light!

Seek

Seek

Brought on by the ever present need to be loved,
We destroy all that is loveable in us.
Brought on by the pursuit of pleasure,
We destroy all of the pleasure around us.
Brought on by the need to be needed,
We destroy those who need us.

By are desires we are defined,
And by those desires we are destroyed.
We seek the light,
We find the dark.
We reach for hope,
We rush headlong into hopelessness.

Find the pleasure,
But give pleasure in return.
Find the need,
But give to those who need.
Find the love,
But give the love without conditions.

Seek the light,
Reach for hope,
Find the love.

On a Brighter Note

I have been working on my book, Vincent and the Memory Thief. I like what I've written so far. It is coming along fine. I look forward to sharing it with my friends and family. I can also dream about someday having it published. If nothing else Heather's pictures are well worth the cover price.

Nuff Said

So what have we learned today? I have learned that no matter what you do, for some people it is never good enough. Hell half the time it isn't good enough for me. Why is that. Try as you might nothing ever seems good enough.

Is this a world wide phenomenon or is it just in the United States.? That is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to try and fail or to just say fuck it and not do anything.

It is a lot easier to just say fuck it. But, as we all know, saying fuck it has never been a very profitable mood of operation but it is the easiest.

So what do we do. Well I think that sometimes you do absolutely everything you can do get the job done, and sometimes you just have to say f it. The tricky part is trying to figure how to tell the difference.

If anyone has an answer I'd like to hear it.

Nuff Said

Why?

Why, on some days I feel pain and impotent compassion for the abused and poor people of the world and on others I couldn't care less about them. I think that it's impossible to try and dwell on all of the pain and terror that is in this world without going insane. I find myself wanting to help and than I'm overwhelmed by the enormity of it all so I sit in my comfortable house feeling impotent.

I have sent an e-mail to the United Way and maybe they'll have something out there that I could help with. Better to light a small candle than to rage against the night. I've been raging against the night my whole life so it's about time I tried to do something. Any step is a positive step as long as it's done with honesty.

Nuff Said

What have we learned today.

Not a god-damn thing. Why is that? I don't know. You would think after all these years I would know more than I do. But it doesn't work that way. It just becomes more confusing as time goes on. I have yet to figure out why people do the things they do. Why do people hate for no other reason than someone else has a different slant on life? What's it to them? Are their lives so perfect that they have time to dictate how everyone else should live? That must be the case.


How does the brain work. I know that they have mapped most of the brain and know what most of the areas do. But they still don't fully understand how it does the amazing things that it does. It seems to be a whole bunch of systems stacked on top of each other. The thinking brain stacked on top of the monkey brain which in turn is stacked onto the reptile brain. Which in of itself is interesting. How evolution uses what is available and adds onto it. The hind brain (reptile brain) was already in place so it added the mid-brain (monkey brain) to it and so with the cerebrum. Cool stuff.

None of these questions are new or original. I just go back to them from time to time to make myself miserable. It's a hobby of mine.

Speaking of original ideas, are there any left in the world? I know I haven't had one in my life. Is there a god, that has been asked long before I should up. How was the universe created and what was there before it was created? Astrophysicists say the universe is 15 million or so years old. How do they know this?

I am a big believer in science. It makes more sense to me than does anything else. But the frustration of science is that nothing can ever be answered fully. There are always going to be questions. Many things have been answered to a very fine degree. How the solar system works, the theory of evolution, how electricity behaves. But you never know when something will come up that changes things.

Most astrophysicists thought they new most everything about space. Now we have parallel universe theory, dark matter, string theory and a host of other things to wonder about. Try to keep up will you.

Oh well, at least there are still things to wonder about even though I have no idea how most of these theories are about.

Just random thoughts

Nuff' Said

My War With the Inanamates

When I was just a tender young lad it had become apparent to me that the inanimate world had declared unconditional war upon my person. When ever and where ever I happened to find myself the inanimates would patiently wait for the right moment and leap forth to inflict grievous bodily harm upon my person. Every corner, knob, step, curb or lump, no matter how inoffensive it seemed, would wait for the perfect moment to ambush me.

