THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
I'm just, I don't know. Fuck. Like, losing my mind here.
I have a lot to update about and maybe I'll get to it- To the funny parts, and to Tom Cruise's dentist and all the ice cream cones, to the burning island and the ash fall, but now... I can't.
I just have to get out everything that needs to be gotten out. I'll just explode otherwise, and it's not like I have anyone else who will fucking listen to me- Just throw out, what, like, ten fucking minutes of their time to just tell me- tell me, that even if it isn't normal, it's not a ruining factor.
Maybe that's where it starts off. Well. No, fuck, I don't know. It's so tangled.
Maybe it starts on the fact that just now I'm beginning to realize that the way I do things is, you know, just a little bit different than everyone else. That just now it's starting to kick in that what I always assumed is normal is, well. Not, perhaps.
Maybe that's it.
Maybe it's that I appear to have lived my entire life only vicariously through the kind of constant, hyper elaborated fiction that I've kept spinning in absolutely everything I do. How I internalize these people to the point of no seperation between them and me- How they just become an extra limb, a reflex. How I learn to learn things I cannot possibly understand through actual experience, but only through vicarious, fictional understanding- which doesn't even make any sense, thank you- and that these notions only further help that stupid motherfucking justification reflex, which has kicked in to the point of absolute numbness at this point.
And maybe that's another one right there. Maybe everything's wrong because I've virtually eliminated all sense of gut feeling or intuition from my entire life with my constant justification and possible downgrading of my situation, using the favorites Oh, well, you're just a teenager as a frequent. I can't even seperate what I actually believe. It's like I'm having everybody else's arguments against every single thing I do, without even stopping to rationalize my own place within the situation.
Despite the fact that I'm from a family where the only emotions ever- ever- shown to each other, as well as, you know, the whole fucking planet- are irritation and amusement, I've now gotten the ability of hacking every single fucking feeling I have into one of the two.
I don't even know how to be sad in front of other people. Or angry or happy or anything. Fucking anything.
You know, I don't even remember the last time I said 'I love you' to one single person in my entire family? And I don't think I've ever said it to my sister. Ever. And I don't think any of them have ever said it to me.
And it's not like I- Well. I don't know if I would disagree with it, or if I don't actually love them, because I think I do- But I don't even fucking know what that is. You know, how the fuck do you love in that familiar, platonic kind of way? What is it?
Isn't shown affection just sort of part of the whole family package? And, while I do realize that we show in different ways- Namely the attractive art of witty fucking repartee, as if sarcasm was actually anything to anyone who could say their own name- Does it make it lessened? While there obviously a standard, aren't there at least a few minimums- Requirements to family dynamics?
Is the fact that our entire take on family is to just keep a casual disintrest in everyone else, still completely narcissistic and, in being so, completely self loathing- Is that any indication of... I don't even know. You know, fuck, what is it?
It isn't disloyalty, it's just disintrest. No one gives a fuck about each other.
Just so far as to be either irritated or amused by them.
And, well, here you go- Maybe the most pressing, or what, at the time, feels to be the most urgent.
I was thinking last night.
And, you know, I swear to God, in my entire life, there have been two fucking people who... I don't know. Actually gave a damn. Ever. In my entire life.
People who, when I would fuck up or not know how to deal with something or not like it or not understand it- Would take it out of the fucking realm of their own personal inconvience.
And I appologize this. I am going to cry. Just thinking about it closes my fucking throat, and I don't have any other way in or out of it.
But here. I swear- Swear that in my entire academic career of constant disappointment and missing the mark and underachievement, there has been ONE SINGLE PERSON who's actually bothered to, I don't know. Actually fucking talk to me about it?
Who would tell me that I had to just stop all this shit, and then who could tell me that maybe, you know, there was actually- Oh, Jesus Christ- A reason.
ONE PERSON who bothered to look at it as something wrong with me, rather than something I'd done wrong.
Who actually fucking cared enough- even though they really didn't fucking have to, and I'm still not quite sure why they did- To, you know, fuck, even ask me. Who could do it without yelling at me, or being fucking disappointed in me, or tell me how I'll never fucking get anywhere, or compare me to themselves, or tell me how bad I've made them or their group or whatever look.
You know- Someone who could actually take the time to notice all this shit that I do, and that maybe- MAYBE I wasn't just, oh, I don't know, doing it. Who actually understood that no one just does thing. That everyone takes everything around them and everything that's happened to them and everything they think and holds it up next to all of their options and picks whatever path lies in accordance.
You know, is it really that much to ask for someone- someone- To just pull their heads out of their asses long enough to notice anyone else?
Is that really that fucking radical? Caring about someone's welfare without any personal gain?
I don't even understand. I don't know why, even when I try to lay shit on the table, no one even fucking cares or notices or sees what it is, and just tries to think about themselves and their own problems and how fucking hard their lives are and how they're tired and have a lot of work to do.
I know I'm supposed to be, you know, building things for myself- But how the fuck am I supposed to give a damn about what happens to me, if no one else does?
I don't think anyone actually does.
I think they'd be sad, or they'd be upset or irritated or angry with me or anything, but I don't think anyone would fucking step in. I don't think anyone would just, for maybe just one minute, just be a fucking shoulder for once.
Not even a shoulder- That's too much to ask for, I've already figured that one out- Maybe just a single question. Maybe just one. Maybe someone who realizes that passive participation in the lives of others doesn't actually fucking get anyone anywhere.
And maybe I'm just being a fucking hypocrite here.
Maybe I am.
But fuck you.
I feel like I'm just loosing everyone around me, thread my thread. That we're all just moving in different directions and that, even though some are moving in groups, almost everyone's just moving alone.
And I'm not even moving at all. I'm too tangled and too stagnant.
None of it makes any sense.
None of the lonliness, the constant fucking pulling lonliness that's just settling in and spreading, my own private cancer, and why I don't believe it will ever go away.
Why I don't think that no matter what I do with anything, none of it's ever going to mean anything, because I don't know a single fucking person who can listen to what I say anymore and even know what I'm talking about.
I don't know anyone I'd trust with it, anyway. I haven't met a single person yet who I think would even understand any of it. Who could just hear things out and not try to make light of them or put them in perspective of think of me badly for them.
Who can just take things as they are, and let them rest that way, and maybe- Just fucking maybe realize that sometimes, just being there- Just wasting time enough that they could have used for whatever the fuck they wanted to do for themselves- That maybe that really is enough.
That maybe that's all it even takes.