Mowing down psychological tall grass and tangled weeds; clearing the field and planting new seeds. Thoughts lifted from my angry days, when someone asks my opinion and then denies it. If I tell you my favorite color, who else would have the "right" answer? Challenge it, oppose if you must, but to correct it is to erase my existence. If we all had the same thoughts, there would be no need for democracy. Cogito Ergo Sum.



I think I'm about done with "social networking". I always knew I was different than the other kids, and the more time I spend on facebook and blogs and just my own personal flaw that I ignore the tact not to talk about all the things apparently no one talks about, I'm realizing this fact: I don't know how many of the people I was friends with in my past that I'd be able to be friends with now.

It seems that there is a systematic double standard that always works against my favor:

When someone else tells me their point of view, that's simply their perogative to utilize their freedom of expression and state their opinion.

But somehow the rules change  when I speak up, particularly when I happen to hold the point of view that is in the minority, because that means - well - everyone can see that this is far beyond just a polite opinion, I'm just being "provocative".

I'm not so deluded as to suggest my freedom of speech (protected by the First Amendment) is being infringed, like Rush Limbaugh did when he got fired for saying something unpopular on ESPN. Limbaugh was fired as an example of pure, unbridled capitalism: His bosses fired him because they did not want to take the hit to their ratings when he pissed people off. His current job as political windbag and provocateur is also a captialistic enterprise, and not neccessarily the most noble or sublime use of "freedom of speech"; he gets paid a handsome sum because a lot of people like to hear some other guy say the things they know would get them fired if they said it. Democracy only guarantees the government can't shut you up. But the rest of the population will take care of the ones they don't like on their own.

What does this have to do with me?
All these years with good memories, or at least memories I could live with, and now it seems like I am indeed such an outcast and a freak that I should never leave the house except for groceries.

And of course - that earns me a new label - "depressed". Or my favorite: "paranoid". Why is it when you keep standing in the rain they say  you're not learning very fast, but when 99 out of 100  people tell you to STFU and you just stop talking altogether because you think everyone hates  you, they call you "paranoid"? In both cases, the label is more defeating than the thoughts, and that only makes those who gave it to me demand that I need them more.

A label for me, a career for them, and when they insist that it is not possible for me to heal myself because of my "disease", and I tell them that such a thought is the single most powerful one I could be given that would make me give up completely - the ones who shout it into my ears will only shout louder. They accuse me of hurting telling them how much pain I'm in.

So when you see that the "side effects" for the anti-depressant drugs (expecially Abilify, which is the THIRD drug they insist you should take if the other two aren't enough) - and one of the side effect of that drug is still "Suicide" -

Hey - it isn't the drugs.

It's the society. It tells me I can't feel healthy until they tell me I'm healthy, but when I say their remedies make me feel worse, that's only proof to them of how much more i need.

Hey - if I'm that bad, I'll save the food and energy I'm consuming for someone more worthy and make space for them in my absense.

Holy shit - that sounds like a threat of suicide! Well, lets see here....a long list of people have told me with no ambiguity or equivocation that my ideas are not welcome, I'm outnumbered, and I'm not going to win - but make the best of it!...that's not me sitting in my house being paranoid that I'm not welcome. It's me finally accepting that it's raining outside, and only fools go out to stand in the rain.

Can you see how the rules change to fit whatever side I'm not on?

That's what they call paranoia, depression; I call lucidity and perspicacity. I'm only listening to what they tell me and putting it all together. This country's greatest industry - it's only industry, it seems - is taking people who once gave a shit and convincing them what a fool they are until they stop caring about anything at all. Then they blame them for giving up.

Neat trick.

If I thought fixing me alone would do something, I'd do it. But fixing only me and still leaving everything else as is - knowing that someone else is being crushed and broken as I supposedly heal by shutting all this out - I can't buy that. We won't change what is breaking people, we'll just wrap them in pillows and send them through the gauntlet one more time.

And those of you who are astute and honest with yourselves will have to see that sending me to get "help" doesn't have a goddamn thing to do with whether or not I ever feel better; it's nothing more than a limit on other's liability. If someone is the reason I'm so depressed and they can say, "well, I recognize he needed 'help' and said he get some" then they think they've done their civic duty. The help is never intended to change my state of mind, it only exists for their absolution.

If they really wanted to change my state of mind, they'd recognize their role in forming it, and offer to make changes on their own. That's not what is happening here.

The promise - the delustion - ofhelp exists so that everyone else can maintain the status quo. If I go get "help" that means everyone can now agree that we all knew where the real problem was - me - and now that I've gone to get a tune-up, everyone else can continue on as before without any obligation to change a thing. After all, surely none of my distress could have been their fault; by going to get "help" i've somehow granted them permission to label me deficient and therefore the only thing that needed any modification.

I first went for counseling at the behest of my mother and girlfriend in 1993. I didn't think there was anything wrong with me, and all this stress was just "life". I was told I had a disease; I was told I'd need counseling and medication for the rest of my life or I'd never be happy - and from that moment to this, it seems they were right.

It only seems now that more people have no hesitation telling me not only am I depressed, but they actually become angry with me if I dare hang on to the things that keep me hanging on - insisting that it's dangerous to tell anyone else.

I'm still alive. Whenever I think about the end, about writing a suicide note, I think about some of the conversations I've  had online or in person or in the presence of 'professionals' - all who think they know better than I do what is in my head and how to "fix" it - and say,

"well, I had managed to stay alive for 42 years. After listening to you tell me that you - only you, never me - could have the answer - that's when I finally gave up."

But you and i both know that the kinds of personality I'm talking about would never even pause in reading such thoughts; they'd see my death as further proof of how wise they were and how sound their advice was, "if he'd listen to me, he coudl have been saved".

Religion, therapy - just condescending people who are never wrong - they always disavow their handiwork and find absolution in simply saying "The other guy was sick when i found him, the fact that he's dead only means I didn't get to work with him long enough to save him".

And that, dear readers, is why I'm not letting anyone - neither church nor counselor - ever get their hands on me again.


Post a Comment