So currently, on a scale of one to ten, I'm floating at about the .78898 (repeating) area.
This is a lot of overly personal information, but I find some solace in placing said information in a realm that is publicly accessible by people whom I either do or do not know. To some degree, it is my expectation that someone who cares enough to read this, who also interacts with me on a daily basis, may indeed consume this knowledge and make a motion to assist me through my troubles. Given, they know that I use the same user name on all of my logins (where possible), they know that I frequent this site, and they know that member profiles are accessible to the public. However, by and large, I think that people are probably too self-absorbed, and these delusions that I represent enough of a segment of their life to hopelessly poke at my SG Blog in hopes of finding more out about me are just that: delusions.
Nonetheless, I do gain comfort from written word, so: Among other things, there are three major developments in my life. Actually more, but for the moment, these are the three I'm starting with.
First, I have a job. It's actually kind of embarrassing. Not that the job itself is unworthy or anything ridiculous like that, it's that I feel unworthy of the job. I was speaking with my girlfriend the other day, and her mom was home. Her mother is the kind of person who makes you want to curl up in a ball on the coach and cuddle with her all day, she is a pillar of security in an otherwise callous environment. Susan thrives on other people's happiness, and for this reason she is somewhat of a saint: taking care of a disabled husband, anorexic daughter, and supporting her son while he is at school. Each family member has their own personality quirk: Susan always answers the phone with the sort of dejected and angry hello you might expect from a barista who has been hassled by an irritable, coffee-deprived, low-level office worker one to many times. Jeff (her husband) consistantly delivers the punchlines of his jokes at least three minutes late from the confines of his room. As a result, it is entirely possible to enter the house and be told some minutes afterward by a very excited, albiet ethereal, voice that, "You still need your penis to write your name in the snow!" Josiah, Susan's son, insists that TV shows must always start at least fifteen minutes after their scheduled time. This is either a product of the TiVo generation, or a serious control issue on Josiah's part; the world may never know. Lastly, Jo (as pictured in previous posts and possibly the Long Distance Love group) will only sing if she is in a seperate room in the house. She certainly sings loud enough for all other members of the house to hear, which is greatly enjoyed as she is a wonderful singer; however, she will not sing to you face-to-face. While this family portrait is amusing, the embarrassment of my job stems from Susan. She carries this family. This lovely family would be nothing without her physical and emotional contributions. Along with caring for every family member she both works and cares for the dog. One day I spoke with Grace about my upcoming employment and told her, "I got a raise from last year too, $15 an hour, I'll finally have some money of my own." Susan looked up with a look of both bewilderment and suppressed self-criticism and told me so calmly that I wanted to cry, "That's twice as much as I make."
Certainly, there is something inately wrong witht his world if an 18 year old with no experience in the world, and certainly no true credibility, can be making twice that of a woman who deserves to be a saint. Certainly it is unfair. And as some sort of penance for the whole thing, I devote much of my time assisting the family with much of their day to day life; or, at least, as much as I can.
Secondarily, I see a doctor now. I don't mean a doctor who wantonly prescribes anti-biotics and painkillers (though my second side would love another bottle of those), I mean a doctor who I sit with for one hour a week and speak to. He really is quite amazing. To be honest, at this point he has brought up nothing but more questions for me to reflect upon, however, he has forced upon me (in a good way) perspectives that I continually shut myself out from. Perspectives that suggest I am not responsible for certain events in my life. Now, before this starts to sound like another middle-aged mother shirking responsibility for raising her child because she herself failed her attempts at being "the popular one", I'm quite serious. I take the direct blame for at least two teenage deaths. To some this may seem unreasonable, however, as far as I'm concerned, these people may as well have left notes to the effect of "Ask Matt". Suicide is not the word we're looking for: Murder. And that's why I see a doctor. Survivors guilt, killer's conscience, etc. As an extension of this, I've been put on sleeping pills. The simple reason being that someone who is disillusioned and tired is more likely to do something irreversable that someone who is merely disillusioned. Stranger yet, is the similarity that staying up on sleeping medications is to being on certain medications which were in fact NOT prescribed to me. When my parents speak to me before I go to sleep, I feel as though I should confess some tragic guilt, as though we were revisiting three years past. Glazed eyes and penetrating stares, parents holding up an eyelid asking over and over, "Are you high?" The same excuses back to back, "I'm just tired, I haven't slept, I'm nervous about school, or a girl, or something." However, these excuses have become reasons instead of lies, although deep down, the answer's never changed: "Yes, I'm high. And if I'm not I wish I were; because frankly, it's better than what this reality has to offer.
Lastly, I've finally decided to stand up for myself. To the outside observer this looks an awful lot like turning into a giant asshole. But I've still got all my friends and they, to some degree, have stopped treating me like shit in certain situations. However, deep down inside I sometimes try and convince myself that the problems that I have with my friends are solely because of my actions, thereby absolving them of all guilt. What can be worse than being stepped on than stepping on those who truly do not deserve it? In in my attempts to mitigate their responsibility in my disatisfaction, I only dig myself deeper into my hole of disillusionment. To these tired eyes there are few truths, most of which resound the same simple statements, resounding off of walls of shear dissappointment:
You are wrong. You are inadequate. And for reasons yet unknown, every word they speak is a cover, every word of praise a lie.
