I have no organizational skills.

I have no short-term memory (not a reliable one), which is how the organization became impossible.

This blog will be scattershot at best, hard to follow, incoherent to many - its' a ladle's worth of thoughts out of a moving blender that is my skull of ricochet thoughts. The reason I can't concentrate is for the cacophany of these thoughts that never, ever, quiet down.

Humans are the only species that have the power to change the world around them - for good or evil - our choice, but we have the big brains and the opposable thumbs that all the other species do not.

But somehow the popular default reaction from the "superior species" has become

WTF,
Who gives a shit?
Why do you care?
It doesn't matter, stop trying

and a long list of other thoughts that are bags of wet sand to weigh down any hope for ... hope.

And yet the guy who sees all this - I'm the one who's told that I need to have my head straightened out. I suggest the best path to my happiness might be to clear some sort of path through this gauntlet of WTFs and let the guy who still gives a shit keep trying to make a difference. Maybe it will be futile, but it is the only catharsis I have that I have not yet given up the effort to try.

When they finally convince me to surrender that, that's the day they can write my epitaph.

I have been told to "get help" for depression, suicide, anger....most of the list everyone knows.

And at this point, I will not hesitate to tell anyone nor apologize after having done so (even in fierce volume and intensity) that my anger (specifically spite) is one of the few remaining cornerstones that give me the will to live. I will not let these apathetic, indifferent, dispassionate, soulless bastards who don't care about a goddamn thing tell me that I'm out of place because I haven't become like them.

I often do things just because I know that those around me won't; that many mock me for that -

that's the one thought in my headspace that makes it very easy to sleep in peace.

I might be miserable and angry, but I am at peace that I did not add to it, build more of it, or dump it on someone else just to escape my culpability or participation in what needs to be faced and fixed.

Walking past a mess gives me no comfort whatsoever, even if that is the standard path of those who mock me. It's an easy question to answer, if you're honest. If you were on fire, would you want the someone in your midst who could save you to do it?

So when you see someone else on fire, what makes it so easy to keep walking?

and why do we have to frame the scene in such drastic, fatalistic terms before people say they would help? OK, so he's not on fire. Maybe he's just homeless.....what is the difference? (that's for a longer essay later)

I have had several professionals, a few hospitals, and a long list of rank amateurs tell me that I am "not conducive to therapy". Apparently what that means is that my character is not so malleable that I can be pounded, coerced, cajoled, or just convinced that its' best to just take care of me alone, and let the rest of the world do what it does without my intervention and thought. After all, look how much little effect I will have if I get involved, correct?

And yet that's all I have left - to care when everyone else has capitulated that it's just not worth it (to them) to care, and they keep walking. And whether its' leaving your goddamn grocery cart in the middle of the parking lot, dumping your trash wherever you are at the instant you no longer nead it, or saying (out loud, at times) that homeless people are surely homeless for a reason and that's why its' not your job to offer any help -

what goes around, comes around.

Look around you, and see all that is coming. What is coming is the sum total, the collective aggregate of all our indifference and apathy; our lust for vengeance before we try to heal the pain that brought all the misery alive in the first place.

Although a logical mind might think this is some kind of substantive answer to those who continually demand I "get help", in our current age, it placates nor satisfies absolutely no one.

The truth is that we are told as young children that in the United States of America, one can be "anything you want to be"

the reality is that you can be anything that SOMEONE ELSE wants you to be, for if you aren't, you will find out quickly that with all the doors around you closed, there is no place for you to be, no place for you to go, and no reward to sustain even a primitive existence.

We are all told we have freedom, liberty. In truth, our freedom is an invitation to do what we are told and to stay within the boundaries of what others want from us. If we do not capitulate to this arrangement, life as you think you understand it is impossible.

I don't recommend that you engage in any empirical experimentation with your own circumstances; it won't go well.

That's the point of this blog.

I was once a happy kid. I am told now that I am an angry old man; an insufferably angry old man - and even I know I'm not that old.

Suicide seemed like a way out not because I wanted to die, but I just wanted to stop making things horrible, and any move I made  - like being mired in quicksand - only made things worse. Then I looked around me and saw all the backs that had turned toward me, the doors that had closed, the people and the vehicles that had kept moving while I was anchored to the misery, and I was convince there is no way I can overcome this. I can't even avoid it. And the next thing I will do will surely make it worse still.

So to reflect on the quicksand scenario, the difference is that in quicksand, eventually one drowns and suffocates and dies. After that, the pain is gone.

*note - any sanctimonious prick that feels this would be a good time to introduce me to your "G"od, your Bible and tell me what YOU are sure my fate will be at that moment, are advised to mute themselves, and seek the painful clarity of a mirror whenever you see questions posed in this blog that ask what forces built this broken man. Religious zealots - the kind that think it is beyond the pale to question their most rudimentary beliefs, but who will smash me in the face with theirs as if I will thank them for shattering my face when they do it -

you monsters are the greatest corrosive force I have ever encountered. In our current sociological structure and political maelstrom, you are the Dark Force. Ponder that before you start giving me speeches on good and evil, right and wrong, eternal damnation or salvation. I think religion and those who wield it are a lot like slow, elderly drivers on fast highways: They have no idea (and no capacity to care) how many others have swerved, braked, or wrecked to avoid them - they just congratulate themselves that they didn't have an accident while 50 towtrucks just entered the highway to collect the cars behind them.

I didn't even have the courage to commit suicide when that seemed like the best option - to stop causing damage by making it impossible to cause anything ever again. I failed at that, too.

This is not an informative blog; I offer no advice or recommendation.

This is just a story of a guy, who is alive today for many reasons he doesn't understand. Surgeons have saved his life on more than one occasion. I often wonder why.

I can say with brute force honesty - imagine someone swinging a two foot long pipe wrench into your face kind of force - that when I was sure I served no purpose on this Earth and should give my space on it to someone more worthy by vacating mine - by killing myself -

what always grabbed my face like any good attacker would, was this thought: If five surgeons performed surgery on me to save my life and ensure that I had a comfortable, functional, productive quality of life - - - - how could I make fools of them and forfeit their efforts in good conscience?

That's all a true story; this is the thought in my brain on any given day. People around me put me in a round room and tell me that I must only piss in a corner; they blame me for the mess I make, charge me more money and whip me harder until I clean it up, and when I wind up crying in a heap on the floor - crumpled in a puddle of my own piss -

tell me I need more "help", never conceding that it is the constant reminders that in a world as fucked up as this one, I am the one who is told I must be corrected and all else can be excused, justified or ignored -

Well, on those days....those are the days that the cold and the dark have no discernable boundaries.

If I stay alive, I get no credit - but told to get back in line and stop being so selfish.
If I talk about the will to die, more of what brought those thoughts to the front in the first place is heaped upon me,
If I suggest that fixing me and never addressing the things that brought me here only leaves another to follow me into the same hole,

...I'm told that is not my concern. In fact, the "counselor" kept asking me why I was so concerned with the "big picture".

and I said,

"Because the 'big picture is why you have so many clients, asshole. In a perfect world - even a functional world without free-flowing pain as it's currency - you shouldn't have a job in the first place. So many people ought not to be so broken."

"So if you 'fix' me - what is your plan to fix the rest, and stop more from being broken?"

None of the "professionals" - people paid to dispense this "help" that I surely need, ever answer that.

I would suggest this has some bearing on our problem.