What Happened to Me?

I am an envious man.

It’s not even adult envy. It’s that same gut-wrenching want sourced from snotty middle schoolers. The type to brag over a console their dad bought them. Or, perhaps it's that clique-y high school madness, whatever that juvenile scribble is, that is still a large part of me today. It was at one point my entire perception and execution of this world.

When I consist of this envious skin, I show only an expression sourced from selfishness. Altruism becomes a way to save face or otherwise protect myself, rather than being an act of value. I showed a hand of cards, some ripped and folded, others stolen from different decks. Some were not even cards. I didn’t really know how to play the game anyways, so what was I truly doing for so many years? What I mean to say is -- my work here is fairly fraudulent. And I say this with neutral, observant acceptance. I do not want pity.

If I did, I’d whimper about my list of self-tragedies. What do they measure compared to output? History? Anything practical in this environment? I declare that it means nothing, and believe that what generates from the soul of a person is their action and what remains is history. No one, for any good reason, should care less for only the duration and feeling of someone else’s inner thought, for these are abstract and misty things. There was no publicity to the late parts of my descent, and yet, I acted as though my thoughts were expressions within the world itself - discoverable, knowable things people could just pick up on by reading my face or something.

I believe I was consistently one step behind. My empathies were sympathies. My sympathies were thoughts, and my thoughts only served to protect me, because all I had felt was attacked, attacked, attacked. I just had to defend myself from something, and I suppose my genius idea was to abandon everything in hopes that it was the right choice, that I could just forget. That, those around me would be better off without the input that was sorely needed in its time - a truth, any truth.

When I was more or less a blank slate, I joined this community because there was a true desire to create within me. This desire lost its will over time, as one can notice, and turned from a hot, passionate flame into a tepid pile of ash.

I declare that my whole form in this social space became a white lie on white lies, fading and smudging itself into a blackened, bacterial mess. I thought what I expressed was a light - That I myself was a light. I truly thought I was part of a team. And maybe I was when I wanted to be, but deep inside, I was always here for myself. And I am sorry.

What I Actually Am

Back in the fourth grade, one of my friends (lets call him David) slighted me in a game of pretend. I don’t remember what happened, but it was enough to set me off. So, in a fit, I decided to draw my three friends being hurt in various ways. I think one of them was in a cage, another had a nuke by his side, and the other was probably just dead. This was a vengeful, unnecessary stunt used only for myself, and it was discovered as I was drawing it in class.

The look on David’s face, that shock and disgust, will not leave me, and I don't intend for it to ever leave me. I somehow avoided getting written up for the blatant social crime anyways. So, beyond some immediate sadness, I was not affected. It only became a retrospective lesson in the relatively far future.

My behavior is mostly unchanged from childhood. I sit inside, playing with a melting brain like kinetic sand, watching midwit garbage and toiling over whether something is right or not. I like to fire away in angry outbursts sometimes, and it’s taken a toll on my family life. Maybe I don’t like to hit my phone or computer like I did when I was 10, but I sure love hitting the souls of others and doing nothing about it afterwards. Because, why do something good when I feel bad? It surely was enough to just think and think, right? I only needed automatic, witless replies in the face of retribution. That dirt I flung was my premier ammunition, and I cut down the string of a bow as just a distraction.

Time and time again after my crime against David and co, I morphed into the type to abandon worry at the door. If a single inconvenience I could not immediately solve struck my eye, it was my calling to GTFO. I had a steady buildup to this, and as I saw it rising, I fed deep into it. It felt good, very good to express my envy within, and hold abstract, all-out brawls in my head day-after-day. (I, literally, imagined the most pathetic fights you can muster… Like inner AMVs. Containing real or imagined characters. For hours a day.) Maybe there, I figured, up my asses’ ass, I could win something more than a tall list of automated edits and half-baked pages. And, instead of doing the work, and becoming who I thought I was (which would then actually turn me into a better person), I danced in a pool of my own shit, letting it spray wherever it willed, because who needs time to think when thinking makes you angry?

What I am now is like a process. I think of it as a digestive tract. I satiate myself with only my eyes and ears, scrutinizing all things as binary fact or fiction, no reverence for the in-between all people have. I spit waste from my mouth as I talk out my shitter. My head’s been far up there for all my memory anyway, so it was all the same source in the end. The one that was once called a friend was all but a self-cannibalizing thing flailing its arms trying to protect itself from its own discharge. And I left in rage, dirtying the place up, feeling no shame in return. I am sorry.

