I have tried it, it has left me with lasting chronic pain and other side effects and frankly, not only do I wish I’d completely succeeded, I wish my naive mother had had a convenient termination when she learned the dismaying news. In the mid 1960s. So I’ve been stepping this tortured fucking polka awhile.
I think this is the Christian site and I am a Christian (or at least I claim I am, although I guess I’m about the world’s shittiest one………..me or a certain US-Egyptian low budget film-maker). Well, the Word says: “Be in the world but not of it.”
I’ve never been really “of” it. And I’m damn jack of being in it.
In explanation: My psych illnesses have relegated me to such gleeful joys as: Being judged by my family / peers (even a delightful young lass last December on a local avenue who angrily yelled out that I was a “fucking retard!”); consistent bullying by those usually 1,000 times more influential, 100,000 times less empathic and 1 billionth of my intelligence (hard to believe I know, but I was once one of the highest fliers at Sydney’s leading high school, or at least I was when well); Z-grade public housing (my ex-next door neighbour is right now doing an eight stretch in the state pen for violent abuse and threats against the police and half this suburb); state government services that either don’t understand, don’t care, don’t have the time / resources or choose the bang-you-up-for-a-month-in-the-nutpokey option (ten times since 1986 in two states and counting!); having low social adeptness that means that not only do I do things like get kicked out of parties / jobs / billet houses / whole cities, but also has seen me fail to gain true intimacy with someone of the opposite sex (meaning of course a lady, I think you can tell from the latent testosterone here I’m a bloke).
That last one has led me to a serious and perception-warping porn addiction. This combined with my hyper-reclusiveness, pain and broken fuse has me convinced that I’m either due for imminent prison / long-term high-security psych incarceration / relieving merciful death.
I’m a loser. My life is a dead loss. Time to cut the losses.
Buuuuuuuuut…………………..just so you know, don’t try it the way I did. Not elaborating too much more (actually I don’t really want to anyway), but imagine how these little posts would be if they came from a wheelchair (which in fact I was temporarily in during my six month-long recovery)………………