Door knobs would attack my elbow as I passed by. Wrinkles in the carpet would reach out and entangle my feet causing me to enter rooms in a less than dignified manner. Doorways would somehow become smaller in order to concuss my still forming head bone. But, up until the incident that compels me to write this monograph I had never, in my wildest nightmares, imagined that the inanimate world was determined in it’s efforts to bring about my personal destruction.

In order to lay the groundwork for this tale of ultimate horror I must first illuminate for you the circumstances that transported me to that place and time of my attempted annihilation. When I was but a callow youth of nineteen, I and my friends would find ourselves, upon occasion, with nothing to do. And as is often the case we would invent diversions to liven up our otherwise dull and empty lives. So we came to the conclusion that it would be a grand idea to arm ourselves with various weapons of personal destruction and than proceed to beat the shit out of each other.
With this goal in mind we set about arming ourselves with a number of fiendish devices of a medieval nature. Broadswords of padded wood, arrows tipped with padding, shields, helms, grieves, and gauntlets to protect ourselves. Thus armed we journeyed to the Idaho desert where lay The Missile Silos!

The Missile Silos were an abandon ICBM complexes between Mountain Home and Boise Idaho. How this wondrous world was discovered is a mystery but it was well known to me and my cohorts and had been explored by us on numerous occasions. It was a labyrinth that we could do battle among ourselves without wiser heads interfering.

The rules were simple. There where no rules. There where no teams. It was every man or woman for themselves. Alliances where made and broken as the need arose. It was in this manner the Plan was formed. I and a fellow compatriot would team up and attempt to lure unsuspecting prey into our cleverly contrived trap.

In the architecture the was the Missile Silos was a large concrete pipe that lead to the outside world. Said pipe was approximately five feet in diameter and was a perfect place in which to lure our victims to there untimely demise. It was decided that my compatriot would stand outside and entice a fellow combatant into the open where I, having placed myself strategically upon the top of said pipe, lay in ambush ready to fire a pillow tipped arrow into they back of the poor doomed soul.

All went according to plan with the minor exception that no one happened to wonder by. As we were both of a destructive mind it was decided that we would quit our current position and return to the labyrinth in search of more lively game

As I found myself atop the pipe and having determined that the fastest and most economical way to descend to terra firma would be to slide down the side of the pipe I positioned myself in the logical position to accomplish this task. With my buttocks placed upon the pipe and my legs extended I pushed my self off with the assumption that I would land safely at my destination. I had made a grievous error. I had forgotten my age old battle with the Inanimate’s.

Unbeknownst to me these forces had anticipated my moves decades before-hand and had clever placed in my path an object of such a diabolical nature that no right think person could have conceived of it. Over the ensuing years the natural elements of wind and rain had eroded the pipe to such an extent that a piece of re-bar had been exposed and over time had been honed into a miniature scimitar that had cleverly disguised itself to look like and innocuous clump of dirt. The design of this heinous weapon was tailor made to inflect a grievous wound on the very area that I had placed in its path.

As I slid down the pipe I felt, a sharp and sudden pain in my derriere. Once again on solid ground I conducted a cursory inspection of my rump by running my hand over the affected area. To my horror my pinky found a two inch long by a quarter inch deep furrow gouged into my tender tucious.

Finding myself with a finger in a hole that was not put there by natural selection I turned to my companion and said “Dave go get my brother I think I hurt myself” It was said in a calm voice that denoted my bravery and sheer intestinal fortitude in such a dire situation.

Dave, being of a curious nature, inquired as to the nature of my injury. As I began to describe the gaping wound that I had incurred it became apparent that he had not gleaned the nature of my contusion and exhibited signs of mirth in the form of hollowing gales of laughter. Somewhat offended, I again instructed him to enter the bowels of the Silos and retrieve my brother post haste. Chuckling in an unseemly manner, Dave went in search of my brother.

