Elucidating Questions

People blame me for what I am

Dismissively tell me to get therapy as if being mentally ill and wrong are mutually inclusive

Stupidly, they think me talking to someone every month is going to fix what this society has done to my psyche

I did not become this way in a vacuum, you swine

For centuries we’ve dismissed people because they’re mentally ill

Called anything we didn’t want to learn about “crazy”, thus, unimportant and wrong

Why don’t you go to therapy?

See if it fixes all your very real problems

And when it doesn’t you can cry about it

But I don’t

Therapy is helpful for figuring out yourself

I’m one of the more self aware crazy people you’ll find

I know and understand parts of my psychology that would make you cry

If I’m crazy then all my life experiences mean nothing to people

And I’m not going to hide it

But people call me crazy for things that really don’t seem that crazy

Meanwhile they believe some really fucked up shit about humanity

It kills me that all living beings being cared for is not the goal of this civilization

That has really fucked me up

Raised on this idea of selflessness, caring for one another, loving this planet

And when I grew up reality was completely different

And unlike all my stories

There’s no good guy

Sorry if that makes me naive, to have believed what adults were selling me as a child

Sorry if the whiplash of reality has thrown me so far off who I once was I don’t even have a me to return to

The last time I was in one piece I was a child

You think therapy is going to fix this?

The brutality of always being out of money, going without important medications, food?

You think therapy is going to fix the fact that my body betrayed and cursed me for life?

Is therapy going to fix the fact that I used to be able to walk from here to downtown, and then all around downtown, and then back again

That now I made it one way and paid for it the next day?

That I used to be able to work full-time, became disabled, couldn’t anymore, and the world said “here live off of $1400 a month” and when I could no longer afford rent because of it and had to move back in with my father they made it $1300?

Is therapy going to fix that I’m worth $1300 a month in a city with rent of $2000 a month?

Is it going to fix that there are people out there who don’t even believe I’m worth that much and would take it away if they could?

Is therapy going to fix the isolation? Is it going to make people like me?

Is it going to stop that my very limited social interaction is about 60% abuse?

I think you’re insane if you think therapy is going to fix this

And if you think my voice is less important because I broke under the weight of this hellscape.

It’s hard being evil.

Because I don’t want to be.

But my only feedback is that I’m an awful person

No one ever tells me I’m a good person

So it can’t be true

And I just really wanted to be good

From a tiny person who believed in Christianity and Jesus

Wanting to do what was right

It’s not possible

I think I’ve had hundreds of people call me evil

I could probably count on one hand the number of genuine compliments I’ve received about being decent

Not good enough

Never good enough

I want to cease existing in these moments

I don’t want to hear about how awful I am anymore

People are only good for tearing me to pieces

No one ever wants to build me up

I want to go home

I assume home is a place where I’m not judged for my inability to be perfect

Not good enough

Never enough

Always too much

It infuriates me that I’m both

I want to disappear

But disappearing is my greatest fear

I apologise for my continued existence

I’m too much of a coward to do anything about it

I exist, right?

I see my breasts and feel disgust

Anything to do with my nether regions makes me feel sick

I look at myself in the mirror and feel horror because I’m not who I am in my mind

And it’s not like “oh no I’m fat”

I am fat

And I hate it

And that’s an entirely different can of societal trauma

But my body

When you touch your own body do you feel shame?

Looking at your arms, your legs, your shape

Do you feel like you failed to exist right?

Maybe

Maybe it’s that fat dysmorphia

I don’t feel failure because I’m fat when I’m feeling dysphoria

I feel like my body failed me

I’d still be non-binary with a testosterone body

But I’d have the pieces I’m missing

I don’t even want a man part

A third arm

It’s easier to describe a penis than vagina and company

Because like that’s not a vagina it’s labia and more labia and then a vagina and a cervix and a uterus and ovaries

Ugh

Just describing it makes me feel ick

And then I feel more shame because a vagina and company aren’t what’s gross about the thought it’s that they’re in me

I wish I could be a male barbie

No boobs

Flat

Nothing to abuse

Well I guess you can abuse nipples but you can’t put anything into them or them into anything (god the entire concept just why biology?)

