How Did This Happen
Written By A Real Person
How Did This Happen
Turning soft, broken, and hurt; cheer me on. . .
The Problem:
Ani DiFranco said, “Old age will distill you.” I believe that. Getting older, and feeling like looking at my life; is it a masterpiece or a train wreck? I sit and hold my coffee and cigarettes; and think, this is not who I wanted to be; this is not how I wanted to be.
After twenty years of being drugged by PSI, and the way the conditions have been, it feels like this is not me. It doesn’t feel like myself. I would rather do anything than look in a mirror; or even a photograph of myself. This is not how I want to remember myself.
We used to live better. It is possible to remember when life was a thrill, and living like a person was meant to live. Doing things that made me feel alive, and like there was a rush from doing more than just existing. We were living so large. And, we didn’t even know it back then.
Looking back at it; those were good times. They are, however memories of long ago, that don’t match my current existence. Getting old, and tired. Seems most days, I’ve been living like a warm sack of poo. Doing really very little more than laying on the sofa. Not even watching the TV. Just staring at the ceiling, and thinking about changing my name.
Give this song a listen
The song, “Back, back, back.” by Ani DiFranco is one to ponder upon. Don’t want to turn bitter, or resentful. And really I’m going to need some comfort that feels like comfort.
The other song, that comes to mind to me, is from Nine Inch Nails. The song is called: “Everyday is exactly the same” and that feels like what this has become. Looking for some tender affection; seems even the dogs, have better things to do; than lick my hand. Sometimes I pretend, that life will change. And, wake up to live it again. You would think, that the pain of the way life is, would be enough to change my behavior?
This is not me
My life, is a direct result of the drugs I’m being kept on. They say, “The drugs save my life.” Have to wonder, if a living death, is really better than dying. You would think, things could be balanced better?
My belief is that what they really want, is a warm sack of poo. They don’t value creative people, or people that have critical thinking skills. They want you to think what you’re told to think, and think it; the way they want you to think it. They don’t value freedom of speech, or freedom of thought.
Growing up, I was a type “A” personality, maybe even type A on steroids. I was full of it. I was so alive, and wild, and free. And, driven. It used to be easy to get myself to accomplish what ever I wanted to do. Now days, it takes a great deal of effort to accomplish, anything.
Side Effects
The effects, of the illness and the medications; have changed me as a person. It feels like I’m nothing more than a puppet to them, that they want to control, manipulate, and talk “to”. It doesn’t feel like there is any personality in here, or real living. It feels like, I’m an empty shell, that is suffocating slowly. With no friends, job, or girlfriend; and no one that really cares; there is not much that can be done. Things have been this way going on some six years, and after that long; this seems like a problem to be accepted; because changing it; is impossible.
It does feel like they look at me, and say: “Why aren’t you doing better?” To which there is nothing that can be said. With no real support for my efforts, or my goals. Feeling like, the way things are, I’m not wanted.
Seems there has to be, some way to turn this train wreck, into a masterpiece. But how? If I’m not able to make healing medicine from these brutal wounds; then all is lost. They don’t listen, or read. Really want to make this life worthy of having lived. However, like I said, this doesn’t feel like myself. This is an empty shell of a person. Beaten back, beaten down, and made to feel irrelevant, and unwanted for being me.
It doesn’t feel like there is a me. There are my thoughts, which are not valued, or accepted as being of any merit. Really people think, you are crazy if you talk about things, that they don’t understand.
And, there is the problem. If they worked, to understand me; we could communicate, and solve some of these problems.