This is a lot of overly personal information, but I find some solace in placing said information in a realm that is publicly accessible by people whom I either do or do not know. To some degree, it is my expectation that someone who cares enough to read this, who also interacts with me on a daily basis, may indeed consume this knowledge and make a motion to assist me through my troubles. Given, they know that I use the same user name on all of my logins (where possible), they know that I frequent this site, and they know that member profiles are accessible to the public. However, by and large, I think that people are probably too self-absorbed, and these delusions that I represent enough of a segment of their life to hopelessly poke at my SG Blog in hopes of finding more out about me are just that: delusions.
Nonetheless, I do gain comfort from written word, so: Among other things, there are three major developments in my life. Actually more, but for the moment, these are the three I'm starting with.
First, I have a job. It's actually kind of embarrassing. Not that the job itself is unworthy or anything ridiculous like that, it's that I feel unworthy of the job. I was speaking with my girlfriend the other day, and her mom was home. Her mother is the kind of person who makes you want to curl up in a ball on the coach and cuddle with her all day, she is a pillar of security in an otherwise callous environment. Susan thrives on other people's happiness, and for this reason she is somewhat of a saint: taking care of a disabled husband, anorexic daughter, and supporting her son while he is at school. Each family member has their own personality quirk: Susan always answers the phone with the sort of dejected and angry hello you might expect from a barista who has been hassled by an irritable, coffee-deprived, low-level office worker one to many times. Jeff (her husband) consistantly delivers the punchlines of his jokes at least three minutes late from the confines of his room. As a result, it is entirely possible to enter the house and be told some minutes afterward by a very excited, albiet ethereal, voice that, "You still need your penis to write your name in the snow!" Josiah, Susan's son, insists that TV shows must always start at least fifteen minutes after their scheduled time. This is either a product of the TiVo generation, or a serious control issue on Josiah's part; the world may never know. Lastly, Jo (as pictured in previous posts and possibly the Long Distance Love group) will only sing if she is in a seperate room in the house. She certainly sings loud enough for all other members of the house to hear, which is greatly enjoyed as she is a wonderful singer; however, she will not sing to you face-to-face. While this family portrait is amusing, the embarrassment of my job stems from Susan. She carries this family. This lovely family would be nothing without her physical and emotional contributions. Along with caring for every family member she both works and cares for the dog. One day I spoke with Grace about my upcoming employment and told her, "I got a raise from last year too, $15 an hour, I'll finally have some money of my own." Susan looked up with a look of both bewilderment and suppressed self-criticism and told me so calmly that I wanted to cry, "That's twice as much as I make."
Certainly, there is something inately wrong witht his world if an 18 year old with no experience in the world, and certainly no true credibility, can be making twice that of a woman who deserves to be a saint. Certainly it is unfair. And as some sort of penance for the whole thing, I devote much of my time assisting the family with much of their day to day life; or, at least, as much as I can.
Secondarily, I see a doctor now. I don't mean a doctor who wantonly prescribes anti-biotics and painkillers (though my second side would love another bottle of those), I mean a doctor who I sit with for one hour a week and speak to. He really is quite amazing. To be honest, at this point he has brought up nothing but more questions for me to reflect upon, however, he has forced upon me (in a good way) perspectives that I continually shut myself out from. Perspectives that suggest I am not responsible for certain events in my life. Now, before this starts to sound like another middle-aged mother shirking responsibility for raising her child because she herself failed her attempts at being "the popular one", I'm quite serious. I take the direct blame for at least two teenage deaths. To some this may seem unreasonable, however, as far as I'm concerned, these people may as well have left notes to the effect of "Ask Matt". Suicide is not the word we're looking for: Murder. And that's why I see a doctor. Survivors guilt, killer's conscience, etc. As an extension of this, I've been put on sleeping pills. The simple reason being that someone who is disillusioned and tired is more likely to do something irreversable that someone who is merely disillusioned. Stranger yet, is the similarity that staying up on sleeping medications is to being on certain medications which were in fact NOT prescribed to me. When my parents speak to me before I go to sleep, I feel as though I should confess some tragic guilt, as though we were revisiting three years past. Glazed eyes and penetrating stares, parents holding up an eyelid asking over and over, "Are you high?" The same excuses back to back, "I'm just tired, I haven't slept, I'm nervous about school, or a girl, or something." However, these excuses have become reasons instead of lies, although deep down, the answer's never changed: "Yes, I'm high. And if I'm not I wish I were; because frankly, it's better than what this reality has to offer.
Lastly, I've finally decided to stand up for myself. To the outside observer this looks an awful lot like turning into a giant asshole. But I've still got all my friends and they, to some degree, have stopped treating me like shit in certain situations. However, deep down inside I sometimes try and convince myself that the problems that I have with my friends are solely because of my actions, thereby absolving them of all guilt. What can be worse than being stepped on than stepping on those who truly do not deserve it? In in my attempts to mitigate their responsibility in my disatisfaction, I only dig myself deeper into my hole of disillusionment. To these tired eyes there are few truths, most of which resound the same simple statements, resounding off of walls of shear dissappointment:
You are wrong. You are inadequate. And for reasons yet unknown, every word they speak is a cover, every word of praise a lie.
if i had any words of wisdom i could part with then i would but the stuff you seem to be going throught is by far and away more then i can complain about in my white middle class back ground and two loving parents.
take it steady