Evidence of pathology
I wish I didn't care about you so much that I overlook the stark evidence of your apology.
And I wish I was more like your mom or Doron or Kelsey ( or the many others) who appeared to move on with their lives after you tired of them. Those people suffered and were afraid of you, but accepted that you were not capable of love or friendship, and built new lives.
They never forgot what you stand for, but left.
I stayed here. Where I am now. Angry and hurt and still believing that you care enough about others to come o my aid. That the labor and openness I always gave you would somehow be remembered and acknowledged, perhaps even in kind.
Preposterous. You can't stop a cat from killing mice.
I can't stop you from hurting others. I can't make you honest. I can't counteract your selfish disregard for screams of neediness from people who expected something—anything—in return for their warmth.
You are an evil person sprung from very very bad seeds.
But you love me, right? How could you not. You'll overcome your generational problem. You'll not allow your despoiled DNA to rule you.
I know you better than any one ever will, or ever has. I know the sewage you inherited, and that you are an unfillable dry well inside.
I'm still the best friend of your life.
I don't do insertion any more. I don't have cash at the moment. But you're a lesbian and you do have our cash. Maybe my shortcomings don't matter as much when you turn on your current tribe…when you get the first hint. When they say " hey, wait a minute, you're stealing from me! You give nothing and take everything."
When they tell you you are mean and you are not fair. When they expect you to stop causing pain and see that you don't give a rats ass.
When they run for the hills to protect themselves from your blight. (How I envy those runners.)
When you stop responding. When you disappear. When your DNA rules you and your 58 year old circus tent moves to the next small town.
When you are your dad, and nothing else. Then I stand with Doron and the others, and wish I'd find a route to escape a world with beings like you.
I'm hoping Zoloft puts me on Doran's road. On Kelsey's road. On your mom's road. Nothing else has worked… not Wellbutrin. Not MDMA. Not ketamine. Not equine therapy. Not NVC and not IFS. Not microdosing psilocybin or LSD. Not anger, which is pure and strong and protective. Definitely not love and friendship. Disdain gives me short bursts of hope when I direct it towards you, as I am now. But disdain is not a philosophy or even a strategy. Not against generational blight, infection, and pathology.
And I wish I was more like your mom or Doron or Kelsey ( or the many others) who appeared to move on with their lives after you tired of them. Those people suffered and were afraid of you, but accepted that you were not capable of love or friendship, and built new lives.
They never forgot what you stand for, but left.
I stayed here. Where I am now. Angry and hurt and still believing that you care enough about others to come o my aid. That the labor and openness I always gave you would somehow be remembered and acknowledged, perhaps even in kind.
Preposterous. You can't stop a cat from killing mice.
I can't stop you from hurting others. I can't make you honest. I can't counteract your selfish disregard for screams of neediness from people who expected something—anything—in return for their warmth.
You are an evil person sprung from very very bad seeds.
But you love me, right? How could you not. You'll overcome your generational problem. You'll not allow your despoiled DNA to rule you.
I know you better than any one ever will, or ever has. I know the sewage you inherited, and that you are an unfillable dry well inside.
I'm still the best friend of your life.
I don't do insertion any more. I don't have cash at the moment. But you're a lesbian and you do have our cash. Maybe my shortcomings don't matter as much when you turn on your current tribe…when you get the first hint. When they say " hey, wait a minute, you're stealing from me! You give nothing and take everything."
When they tell you you are mean and you are not fair. When they expect you to stop causing pain and see that you don't give a rats ass.
When they run for the hills to protect themselves from your blight. (How I envy those runners.)
When you stop responding. When you disappear. When your DNA rules you and your 58 year old circus tent moves to the next small town.
When you are your dad, and nothing else. Then I stand with Doron and the others, and wish I'd find a route to escape a world with beings like you.
I'm hoping Zoloft puts me on Doran's road. On Kelsey's road. On your mom's road. Nothing else has worked… not Wellbutrin. Not MDMA. Not ketamine. Not equine therapy. Not NVC and not IFS. Not microdosing psilocybin or LSD. Not anger, which is pure and strong and protective. Definitely not love and friendship. Disdain gives me short bursts of hope when I direct it towards you, as I am now. But disdain is not a philosophy or even a strategy. Not against generational blight, infection, and pathology.
Comments
Post a Comment