You ridiculous creature

You’re like I have the power to do anything with these cells

I’m gonna make them fuck

You weirdo

I just want to escape not seeing me in the mirror

I know I can’t alter my face

It’s just my unfortunate face

I just wish I could see me someday

There’s so much that goes into the dysphoria

I’m almost certain that if there weren’t demands of beauty and certain looks for certain people

I wouldn’t feel this strongly

Sometimes I look at animals and feel jealous that they don’t understand mirrors

They don’t know what they look like

The tiger doesn’t know he’s supposed to be orange with stripes

Even if he’s albino and chased away by other tigers because he’s a different colour he doesn’t know that’s why

They don’t know the rules we arbitrarily put on their existences

The black grey squirrel doesn’t care that you assigned him the colour grey

They don’t know the expectations of a parent who put themself and their spouse into a “what will your baby look like” app

They don’t know the disappointment of eyes too small, nose too long, mouth ugly

Of not enough like their mum, dad, uncle, sister, grandma, cousin

Bodies are so policed in this society and they act like they’re not

If it’s not illegal (ex: being naked) it’s shamed (ex: a man wears a skirt)

So, my body, was always not enough

And then I got sick and it betrayed me twice on that count

I exist right?

These feelings exist?

I know they are within my head

In that place beyond the bounds of the Universe

Where there’s no matter and a great something waiting just past the edge

But thoughts exist, yes?

They are, like so many things in this Universe, not palpable

Not “real”

But so real to the thinker

I may just have been a mirror of what society expected of me

I may have stepped off the path into pure lunacy

But when I came back I knew myself better than anyone has ever known me

I may largely not know who I am still, years of being programmed takes years of uninstalling

Rewriting

I wish I could go back to that time before I was molested by my brother’s god brother

Before I knew I was just a sex object whose autonomy only continued as long as someone else let it

I want to be sexless

Bodiless

I want to be so great I can embrace the Sun

So small I could rest in the dust of Saturn’s rings

I don’t want to be a being that plays nice in Hell while being forced to enforce and increase the hell of Hell

But if I’m here?

Stuck?

I’m more than a gender could ever be

I’m just a being that exists here

Because of this world I have both “feminine” and “masculine” qualities

And because of twisted beauty standards I can’t see myself in this body

But I’m so much more than all of that

And I don’t think that is something unique to me

I’m only talking from my point of view because I am only me

I can’t speak for others

I don’t know why I am what I am

The Universe just views me with that crooked smile and raised brow when I ask why

But maybe some people are just “like me”

Maybe people are just sometimes different from others

People who do harm are not me

Human beings are very similar

I annoy myself sometimes

But we’re also very different

The Universe enjoys dualities

It also enjoys spectrums

One, but the other

And everything in between

Pushing the limits of possible

I ask, if we are built in our Creator’s image

Would we not contain the things they love so much?

The more I learn about people the less I understand

Today apparently the lesson is “if no one asked for help don’t offer solutions to a problem”

Which just goes back to this sick thing I’ve observed in people around me that as long as they are okay and you have a problem they’ll watch

Watch and see you suffer

And when they get bored they’ll leave

Like it’s a television show

Like struggle is content for those around

And isn’t it true that people will gather about someone having a mental health episode, call the police, watch people on the worst days of their lives

And judge

And then get bored and walk away

They’ll stare openly at that guy camped out in his sleeping bag in a store entry way

Just some entertainment

Some trauma porn

Look at that other person struggling I’m going to watch it like I’m concerned

I’m convinced they enjoy it

If there was a god that made humans

Made them duplicitous

I’m convinced they call out some extreme psychopathy to hide their own

What did humanity do to become this ugly creature?

