Living With Your Enemy

It's only just dawning on me that my life has become a series of dramas, each one causing much stress regardless of its' size.

I've been heavily reliant on the transitory highs of retail therapy - eBalls and Amamamazon being the chief targets. It's a sense of spinning around, trying to ensnare my usual impulses. These impulses are very deep, during which I have to be very vigilant or I would buy more things than I want or need.

Understanding the difference between need and want is the best lesson I've learnt over all of this year's purchases. I don't need a new guitar, or four new guitars. They look nice and sound lovely. It hasn't improved my mental state or general health. I've got more money than at any other time in my life and yet, it somehow doesn't feel nice. Security comes from living beings rather than static objects. I never felt more safe than when I was at home with my parents, with no outside stresses, either school or work situations. I'm a frightened little boy housed inside a decaying shell of a half-man. I look like I'm a vicious sod, and yet I'm too, too delicate.

There have been some wonderful people in my life, coming from many different circumstances and the few who I have become close to deserve a medal for putting up with my constant woes and whinging, whining whines. It would be nice to explain to them that I'd like to step out of my body and join them in wondering what the hell I'm playing at. You hurt those close to you and I have a remarkably lucid comendium of pain I've dished out. Being ruled by some thing that is coursing through my veins I can be very hurtful verbally. Some things can't be unsaid. I've found trouble in every area of my life and as I grow older it seems that being alone is the only safe way of avoiding hurting people I care for.

Sayoung Sorry is less of an apology and more of a means to the end of getting past what I've done or said or not said or not done. But having a mind like mine means that I can punish myself far more efficiently and deeply than would equate the hurt I have caused. I'm still punishing myself for things I did and said in a special relationship and will no doubt continue to do so until I die. Not having my parents around means that I have created a reality in which I believe I was a bad son to them and that they didn't actually like me. They loved me very much, but that isn't the same as liking me as a man or person.

So, when these black moods strike, I tend to isolate myself from everybody and everything. I know that isolation is the worst thing to combat depression, but being with people now is a very big stress. My sight situation means that I feel awkward and disabled. It's an ordeal.

Soup of the day will be pity and ego with bread cobs.