F*ck Me, Right? [Journal 3-20-17]

Tom Waits – The World Keeps Turning.

Well shit. The first garden plot is nearly done, not counting the seeds which I’ll have to germinate inside, but the work has seemed to have the opposite effect I intended: I’ve actually been distracted from shoring up my depression in preparation for working again. Still feel fine physically, but mentally, the work’s simply distracting the effort I need to invest.

So, time to reassess. I’ve got a safe 4 months before I absolutely have to get to work. I’ve got two old, bad, jobs I can go back to, and one that’s probably shit, which my roomie can get me into. So if things stay bad, I’m still ok, but I really do not want any of those choices. I also know that badluck can find me at any moment, so I’m very uncomfortable with the idea of blade-running my funds.

Therefore, I hate to say it, but its probably time to finally commit to the deep and dangerous metacog that I’ve avoided for 15 years. I just can’t find a way to accept my life through normal emotional processing; it seems I have to force tolerance. I keep looking for another route, given my history-induced terror of the prospect, but come up with nothing. Suicidal thoughts have returned.

Funny thing is, I’ve always wanted to do serious metacog; I just wanted it to be a slow process, when having allot of savings, being emotionally stable and content, and having a partner, all as a safety-net if things got weird. Don’t get me wrong, I genuinely think it’ll be fine, but I don’t know. What I do know is that I’ll be tinkering with my mind in ways most people don’t even imagine possible – and ways that “gurus” fumble in attempting to explain.

What the fuck is with my life, honestly? Well, if I follow through with the metacog, that’s more fodder for the blog at least. But, I suppose what finally sold me on metacog is this simple fact: suicide has become a thoroughly comforting thought – devoid of fear.

As previously stated throughout the blog: the probability of finding a partner is exceedingly-low-to-impossible, and trudging through the masses for the rest of my life, alone, just has no appeal. None. Whatsoever. And, generally speaking, my hobbies are only mildly entertaining, and cannot be furthered without the unique company I seek.

So, I look at my future and think: not worth it; there’s just not enough positives to balance out the negatives in life for me. I’ve looked at it time and again, and I just can’t find a way to make myself care, or take greater joy in my hobbies without someone to share them. So, gotta force my brain to surge whatever chemicals make me feel good. I wonder, if I’m successful in that goal, would I’d be considered a druggie?

Anyway, let me specify exactly why I find most people intolerable. I’ve interacted with and seen many varieties of bad people. I’ve also made a point, throughout my life, to study and understand people – from the glorious to the heinous. And if this blog proves anything, its that I’ve spent a great deal of time observing my own mind – which, given my variety of experiences, and inherited and fostered intellect, has been very informative.

Put all of it together, and I’ve got a pretty solid grasp on the formulas that compose people – on the broad range of behaviors, thoughts, emotions, etc, that people fall within. I imagine that I can pretty much tell you all about a person with a little bit of interaction, and where they’re mentally/emotionally headed.

Supposedly possessing this insight into the human condition, and measuring people accordingly, I almost invariably note far more poor qualities in people than good. And more importantly: that they will never change, without extreme influence, to the degrees which would make them desirable company for me.

Going about my business in public, I observe the people around me, and not only imagnie their faults, but also the foolish actions those faults will cause them to enact; then, how those actions influence society as a whole – which influences me. If their lives regularly intersect with my own, I get to imagine the direct negative influences on my life, then watch my predictions unfold, knowing there’s rarely anything I can do.

In total: my life is a fucking nightmare; the monsters are people; and there’s nothing I can do about it. Now here’s the real trick. Is this just a mild form of PTSD/paranoia, caused by people consistently fucking me over throughout my life? Or am I right? And which is worse? Course, I could just be a megalomaniac – painting myself the tragic hero. Woe is me.

Journal Hub



~ by Louis Naughtic on March 20, 2017.

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