By the time I became a full-time wrathful spirit, I was deep in a low-rate dishwasher role at an old folks home. Tired, unfit, and addicted to weed. Essentially, I was experiencing life in much of the same way Humanity itself had for thousands of years. And, to me, my rather bad job was enough reason to betray logic itself. I had no room for acceptance, self-change or any true desire to dig myself out of my pit. Because, most of me was a baby screaming that he couldn’t eat sugary cereal all day. Because I felt bad, and that I somehow deserved more than the routine blankness I emitted. I still very presently feel this way in my day-to-day life. My true wants, and actual motives, are guided by layers of impulse deeply cemented from my earliest years.

I did have something too, at the time of leaving. A semi-conscience telling me to keep working at my job and survive the rat race, that, if I were to bend to my inner thoughts rather than focusing only on work, consequences would happen. I had a bit of skill in paint programs and some grunt work. But, really, I was a stiffening but still ripe nucleus ready to learn and grow whenever I wanted. Except, I never actually wanted that. I could have just stepped back, even relegating myself to an observer, speaking my truth and exiting in peace. At least wave goodbye. The way I did it was likely the most violent, downright animalistic way to go about it. Very sloppy.

There is no forgiveness to be gained from this rather basic self awareness of mine. I do not want that. I am only putting this out for information. Maybe a part of me hopes someone’s eyebrows will get a bit less tense when they remember my name, but this is not the main goal. I know I have already cemented myself as an icon of the before, and, I accept the fact that I am no longer allowed back. Please, do not mistake my words for an application. I will not come back. To me, here, that’s the meaning of consequence. It’s my first true consequence anyway, something I haven’t been able to run from, as my sins follow me, and I will have to make peace with them myself. This will need to happen with forethought, action, and mindfulness. I know now the utility of sticking my hands into the hot water. My keys fell in, and my car is about to get stolen. So, who am I to keep waiting at the stove? For the pot to cool? I was there for years, thinking that placing the heat to “0” for that moment would instantly cool it all down.

Messages for You

Forgetting you is impossible. Sorry, Duo. Not when there is a suburban sprawling real-estate my average memory lives in. Fuck, I’m probably gonna be retired, cringing (or laughing) at these acts. So, I can only hope to hold this in neutral remembrance, and feel a little proud for you and the others for withstanding my presence. I truly think that this is a better place without me, so thank you for rejecting me. It was a good thing to do. This place is now stronger than I could have fathomed, and it is better for it now than ever.

I was passionate about you, Smoothie. A horribly dirty, obsessive, nauseating passion for… whatever I thought could improve you, my closest ally at the time. I was slighted by some of your behavior, and instead of reaching a hand or holding any consideration, I left you in the dust. I know you know what went down the second it happened. I can not, however, know the full extent of that hurt, and probably never will to the effect that was inflicted. I want nothing more than for your future to be yours now. A stable, content future. Thank you for going to that garden with me. I hope you're alright.

Skorne, you were the one I saw as a superior, something like an older brother. Yeah, I have a real older brother, but he is not present in my interests. You were the man. And, I regret shoehorning my (literal) BS into your beautiful world. I still think and even look up your pages since they have such a distinct charm to them. Please keep it up. You are one of the hardest workers I know, and a strong person too. Thank you for telling me what was what after I abandoned everyone. You said the truth I had to hear.

Minmus, I can not believe how I looked at you. It was really pathetic, how I saw you. I was very internal about this at times, but, I think you can vividly remember me barking at you. I should have seen you as the next wave of the future, a person who was just a little younger. The world needs teachers, and I was a tyrant. I can only imagine how you’ve improved since I first met you. I am sorry.

For the rest that I have slighted, I hold you in my heart. Hopefully you can learn from my example, maybe find a nice idea in a page I threw up, and maybe execute it properly this time. And, for everyone: If you are not snapping the optic nerve from rolling your eyes to the back of your head, I appreciate it. If you are, well, I think that’s probably what’s going to happen. Thank you for withstanding my shit one last time.

Please drive safe