"There are many causes that I am prepared to die for but no causes that I am prepared to kill for."
-Ghandi
I've spent my whole life taking pain. The more I look at my history, the more I see that as my role. Every time I've tried to inflict pain on others, it comes back to me with greater effect. I talk a lot about "hating" so and so, "hurting" what's his name, and "defending" such what. Every time I try, it doesn't work. If I struck my brother in defense, it just intensified my pain in response. I've often said "there is no greater feeling in the world than hitting Michael Herway." He was a junior high school bully and popular kid that I drilled a few times in football practice. There is a lot in the world better than hitting Michael Herway. Among them is not staying awake at night in pain for thirteen years. I can take a good shot, ask anyone who's hit me. Pain is not something I fear; my knees still feel the long, slow aches from football practice. Maybe if I didn't play, I'd still have fully functional shoulders, wrists, knees, and ankles. As it stands, they're still weary from the abuse I put them through.
So what am I prepared to kill for? Not willing, or eager, the crucial word is "prepared." I don't have access to a weapon. My rifle is inside a 1000 lb gun case to which I don't know the combination. I can't use my body as an effective weapon anymore, due to my brief experiments with delivering pain to my adversaries. I'm not prepared to kill anyone. Perhaps myself because there's no one to resist me. I suppose I could use my car as a weapon; it's big, fast, and heavy. Those are valuable components to weapons. Unfortunately, there's little discrimination with a car as a weapon. Too many people apart from any target, even with the intent of suicide, would get in the way. Killing anything with a car is a damn waste, if only for the collateral damage.
So what causes am I prepared to die for? The specter of death looms over me. The most likely candidate is my own self-respect. I have the pills; I have the knowledge. All that's lacking is the protection of my tongue: I've told too many people that I wouldn't off myself. I don't know why I told them; it does nothing but cause me pain. I guess I'm eager to please, and not killing myself, along with not talking about killing myself makes people happier about being around me. To be honest, if I knew what my life would be like back in 1997, I would have no hesitation to pull the trigger again. However, my large capacity for pain continues to adjust to a world full of only more pain. I can't pull anyone into this misery with a clean conscience. Who would want to stay with me when all I'm expert on is pain? I don't even want to be here, and my threshold is huge.
In a world full of so much death, which to me would almost be a release, there is a lot of pain. I think I'm still around because I can take it better than anyone else. If there is a certain amount of pain to distribute, perhaps I should be the one to hurt. If I can take pain for friends and family, I do. I've taken a lot of pain to keep others insulated from it. My Mom wouldn't have been able to take the pain of knowing what my brother and my Dad did to me while she was out of sight, so I took it all. From fist to lash, I kept everything secret from the people I respected and loved. This is a practice I maintain today. Three years undiagnosed hurt a lot; that one I should have shared. Unfortunately, it's the only one I should have shared, including the hits on Michael Herway. I couldn't do what he did, and he couldn't live the way I do. Nick Benz knows pain. We're both entrenched against pain with no recourse. That's why he's my oldest friend. We understand each other. I put on a good show so people can't tell the pure desperation of my existence. Everything is arrogance delivered with a crooked smile. Inside, I hurt. From without, I'm the loudest, most arrogant, show-off any of my friends know. It's easier than explaining the intricacies of my psychosis, and more effective than open knowledge. I'll own my pain, thank you. Tomorrow is today, and I'm prepared to take it.
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If Jacob is renamed Israel for Struggles with God, perhaps I should only be whispered for struggles with words.
16 comments:
How about stop letting what happened in grade school affect your whole life. Nick Benz knows pain...please...Nick Benz told people he was an alien. You choose to be an outcast just as much as you choose to do what is necessary to be "popular". If youre not going to move on and be your own person and accomplish something in life other than whine about some shit you are now old enough to walk away from...then you probably should in fact end yourself.
Get a name. Nick lives with physical pain that would make you cry to your momma. You don't know him. No one in high school knew him. He might as well have been an alien; it's a whole lot better than being a nameless prick pumping out ad hominem attacks on many months old blog posts from someone I can guarantee you don't even know.
If you're going to convict Nick of things he said to you, or worse the even more dubious "people," back in high school, aren't you a bit of a hypocrite? I think so.
As for choosing to be an outcast, that's something I definitely did. No one makes it through three years undiagnosed without a hefty barrier between himself and the rest of humanity. Behavior and ideas that are clearly psychotic are easily masked as eccentricism when they belong to someone universally hated.
Everyone struggles. Everyone has a right to hurt. I might not have done much with my life, but I'm a thirteen year survivor of paranoid schizophrenia. You probably have no idea what that's like, but I'll never know for sure without knowing your name. Until then, I'll be sure to put your remarks in the basket marked "opinions of people who don't matter."
Hey, I remember this.
Congratulations. You were witness to an insult that the original recipient, may or may not, have ever figured out, over ten years ago.
