Monday, July 18, 2005


I'm close. I don't think anyone wants to see that, but my problems are Legion. This is not about being down, being blue, lovsickness, loneliness, or unhappiness, although I know all those; this is about how far I have to go for peace. I want to tranq up and sleep forever. My every waking moment is laced with suspicion, false information, and an uncanny ability to misinterpret even the smallest bit of my life. Everyone that hurts me gets ahead in life, from Dad to Gary to the rest; everyone seems better off when I'm in pain. A moment or two of normalcy and society would help, but I can't grasp it. I could wait for more information before I make the decision, but what's the point? Doctors will mislead me, family will demand progress where none is possible, and people in general will expect of me acomplishment beyond my now-meager faculties. I don't want to be fed twelve step garbage by people with voluntary diseases like alcoholism and drug addiction. Those programs assume there's a salvagable person and a choice to be made alongside or beneath the substance. I'm all madman. With me, it's never about choices, decisions, or repairing the past. I never had a choice to be sick. I can't decide not to be schizophrenic, and my past is never the same thing twice in my decaying memory. If I hear one more addict tell me to go to therapy, stick with it, and talk it out, I'm going to off myself on the spot. Don't you fools see? There isn't any therapy for this! There's no will strong enough to break it, and no special little program that can make it all feel better afer a few weeks. There are only false hopes fed by doctors, relapses as sure as taxes, just as common but less regular, and lies I feed those around me to avoid the shame of complete exhaustion and defeat.

The only time when I can choose my own destiny is when I'm close, and nobody wants to see that.

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