A Lack of Support
I got a bag today from a support group for people with mood disorders. It was lime green and had the word “Humana” on it. I did not know what it meant , but it suits me: like human, but not quite. (I later learned Humana is a health insurance company).
I felt like an idiot talking about myself. There was no order to my thoughts. I felt like a mess explaining myself, where I am in life, and what my problems are. The looks from the other members were like they were trying to be receptive of me, but I could tell I was not on the same wavelength as them. Big surprise; the story of my life repeats once again in perfect fractal harmony.
I feel like it does not matter what I do. No matter how hard I try I can never be like other people. I can’t figure them out. I’m like an alien that can’t help but step on other people’s feet. Regardless of how hard I try to be a good person, I will always fail. Either I fumble my words trying to say something nice, or I’m oblivious to what other people are thinking or feeling and make an ass of myself.
I used to beat myself up so much for this. I gave that up, and I feel like I’m giving up more and more of that part of me that cares. There’s no point to flagellate myself over every mistake because I make so many of them. I should just focus on the garden at my feet and try to grow an abundance that I can share with the world to make up for my short-comings.
That’s the only reason God keeps me around. My archetype generates value by steeping outside the bounds of normativity and playing by different rules. I’m not actually desired or needed on a personal level. I’m a tool. I was not made for this world and its people. Always on the outside looking in, this square peg has watched so many people fit into the round holes, wishing I could be one of them.
One of the guys talked about heroin and drugs. I mentioned my use of pills in the past and he said that at least those are better than the stuff you get on the street: who knows what you’re actually getting? I thought to myself: “I wish I could have gotten those drugs when I was younger, but I was too incompetent at meeting and talking to people to ever have a chance.”
How can I not feel like a retard? It’s self-evident. Any time I go into public I’m blasted with reminders that I’m not like others. I’m an alien on a foreign planet; a robot without a soul. People may judge me, and I don’t care, but it does not change the fact that they will never come near me by choice.
Suffering is inevitable. I just have to shrug. Accept it and keep moving forward. Maybe some day this will all be worth it. That’s what I tell myself, and while I see the strings unwinding ever so slowly, I still feel bound to this broken shell of a body.
The organizer at the support group told me to focus on one thing: that which I wanted more than anything. I always tell people to listen to their heart, that they need to shine the light within. Do whatever your highest self desires. More than anything, my very core screams to make a sex cult, to just manifest the largest mass of debauchery the world has ever seen as a big “fuck you” to a world that rejected this misfit.
I feel depressed just thinking about a normal life. There’s no point, because I’m denying myself if I am obeying the rules. If I could define myself in one word it would be deviant: that which oversteps the socially accepted boundaries. For much of my life I have hid behind closed doors, afraid to show my face while simultaneously skirting along the edge of the most perverted lines imaginable. I’m sick of hiding. I’m sick of repressing my potential to satisfy the sensibilities of old ladies and prudes.
When the organizer asks me what one thing I am focusing on next week, I am going to tell her that I am creating a sex cult. A full-fledged 501-c3. I don’t care what she or anyone else thinks. I am so done with caring. I’m living for me, and by doing so, I plan to make this world a better place in my own style.
Hey, this is a journal entry from a project I am really enjoying so far. It's allowing me to write about my life as I discover myself, and reflect on the past while I do so. I want to turn this into a book. I really appreciate any support, in whatever form it takes. Thank you for taking the time to let me share this piece of myself with you.