As I recall, the source went off telling people "Nick thinks he's from the planet terra," which switched into just 'alien' as it passed around. So far as I know, Nick was born in the U.S., so that's probably wrong.
Here's a hint: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terra_(planet)
Remember, you're still allowed to expand your mind. That's what school was for; that's what life is for. Move on.
"Nick lives with physical pain that would make you cry to your momma."
Nick probably still Lives with his momma. As for physical pain I could actually relate to that...its part of life...deal.
"No one in high school knew him. He might as well have been an alien"
His fault. I can safely say that he was never in danger of being "popular" but you could open yourself up to people more than he did as I remember.
"If you're going to convict Nick of things he said to you, or worse the even more dubious "people," back in high school, aren't you a bit of a hypocrite? I think so."
I think it is pretty darn hypocritical to still talk shit about people...Im sorry...kids...you went to high school with, because thats what we all were back then...and yet you still hate and everybody else has moved on with their lives. You let the hate still run yours. You dislike others for reasons no better than why they disliked you.
"As for choosing to be an outcast, that's something I definitely did. No one makes it through three years undiagnosed without a hefty barrier between himself and the rest of humanity. Behavior and ideas that are clearly psychotic are easily masked as eccentricism when they belong to someone universally hated."
Cry me a river. You certainly are well aware of every little issue you have for somebody who is so psychopathic. I think you are just afraid to be yourself because maybe nobody will like you. Do you even have a job for christs sake? Youre obviously not a moron...so why do you waste your life dwelling on the past. I do not buy that you need those pills...I think you just enjoy the attention you get from blogging about how you took too many or are thinking about taking the "lethal dose" every few blogs when you get bored and realize you have nothing to show for your life so lets see how many of your blog buddies still care when you threaten to off yourself.
"Everyone struggles. Everyone has a right to hurt. I might not have done much with my life, but I'm a thirteen year survivor of paranoid schizophrenia."
You are a survivor of nothing. Youre almost 30 years old and you pop pills and blog about how your family ruined your life...yet you still live under their roof.
"You probably have no idea what that's like, but I'll never know for sure without knowing your name. Until then, I'll be sure to put your remarks in the basket marked "opinions of people who don't matter.""
Im sure my opinion matters, anybody who will read your nonsense matters to you. Youre not getting my name because youre unstable as fuck and I dont need that on my doorstep next time you decide to flip out on somebody else because of how bad your life sucks. Funny thing is I am not a jerk, Im not somebody who picked on you in high school...Im just somebody who stumbled across this dark scary part of the internet and feels like bringing some reality to your realm. No personal offense intended...Im sure you enjoy the chance to argue a little...dont lie.
Oh and as for the next comment about "terra"...yeah...it never really fooled anybody but it was still weird...and not that its bad to be weird but the whole Im an outcast and dont want anybody to like me thing...well hey that actually works sometimes...dont blame others when you spend your entire childhood with less friends then you have fingers...on one hand!
Buy what you want. Arguing is something I used to enjoy; you know that. It gives me no pleasure now. I'm old; I'm also alive. The last job I had let me go when I flew in the Void for two weeks. Say what you will about me, I don't care. I live with a faceless man who says worse every day of my life. You didn't know me in high school; you don't know me now.
Think what you will of my diagnosis. You see my blog, and my blog only. Next time you play doctor, try looking at a DSM IV, not meandering anecdotal experience that probably never crossed the path of a schizophrenic except to look past when he begs for change on the side of the street. Guess what? Almost half (about 40%) of those homeless people are schizophrenics. I don't want to live on the street. Halfway houses and assisted living are hellholes; you should know that. Perhaps you don't. Visit one.
Now, I'm going to shoot you down. You countered Nick's pain with "Nick Benz told people he was an alien." You're a class act. Aristotle is by my bedside begging to put irrelevant name calling before Ethos.
How is it hypocritical of me to say what I feel about someone I knew in high school. Lame, perhaps, but hypocrytical? Hardly. Dictionaries help with that. Let's take a look.
hypocrite: a person who pretends to have virtues, moral or religious beliefs, principles, etc., that he or she does not actually possess, esp. a person whose actions belie stated beliefs.
Well, gee, I suppose that makes me not a hypocrite. If anything, I'm being more consistent than you are. Hatred fueled me then, it fuels me now. Where's the hypocrisy?
I don't crave attention. If I wanted attention, I can think of fifty better ways to get it than writing this blog or having anything to do with you. I don't have "blog buddies." I haven't spoken to Patmos in over a year; everyone else who reads this knows me outside of the blog, or barely knows me at all.
Yes, I'm old and older every day. So are you. If you're everything you thought you'd be when you graduated high school, I tip my hat to you. Anything else, and you're in the same boat I am. Poking me on my blog won't change that. Life isn't a race. I bet you falter, too. The next time you're frustrated, hurt, disappointed, or served with divorce papers, remember that you're not having a good time. I write such events in my blog; you don't. That's the difference between us.
