I’m so unbelievably fucked in the head. Emotionally, in terms of my desires. When I’m honest with myself about what I really want, it’s the darkest fucking shit.
And it’s not like I’m going to do any of it. Most of it is next to impossible even if I had the consistent motivation.
But it leaves me feeling so fucking alienated from other people. From society, humanity, my family, who I used to be.
There is this part of me that just wants to use and exploit people. That isn’t capable of love, or trust, or even friendship. That would happily wipe out or enslave every other creature in existence, just to be free of the fear of them.
And it’s not that that’s all there is to me. But it’s too much, for me to function. For me to live. I’m too broken. I’m way too far gone. It would take several lifetimes of intensive rehabilitation to even get me close to being ready to re-engage with life.
And I’m just too much of a coward to accept that. Or too delusional and attached to let go. Realistically, there’s no recovering from this. My personality is terminally flawed. All that lies ahead of me is the pain that arises from that. And I’m too conflicted to even put an end to that.
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I don’t know why, your opening made me think of that spice girls song “So tell me what you want, what you really really want” I think it’s called Wanna be…. horrible catchy song. Now you want to talk about crimes against mankind…. I mean it’s in the eye of the beholder isn’t it?
I was thinking about playing What’s New Pussycat for sex offenders again. All I have left are my memories. What if they took it as encouragement? Sometimes I worry that I got along with that job so well because I was similar to them in some way. They were all defective socially in one way or another, and I’ve always had a king of the freaks thing going for me.
But it’s all buried under the illusion that I function, and everyone likes that illusion. I don’t know where I was going with that. Oh wait, yes I do, that’s what we taught the sick kids; to mimic health until they either had it or were so good that no one could tell.
I never got a solid answer as to which was the real goal.
A lot of people swear by a “fake it till you make it” approach. The thing that always stuck in my mind was that no matter how normal or healthy I acted, there would always be this huge gulf between me and everyone else. Things I’d seen, and done, and thought about, that I could never let slip, or it would destroy everything. So how meaningful are those relationships, if they could be dissolved by a little truth? How can I feel accepted and cared about, if I know those sentiments are based on hiding what actually happened.
But then I think I’ve always been mentally stubborn. I can’t seem to accept useful little fictions the way others do. My mind seems driven to pick away at the inconsistencies until things fall apart.
I think it’s probably a lot easier for young people to discard the past for new identities though. There’s at least some degree of social acceptance for the idea that they’re not fully responsible for their choices. I suppose if you’re institutionalized it may also be easier to just go along with and accept the new narratives pushed upon you.
I sometimes wonder who I might be now if I’d been forced into that position. But there’s really no way of knowing.