As I waited for my rescuers I began to contemplate my predicament. What once had been unblemished perfection now contained a gruesome lesion that would forever follow me through the remaining days of my life. It was a sobering thought.

While these thought ran through my mind my brother arrived and quickly took charge of the situation. Instructing me to “drop trou” and place myself in a prone position I eagerly lowered my trousers as there were ladies of the female persuasion present and I was more then happy to expose my beautiful baniqulers to their admiring gaze.

Upon his examination of my laceration I heard a gasp from my brother. He than instructed me to hand over my knife, which I innocently did. This was a bowie knife with a blade approximately seven inches long. Though its edge was rather dull its point was exceedingly pointy. With this less than ideal surgical instrument in hand my brother proceeded to saw away at my tattered undergarments.

As I watched in horror at my brother furiously whittling away at my skivvies it suddenly became apparent that he, not being satisfied with the job I had done, was determined to add to the outrage by ramming seven inches of steel into my ass. I held my breath and hoped that this was not his intention.

Finally, with a grateful sigh of relief form all involved, the offending apparel was removed. With this life saving device in hand my deliverer began to administer emergency triage on my perforated posterior. Finally, after many attempts, he queried with puzzlement, “How do you tourniquet an ass.”

With this question lingering in the air I took the shorts from my befuddled brother, waded them into a ball, and placed the on my gushing gash thus stopping the seepage of my precious bodily fluids. I than proceeded up the hill to an awaiting vehicle. After seeing me safely ensconced in the passenger seat my brother leapt behind the steering wheel and roared onto the road and towards the hospital.

As the speeding vehicle raced down the freeway, weaving in and out of traffic I glanced over and was stunned to find that my sainted brother had been replaced by a crazed doppelganger. I gazed in horror as this demon cursed our fellow travelers while blasting away with the horn. I assumed that this was done in order to get me to medical treatment but I found I was not so much interested in speed as I was in not being tossed willy-nilly about the interior of the car.

Being flung from one buttock to the other was in no way relieving my suffering. I also assumed, by this maddened displayed that I was more injured than I thought and that my sainted brother was driving in such a manner as to outrun death itself. As it happened and we arrived safely at the hospital not once encountering death, unless it was at the hands of my brother’s evil doppelganger.

After this rather horrifying ride of impending doom and emerging safely at the emergency room door, my brother slammed on the breaks, again causing some discomfort to his injured charge, leaped from the car and ran into the emergency room yelling, “My brother needs a gurney”. Upon hearing this plaintive cry the hospital staff sprang to life and rushed towards the door, shoving me aside in search of what to them must have been nothing short of a mangled wretch barely clinging to life. I meekly raised my hand and told the breathless staff that it was I for whom the gurney tolled. The disappointed looks I received where so heart rendering that I endeavored to do a more thorough job upon my next visit.

So thus I was saved from near doom at the hands of the inanimate world. All ended happily with but one exception. As I set down to write this my middle finger on my right had was brutally attacked by a door knob and the wall. Thus the war rages on.

Word of the Day

The Word of the day is Turd. I have decided that this is a perfect word in so many ways. First of all it's fun to say. Turd. When saying it you need to curl your upper lip as if someone has stuck a turd under your nose. And you must put the emphasis on the ur of turd. Kind of like, tURd with a hard T. Ta UR d.

So how do we use this wonderful word. It is simple. It is best used in a four or five word sentence. That/He (insert name of person or thing here) was/is a Turd. And that about covers all the bases.

So if you are in need of a word on short notice remember Turd. It is short and gets to the point in no time.

Genius

Are there any geniuses left in the world? Does our society even produce geniuses? The word geniuses is thrown around a lot these days. It is used in reference to football coaches, actors, politicians. You name it and someone has tacked the label genius onto it. And yet where are all of the amazing discoveries, works of art, or amazing inventions that the likes of Mozart, Shakespeare, Einstein, or Newton produced? Where are the Tesla's and Edison's of this generation? Where is my flying car and personal robot?