The pills I take give me no pleasure. In fact, antipsychotics are quite toxic. I have tardive dyskinesia in my jaw. I stutter badly now. It's not fun.
Stumble over what you want. You took time out of your busy, busy, successful, awesome life to pick on my friend and myself over the internet. Then you managed to do it again! Shouldn't you be playing catch with your kids, working at a job you hate, or whatever you think makes you special enough to anonymously trash my blog with absolutely no provocation? You even managed to educate me on my mental state without a Medical Degree! Wow, where can I learn how to do that? Call what you say reality, or guidance, or whatever the hell you want to call it. We all know you're blowing more smoke than I am. Deal.
As for no personal offense intended, that's just a damn lie. You're not even any good at it. Prester Bane can say things that sting. You just make an ass of yourself on someone's blog.
By the way, I don't make threats. I make promises. If I actually offed myself, there would be no note, and no blog entry.
Why the hell am I even writing this? If I lived on blog comments, don't you think I would have taken the hint after the dozens and dozens of posts I make without comments from people like you? This is my blog. This is my space. I'll say whatever the hell I damn well please. I don't really care who likes me or who doesn't, especially you.
The next time you decide to dispense "reality" at the point of a pen, remember one thing. Ellipses are used to mark intentional omissions, not in place of commas or semicolons. You could at least pretend you graduated from High School English, especially when you darken counsel by words without knowledge.
I'd say that felt good, except that it only made me want to go to the bathroom. Let's just say I'm headed towards the right chair.
WTF? What does Nick saying he was an alien have to do with the fact that he is in pain all the time? Seems Mr. Anonymous hasn't changed since high school since he still uses pointless name calling as a means to put some one down. And the fact that he still worries about popularity. Just when you thought the stupid high school bull shit was in the past BAM! it's in your face yet again! Good thing he's too much of a coward to post his name because then we at least could try to make sense of the reason he is bashing people anonymously.
It's great to be able to move on with your life. Some of us are still having difficulty in that area. It comes with having bad crap happen to you.
Mike "Bully" Herway here. Glad to know everythings going well! BTW, when did you play football Thomas?
Yup, that's you. It was cool to hate me in high school, so people did so openly. I don't blame them, I was a reclusive asshole. It wasn't cool to hate you or your friends, so people did it in secret. Trust me, you were a smug, ordinary, predictable, condescending jerk. Everyone gets a chance to change in life; I'm glad I have. I also hope you've changed some: your boring act in high school was a waste of obvious charisma.
I played football in eighth and ninth grade. I wasn't any good at it, but the chance to do something that wasn't catching ridicule from everyone else made the transition from hit kid to crazy person much smoother.
Keep in mind, I'm no better than you, or anyone else for that matter. I'm just very, very different from the rest of you. This blog is a bridge to span the divide.
Thomas I got news man. I never hated you--I actually liked you. What I'm curious about is, how can you judge people so aggresively when you didn't know know very well? Or in our case, at all? and this isn't meant in any rude format, and is on a completely different topic, but you never stuck me on the football field.
I'm too wordy for my own damn good
thats funny. you're a simultaneously a fantastic writer. touch balance...
For the record...I was not popular in HS...and I thought Mike was a decent guy...I still think so. But Thomas I remember yOu as being sort of a scary, condescending guy who flew off the handle too easy...didn't you punch a wall and hurt your hand once? I mean obviously you say you had issues...and that's fine and all...but you did NOT come off as a nice person to anybody who wasn't in your clique.
Yeah, I've waited a while to look for comments here. Let's get something straight, there is no record with no name.
You know what, I'm not done with this. What reason was I given to be a nice guy? Nothing happens in a vacuum. Were you one of the people who voted me in absentia as the school's biggest spaz or the one most likely to start a fight? Were you one of the people who tried to lure me to the senior banquet to give me those awards and mock me in public? Had I known what titles I had coming to me, I would have showed up if only to tell the rest of you how I felt. Mike was free to be a decent guy. I wasn't. I had two choices going into high school: continue to be a punching bag or be what I became to the rest of you schooling, bloodthirsty, cruel cowards who don't sign your work. If you don't think I was a punching bag, ask MIke. Ask him sincerely about his clique, since we're talking about high school cliques and serial bullying of my friend, Nick and myself. Mike and his friends mocked me at every step, and threatened me with violence, too. Mike did it himself. If he says he never threatened me with violence, he's a liar. I will never apologize to Mike for reading Plato in the seventh grade, no matter how many times he decided it was a good idea to mock me for doing so.
I was a punching bag at home and at school for most of my life until high school. I chose to remove school from that imbalance. Blame me, mock me, award me at the senior banquet for being exactly what you wanted me to be. Then sign your work. Stop being such a damn coward. Stand up for Mike, the decent guy, with a name.
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