Disclaimer. This was written weeks ago, during the grip of a bout with depression and anxiety. This is deep and personal thought. I considered not publishing this article, but then I wouldn’t be true to myself. Some days, rare days, the following words still ring true. No I’m not looking for admiration or to instill fear or disgust. All i can say is, At least I’m honest, unlike some…
Things I would rather be doing.
Shooting myself in the foot
Throwing rocks at myself
These are things preferable to being offline and bored. I hate having no data for cracked.com and facebook. For twitter and games. Hell, I’d rather fight an emu than be victim to my own thoughts and desires. A certain type of turmoil breeds in the dark recesses of my mind and overwhelmes logic and sanity.
I haven’t been laid in weeks and the lack of human contact is starting to get to me, the mental challenge of a like minded companion still eludes me and I imagine it will for quite some time yet. There have been a few women between now and *****, but I don’t desire any of them the way I do her, and I sure as hell aren’t attracted to them, not on a physical level at least. Maybe if I were desperate and lonely I might consider the possibility of sacrificing my desire for her and diving into another. But not yet. Not for a while.
Between my mental break a few weeks ago and the serious damage inflicted to myself, the people I begged to talk to, I have sorted out who my friends are. There are but a few people I would actively call a friend, the rest, are a means to an end, and that end is my temporary happiness. I’m still as heartless as I was 10 years ago, the difference between then and now, I know how to disguise my ulterior motives as friendship and get what I need. It’s a sad truth, but that’s who I am, and as much as I try to fight my nature, it’s inevitable that I will succumb and alienate myself even further. I fight it, I do. And I’m doing well with my own selfish desires but at some stage, I will break again.
Since I’m being honest, out of the hundreds of people I am familiar with, only a handful have my respect and loyalty. They should know who they are, and if they don’t, they should consider what I’ve written. Most of them don’t actually read my works and that doesn’t bother me, not too much at least. I don’t believe I’m a sociopath, I’m just a selfish and conflicted individual with no time or patience for bullshit. Either you connect with me, or your just another object to be used to achieve my goals, whether that be substance, contact or fleeting desire, the majority means less than nothing to me, I wouldn’t blink as your life fades, I might even smile.
I wouldn’t mind punching on with ****** for one. An arrogant, chauvinistic degenerate fuckhead with no respect for anything except himself. Woman are a means to orgasm and whether it not they’re committed, it doesn’t stop him, nor does he care. We used to be best friends, we had the same mind. But these days, he’s gotten worse. I can’t stand to be in his presence and come the day I see him out and about, he’ll be going home with stitches and shitting into a plastic bag. He’s on my list. So be warned ******, your days are numbered, and yes, I keep an eye on that shitty little place near the ********, biding my time.
Timmy Tim timmy Tim Tim Timmy Tim Timmy. Burger flipper extraordinaire and Maccas drone, the subject of my written work, “Taken and Buried”. There’s something about you I can’t put my finger on but I don’t like you. Remember my piece “Loose lips sink Ships”? That was about ‘his girlfriend’ Megz. She and I had a passionate affair while I was there, while he was at work. Even while he was home, on the couch while he slept, out the back while he showered and in the shed. You see? I have a certain charm about me, a means to an end is easier than you could imagine. People are easy to work, it’s a tragedy at best.
And it isn’t always sexual. At other times I’ve manipulated people to do things they wouldn’t usually do, lie, cheat, steal, hurt others. I have a gift for it as easily as I can write these words. I would be a formidable force if I was ever in a position of power, and knowing as such, I don’t seek it. I wouldn’t be able to maintain this sweet, kind persona I’ve adopted to stop people looking too hard at the real me. I’d become the monster I’ve tried so hard to keep subdued and under wraps. As I said before, maybe I am a sociopath, but that all comes down to the childhood I lived through and the techniques I’ve adopted to hide my scars and protect myself.
All in all, I’m not a bad guy. I have flaws, I know what they are and I know how to manage them. I prefer to be alone, but I also crave companionship. I donate my time to those who need it, I donate to charity, I help in the community and I’m a friendly guy. I strive to be a saint if possible, if only because I enjoy my nature too much. You see, there’s a difference between ‘blaming’ a condition, and actively fighting against it because you know, it isn’t within social norms. That’s the difference between a man like Charles Manson and myself, I fight my desires, he embraces them. Thrives on the terror, as do I. But I fight it. And yes, if you think I’m insane, I would agree with you.
Another reason I write. It keeps me sane, living my fantasies through writing and feeling the physical rush as I create these scenarios limits my desire. I love fantasising about killing an enemy, torturing them and even now while I write about writing about it, my heart is racing, I’ll bite your fucking face off and feed it to you. You have no idea how this feels. In my blogs and writing, I AM GOD, and I decide who lives and dies, for now, that’s enough.