Designing a new offensive system for a football game hardly compares with developing calculus because the existing math doesn't fit your needs anymore. Yet people are always describing Bill Belichick as a genius. Newton. Belichick. Makes for a rather watered down definition of genius.

Don't misunderstand me, I'm not talking about brilliant people. There are plenty of those around. Scientists, musicians, authors and maybe Bill Belichick. But there are no geniuses. In one hundred years will the Beatles be mentioned in the same sentience as Beethoven or Cormac McCarthy with Shakespeare. Will their work even be seen or heard in the years to come? Who knows.

Why are there no more eureka moments. Those moments where in a flash of incite the answer comes to you and you find yourself running, naked, through the streets shouting for all to hear that you have discovered the mystery of why the Jonas Brothers are so popular.

Maybe, and this is just speculation, there are no more eureka moments left. Maybe we have come to the end of the age of discovery and all that's left to do is fill in the corners. I hope not. I truly hope that there are future geniuses out there that will find ways to bend space, write the next Hamlet or compose the next Pastoral Symphony.

Maybe I am being to harsh but it seems to me that the I-Pod can, in no way, be compared to the electric light bulb. Things seem to be done by committee these days. Who invented the I-Pod? Where are the mad genius, ala Nicola Tesla, who create radio, AC electrical current, the Tesla coil? I know that most discoveries are built on a series of early discoveries. Edison's wax cylinder phonograph leads to magnetic wire recordings that becomes the 78 record, which in turn produces magnetic tape and than into digital recordings. But there had to be an Edison to get the ball rolling.

I hope that somewhere out there is the next Shakespeare or Einstein. The next creative spark that will revolutionize the 21st Century the way that Newton, Mozart and Michelangelo revolutionized theirs.

Nuff'' Said

Something Good

Just when I start to fell that good ol' shitty feeling coming on and I begin to see the world as one big bag of shit something comes along to make me feel that it ain't all that bad. Thanks Heather you made my day.

My Niece

Just got done talking to my niece Heather and it was a joy. It's tragic what happened to her but in a way it is good for me. I never had a relationship with Heather for various complicated and frankly stupid reason. But now I have that chance and I will take full advantage of it. She has had a rough go and I want to try and make the rest of it as good as I can. I got my problems but between the two of us, maybe we can help each other.

Words

I have been thinking about words lately. Some words are just fun to look at and to say. Galoshes is a case in point. It's just fun to say. Ga-Losh-Es. Gazebo is another one. Ga-ZE-bo. But a lot of words are a bit confusing. Lets take the word plough as an example. Plough, pronounced, plow. Ok now dough. Pronounced dow? No, pronounced doe. Tough, (toe)?. Again, no tuff. Cough, (cuff). Nope Koff. How about Thought. It too has ought in it so is it Thcufft or Thkofft. Quite a mouth full. It is a very strange language.

But it has it's good points. For instance, "O turant Muse, what shall be thy amends for thy deglect of truth in beauty dyed?" It is the language of Shakespeare. Whether you like him or not you can't denie his influance.

So, with all of it's silly rules and strange pronunciations it is a very good language to communicate just what you want to communicate.

Nuff' Said.
August 16, 2009

August 19, 2009
The Little Men

When we last left our hero had mentioned something about four little men living in his head. What about these men and what are they doing inside his head. I will attempt to clarify.

There is a lot of chatter that goes on in my head. It ranges from musings on the world in general, to rage against creation or myself. Random thoughts that ping from subject to subject at the speed of thought. My head is like a school cafeteria. It rings with voices but it is very difficult to focus on one conversation for any length of time.

And it seems that all of this is controlled by four different and distinct entities. Four little men that battle for dominion over my personality. It’s not as crazy as it sounds. Well maybe it is as crazy as it sounds. Do I believe that these little men exist, that there are real flesh and bone beings living in my head. Yes and No. No they aren’t real.. If you sliced my head open you would find the usual stuff inside. But, they do affect my actions and emotions in a very real way. I know who is in charge at any one time.

