You know, that verse in the Bible that Lincoln famously quoted/paraphrased is really getting to me. “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” I have been divided against myself since the beginning. Part of me is the one living, and the other part of me is harshly criticizing that part of me. I constantly feel guilty for everything I do, even if it ends up fairly well for everyone involved because it’s never enough. Nothing is ever enough to counter all of my wrongdoings, you know?
I am at once the bratty kid in the grocery store who was not allowed to get something and the mother who must discipline that child. I have no need for anyone else to do this for me; I’ve become quite self-reliant in this regard. And, in the case that my disciplinarian side does not succeed against my spoiled child side, I will die, and my inner civil war will cease. The child must grow up and take responsibility. Right now, I am losing. The parent needs to take control of the kid and beat it. It sounds harsh, but how else will the kid learn? I didn’t learn without severe discipline, and since I am now no longer recieving it, I have become miserable and unruly. Sometimes, parental abuse is justified. I know people reading this will say that it’s wrong, but I don’t care. I need to have the shit knocked out of me. It’s the only way to move on.
I don’t think I’d mind being beaten to death. I’m sure I could arrange that to happen soon enough. I hate not being disciplined. The only way you know someone cares is that they care enough to tell you the truth. The truth about me is that I’m an asshole and I don’t deserve to be alive. Maybe, that’s why I’m so close to my family and don’t care as much as I should about anyone else. They were the only ones who cared enough to tell me that.
They don’t seem to care anymore, though. No one does. Everyone keeps being nice, except it’s the kind of nice that you can clearly see is rooted in pity. Everyone knows I’m worthless. The only way for me to dig myself out of this hole is to be better. I think I’m going to have to turn back to self-discipline.
But part of me wonders if it would even be worth it. People who meet me these days are nice start to finish, and it’s so clearly because they know I’m pathetic, even without being around me for long. Am I that pitiful? I must be! Nobody in their right mind would be kind to me! I’m very clearly irrational! I’m a hypocrite! I’m a jerk! I’m an asshole! I’m a charlatan! I’m impolite! I’m nothing! I’m so clearly nothing! I don’t even try to hide it anymore, but nobody talks about it! I’m nothing desriable because I am nothing at all! How fucking worthless is that?! How fucking worthless do I have to be to sink this low?!
I feel like I’m missing something. Am I really this dumb that NO ONE has the balls to tell me that I’m a fuck up?! NO ONE is willing to tell me how much I’ve ruined their life?! What kind of fucking worthless human being am I?! I can’t be the kind of person who deserves to live! I can tell you that much, and I’m not even smart enough to fix myself!
AM I NOT EVEN WORTH HATING? AM I NOT EVEN WORTH BEATING? WHAT CHANGED THAT I AM NO LONGER WORTH IT? WHERE DID I GO WRONG? WHAT CAN I DO TO GET BETTER? CAN I GET BETTER?
I really must be pretty fucking worthless, you know? I wasn’t meant to live. I wasn’t supposed to be alive. I shouldn’t have happened. I was an accident, but my parents didn’t abort me; they saved me. But what did I do? I stabbed them in the back by being a worthless ****.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Oh my God. I really fucked up. I keep fucking up. It will be better for me to die. No. That’s an inconvenience, and a very showy one at that. I need to slip away and stay away. I could kill myself in the solitude. I deserve to be sent away, despised by everyone I love so dearly. I don’t deserve to love. I don’t deserve to make everything miserable.
Oh God. I just want to figure it out again. I need to be in pain. I need to be in severe physical pain.
I am a marriage that should not have happened. I am an abusive, idiotic wife and a miserable, alcoholic husband who should’ve gotten a divorce years ago. They’ve both been so dulled by the hell that is their seemingly inescapable marriage (“Gotta stay together for those accident kiddos, right?!”) that a soul-crushing depression is a state of normalcy for both of them. They have both become so miserable and corrupted that they can no longer experience happiness except in the fleeting pleasures that lie in the vices of each pathetic human. I cannot be happy until I am separated, but as we know, a house divided against itself cannot stand. So, the question now is whether they should be miserable separately or together. Is the house worth keeping standing or should it be torn down to provide at least a symbolic crushing of their misery?
Well, it doesn’t matter.
“I AM DROWNING. THERE IS NO SIGN OF LAND. YOU ARE COMING DOWN WITH ME, HAND IN UNLOVEABLE HAND! AND I HOPE YOU DIE! I HOPE WE BOTH DIE!”
-“No Children” by The Mountain Goats