a parable of sorts

Professional psychological counseling is still two weeks away, been treading water while friends hit me with oars. To help me, I guess. That’s what it feels like sometimes. The lies they tell me to “comfort” me have been exposed once more by their behavior and thoughtlessness and it sickens me and drags me deeper, even though it was meant to help. That life vest seems pretty appealing, then you put it on, and then they tell you “by the way, it’s made of concrete”. Down you go.

For longer than I can remember, I say I am a unhappy, existence is meaningless, people are deluded, the deck is stacked against us.. and friends and family assure me otherwise. What few that remain, do, at least. And I try to do better, and I wonder why I see things so dark, when they are not dark.

ahhh, but they ARE dark, and denial of it is a poor defense.

I feel like I have been warning people that there are tigers in the bushes. And they hug me, reassure me, no, there are no tigers in the bushes. I say, but — that guy just got eaten by that tiger, and they say — okay, there was one tiger but he’s gone. Then one day a tiger leaps out of the bushes and tears my leg off, and I am told: “you know those tigers? Yeah, they ARE there. I just told you they weren’t because you seemed sad and I wanted you to feel better” . “But — but I believed you, and then a tiger ate my leg off” “Well, I did it to help you. I know how tigers worry you”

So, good intentions, bad results. Assuring me the tigers weren’t real only set me up for a bigger fall when they attacked. Because if you had admitted they were real, I might have not ignored them and thought I was crazy for imagining tigers. instead, now i am just half a man.