It is still a mystery as to why I came up with this system to deal with my personality shifts. I can’t even tell you when it first manifested itself. There was not one crystalline moment when, Poof, the all appeared. It was more in the way of making sense of the thoughts in my head. If there was a physical manifestation of my behavior, someone who was in control, than I might figure out a way to control him. If the angry man was in charge than this is how I should handle him, and so with each in their turn. Sounds loopy when you put it down in black and white but it makes perfect sense if you are me. But your not, so you’ll have to trust me.

In order to understand a little more, I will introduce each little man. The one that is nominally in charge is the Normal One. He is the face of reality. The public face that holds the others in check while dealing with the everyday world around. We all have that aspect of our personalities. The Public Face. What we want people to see not the one that is pathetic, manic or scary.

There is the Pathetic One. This is the little man that takes control when I am in the depths of depression. When I am so depressed that I feel nothing. When I’m so dead in side that all emotions have disappeared, it is this one who is in control. It is he that wields the knife, who checks to see if I, indeed, bleed.

What is the importance of bleeding. When you bleed, when the blood actually runs down your arm, it is proof of life. If there is a working heart than the blood flows. Dead or mechanical devices do not bleed. The pain is dulled when this man is in charge but there is pain. The dead don’t feel pain. Any felling, not matter how destructive it is, is good. The alternative is worse than any physical pain. Something is better than nothing.

Of all the little men, I hate this one the most. I am a pathetic worthless piece of shit and a total waist of skin when he is at the controls. I can’t muster the energy to fight back and so begins a feed back loop that drives me deeper into hopelessness. I have spent months like this. I have lost jobs, lost friends, and lost experiences when in this state. Death is preferable. And death is the prevailing thought at these times.

So why not choose death? Many reasons actually. The foremost of which is that my family would be the one that would have to live with the consequences. Suicide is a selfish act that does more to hurt the living than the suicide. The living are the ones made to suffer for the suicide’s cowardice. I do believe that. I have had friends who have had people commit suicide in their families. They are left to wonder what they did wrong. How come they did not see the signs? What could they do different? I love my family more than I hate myself. Until that changes than suicide is not an option. If cutting is the only alternative than I’ll buy a sharp knife.

At other times the Happy One is at the helm. He is a joy to behold. The life of the party. Everyone’s friend. This is the one to have around when your ready for a good time. Sounds good to me, but wait there are costs to having Mr. Happy in command, cost being the optimal word. There are no breaks when Mr. Happy is driving. If it sounds good it must be good. There is no self control at these times. Don’t have the money, charge it. Not getting to your destination fast enough, push the car to 100 plus miles an hour. Got to work tomorrow but having to much fun, call in sick. Live for today for there is no tomorrow. The only trouble with that thought is that, so far, tomorrow always comes, and with it comes the hangover, the bills, the tickets, the questions. Why the fuck did I do that? What the fuck am I going to do with this? Who the fuck are you? Later comes the regrets. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Right? Wrong! When it comes to doing stupid things the opposite reaction is exponentially worse than the original action. The fun is fleeting the consequences linger.

Now on to the scary one. This is the one that I have no control over. When the rage comes it comes fast and usually when I’m in a manic state of mind. Happy one instant and raging the next. I doesn’t take much. A look, a word, an action and it’s off to the races.

It seems that the only way to control Mr. Pissed Off is to drug him. I take a lot of drugs to keep everyone settled down. They tend to work to well at times. Imagine, if you will, a large thumb and forefinger and you are standing in the middle, you can neither go up or go down. Your just there. Creativity dries up and it is so easy to slip into apathy. It’s a Catch-22, take the drugs to control the mania/depression and be “Blah” or don’t take the drugs and be manic or depressed but creative and screwed up. Dandy choices.

So those are the men who live up there. I have learned to live with them as they jostle for control. It makes for a crowed head but never dull. Always something going on. Next time I will write something completely irrelevant.

August 19, 2009

I have been reading a book about memorable cases of mental health professionals. It got me thinking about my own joyous experiences with being less than what society calls normal. I mean, it is not considered normal to take a razor or knife to your forearm when ever I think that I have done something so monumental stupid that I have to be punished. Or I will take the same knife and carve Life Sucks in my arm for no reason at all except it seemed like a good idea at the time.