Capable of so much love, when it will get them something

Yet capable of such callousness on a whim

I think we are a mirror of our god

The Universe

Chaotic

Twisted

But I think we diverged

The Universe’s twisted chaos is beautiful

It creates the most wondrous things

Destruction in the Universe’s hands is beautiful, wild, it represents rebirth, the never ending possibilities of what they our Creator of Nature made for us

A billion possibilities in one single explosion

But the destructive nature of humanity is cold

It is not creative

Like green

It’s an afront to what Natural destruction is

The forest fire ravages the forest, so that the soil can be enriched and grow new

Systems of the Earth feed into each other in this elegant dance

But human destruction ends things

Just a callous end

There’s no “they died and then became a nebula”

We just destroy

They just return, filled with plastics and chemicals, to the Earth

Sometimes I feel like this place was designed to irritate me

A billion problems I can’t solve

Blessed with neither the self worth nor the power to do anything about it

Musing in darkness on the web about how these creatures that claim to be people make me feel

If I’m not a person

How did any of you Nature’s Rejects pass?

I see people walking among them who I try to believe are real

They often prove me wrong

Just another passerby

Just someone who wanted to watch me struggle long enough to get their jollies and then leave

People perturb me

Why, my comment on a single Facebook post doesn’t solve the problem for every single American

So I should shut up

This is why you’re all suffering so badly by the way

There’s a thousand different solutions and if we tried them we may just cover all the bases

But since one doesn’t solve the entire problem let’s just not do anything to solve anything at all

Behold:

Liberals

This small grass roots solution doesn’t fix it for everyone everywhere so let’s just not

Even if people would benefit

That whole one person should suffer so a hundred can live thing

80,000,000 required sufferees

Oh but that wasn’t enough

And then we slowly moved that number up, didn’t we?

Oh so what if 2 people out of 100 suffer?

Or 10?

Or 25?

Suddenly you have a handful of happy people and so many problems you need a thousand solutions to fix it

But let’s just not fix it

Let’s make committees and councils who will talk about the possibility of making a plan about how we are going to come up with a solution

In six years

No it’s not going to fix the whole problem

I’m a single fucking person

A poor single fucking person

I don’t know

I’m constantly discouraged from being heard

Disregarded

Belittled because my solutions are only part of the problem

I can’t be everything so I’m useless

Same old fucking thing

Different place

Not good enough

I’m so frustrated

What a fun number

I used to talk really negatively about myself

But it annoyed people

They’d tell me to stop

They wouldn’t tell me it wasn’t what I thought

But they wanted me to stop

So I stopped

And the poison stayed inside

There’s no one inside to tell me I’m wrong

So the ugly thoughts just festered

Like an old wound you didn’t get treated in time

No one said “it’s not like that”

I’d say “I’m ugly”

They’d say “don’t say that”

I’d say “I want to die”

They’d say “stop saying that”

But they never said stop thinking that

They lived inside me

Rotting me

So well trained, my mind, to pounce on me, and make me bleed in ways these humans have tried but never managed

It’s only when they cement something my brain already told me was true that it hurts

You didn’t hurt me

The truth did

It’s not that you said it

It’s that the face inside grinned when you said it

So I started putting those feelings somewhere

People acted like I was fishing for compliments

Like I already knew the things they would say to reply to my self hate

Here in the silence

The thoughts are valid

Acknowledged by the silence

They’re allowed to be there

They won’t be contradicted

But they’re real, and they’re allowed to be

Not scorned as if I’ve done something wrong by thinking them, but the thoughts are not combated

And they say things like

You have to save yourself

Positive self talk comes from within

Where am I supposed to get the belief that anything I think is true?

Decades of being told I’m delusional

Having my memory questioned

How am I supposed to trust myself?

At least there’s somewhere to put the thoughts

Dark, angry, broken

Whatever

There is a darkness in me

Asterisk

Darkness is different from evil

I think the darkness has its place

It needs somewhere to go

Sometimes there’s no where else to put it

No, often

I just want to make a point that

They silenced my negative self speech instead of repurposing it

They acted like I wanted to be complimented and not reassured

So it became an internal monologue

A voice within my inner voice

There’s so much me in my head

So much that has separated from me

That is still within me

So much going on

I’m so afraid of failing everyone

I just want peace

Then again

How do people who refused to seek their own peace teach it to a child?