The prevailing wisdom in psychology today is that present behavior is in direct correlation with your earlier life experiences. If you were told and it was demonstrated by other’s actions that you were a smart, capable person, with a lot to offer the world, you more than likely will grow up to be a well adjusted person who is able to function without any extracurricular whittling on your limps. If, on the other hand, you are continually told that nothing you do is right, and that you are a stupid piece of shit, than you will probably grow up think that you are a stupid piece of shit, though everyone you know keeps telling you that you are one of the smartest people they know.
I hate to work in the yard, work on my house or work on my car. Why because it was a miserable experience whenever I would do this when I was a kid and I now I’ll just fuck it up. Self talk reinforces behavior. I know this but I still have to force myself to do things around the house. Some days I succeed but most days I don’t.

Now, this being said, it does not excuse me from trying. People that insist on blaming the shortcomings on how they were treated as a kid are, in my mind, worthless pieces of shit. It is a continual feedback loop. Your where told you were a piece of shit therefore you are a piece of shit, so you behave as a piece of shit, so daddy was right after all, reinforcing the original premise. But you know intellectually that after 48 years you are more responsible for your actions than anything that may have occurred in the past so when you throw this into the loop you begin to feel even worse about yourself. “You fucking asshole, quit feeling sorry for yourself and get on with your life. Blaming daddy for your shortcomings is retarded.” You see how this keeps going.

So logically I know that my thoughts and behavior or self destructive, but I can’t or won’t change the behavior. We tend to stick with what we know. I think I’m a piece of shit there for I am. I will go to bed and tell myself I will accomplish great things tomorrow. But when tomorrow comes I can’t bring myself to get out of bed. Once I do, I won’t get off my dead ass and accomplish anything. I don’t want to leave the house. Every perceived bad thing that’s ever happened to me is happened outside the house. Therefore if I never leave the house nothing bad will happen. Sound logic. It’s bullshit and I know it but it doesn’t make it invalid to me.

Also, It probably isn’t healthy to continually write down that I am a piece of shit. It just keeps the thought firmly in place. It’s like there is a little man inside my head that keeps reminding be of how worthless I am. Like the slave that stood behind Xerxes and kept reminding him to remember the Greeks. There is a little man in my head and like Xerxes slave, he keeps saying, "Remember, you’re a piece of shit." As a matter of fact there are at least four little men that I am aware of. This does not mean that I am seeing and hearing things that don’t exist. It means that I have come up with my own way of dealing with what rattles around in my head. It also doesn’t mean that they don’t exist. But that subject is for another time.
So what do I do about this. Well for one thing I’m writing this. It may be a bit of mental masturbation, but masturbation never hurt anyone. So I will continue. Will I show this to anyone. Probably. I am certain that there is one thing I do well and that is write. I should do it more often, but it interferes with my feed back loop, and we can’t have that, can we?
I have become more aware of how many times a day I tear myself down. It is a lot.
I will walk past a mirror and the first thought that comes to mind is, “God you’re a fat fuck.” Do something wrong and it’s, “You stupid fucking asshole.” One good thing is I have become aware of the behavior. The trick is to figure out how to stop it. Haven’t figured that out yet.
When I catch myself my next thought is, “Shut up asshole.” Again, not the most positive of responses. I was told by someone a lot smarter than me that I need to show the same compassion to me as I show to them. I would never tell someone, “Why yes, you are indeed a worthless piece of shit. Give up, nothing will every change.“ (It should be noted that when I wrote that last sentence I first wrote, “I” are indeed a… makes you go HUMMMM!”)
What is this leading up to. Shit, I don’t know. It just seemed important to get this down. Why do I do the things I do. Why can’t Jeffy stop hating Jeffy. I’ll let you know when I figure out the answer. But in the mean time I will, in the words of Chief Dan George, “Endeavor to preserve.” And in the end that’s all we can hope for really.