Fluff Piece.

 — Initially wanted to call this The dark side to authenticity. But I think the standing title is more fitting. This might as well be a “fluff piece” because I’m not trying to draw attention to myself by pretending to have something profound to say. This piece is about as insignificant as anything else I’ve written. Don’t get me wrong — I know I’m a good writer, but that’s only because I’m my best cheerleader. 

There’s something inherently funny about life, or rather, the process of living. I’m not a licensed psychologist, but there are things I’ve come across that are just beyond understanding — and I mean that in the negative sense.

You could put your all into something. And I mean your all and — ugh god, I have to provide context for what I’m trying to say if I hope to evoke it clearly. 

Fine, let’s do it …

Do you know why I push for authenticity? Why it seems to be the only thing I can talk about each and every day?

There are many reasons, and I’ll go through all of them. I won’t be self-righteous and claim my reasons for wanting to be authentic were always “good” or for the best of reasons.

At first, I wanted to be authentic because I wanted to go to heaven. Nothing wrong with that — if that’s your thing.

Avid readers know that I no longer have a religious affiliation, so my reason to want to be authentic naturally changed.

The second time, my motivation to be authentic was to find a partner who was deserving to see that side of me; and not some shallow representation. Gotta be as forthcoming with who I am if I want that in return. Because authentic people find authentic people. Yeah, that’s precisely how the universe works. In fact, I declare it right now — I would know — look at me, I turned out reeaally well as you can plainly see. Well-adjusted. A gem among gems I say.

[Sarcasm disengaged]

The third motivation came after one of the hardest breakups I’ve ever had to go through. Not because love failed — come on, love fails all the time. What really saddened me was how even the best attempts to be authentic and empathic were rewarded with egocentricity.  You can be patient and it can be perceived as you being easy to fool or whatever other garbage goes on in peoples minds.

It’s funny — that in this world there are people who simply have no idea what to do with kindness. It baffles them. So they push and probe it until its gone then they say “See? It wasn’t real! It was fake all along!”. Its ridiculous; of course its gone. If you blow at a candle repeatedly the light will go away, what do you expect — The second coming?

When it comes to the nature of the universe, how special you think you are is nothing in the grand scheme of things. All your precious virtues will be placed lovingly on the conveyor belt of time and devoured in very much the same way as the person you believe to be deserving of it.

As some of you might have already guessed, the prior realization pushed me to re-adjust my motivations. Asking myself (yet again) why I wanted to be authentic. If I could be real and still get rejected, well, where do I go from there?

Fourth motivation: Go within. If I had to be fake or less intense with my emotions to be “accepted”, there was no point. Decided to be authentic for me, and me alone. Self-fulfillment and all that.

Worked for some time… really did. All the while, my circle got smaller and smaller. You’ve heard this story from myself and many others time and time again.

“My circle is getting smaller”  … “My circle is smaller these days”

Most people say this. But there’s a difference between a social group thinning because you’re drifting apart with friends; and a social group thinning because it’s dawning on you that you’re surrounded by a**holes. A**holes you were once firmly a part of and certainly enabled like a moron. I was too distracted with heaven and a potential soul mate to notice the snakes that were in bed with me. Hell, I was one of those damned snakes.

I had my reality built on illusions. The foundation of this reality was based on a cost-reward system that continues to piss me off till this day. Do good and good will happen — what a joke.

We are human, we all make mistakes, but it gets me heated thinking about how much time and energy I put into illusions. You don’t do the right thing to get a happy ending. You don’t endure emotional or even physical abuse because your tormentor “Has it coming”. At some point you’re going to have to draw a line, take your freedom by force if you have to. I don’t want to regret any of it, because it made me who I am today, and I love who I’ve become — the snakes? Not so much. They would rather I play my role and be a good little boy.

When you choose to be authentic, dear reader. It’s up to you to decide just how far you are willing to go. It’s up to you to ask all the heavy-hitting questions you won’t necessarily like hearing answers to. With no input from anyone.

Who are you? (alone and with people)

What is important to you?

Who can you trust with your life?

These are just examples. There is far more you will have to look at. Then again, it all depends on who you are.

For some, the first question is all it takes to reach their standard for authenticity. And who am I to say if they are right or wrong? I really don’t care what these hypothetical people do with themselves. But I could say “I care” to convey myself as an empathic writer. Yeah, no thanks, I’ve got nothing to prove. Form your conclusions and believe what you want about me — because you’ll do that regardless of what I say.

I ask myself questions each and every day about each and every thing.

How are you feeling? Why are you feeling that? Was that person being insensitive or are you overthinking it? More importantly, how does it make you feel? Should you feel that way? Why? Okay. So they crossed your boundaries, now what?

This is one instance I documented as I spoke out loud. Giving my emotions and thoughts voice. I do this because It’s good for my soul. I do this because when I eventually look back, I can see how much I tried — how far I was willing to go to make something work. And if it fails, I’ll know I did my best; allowing me to burn bridges with clarity.

I would have called this prose piece The Dark Side to Authenticity for one simple reason.

Authenticity is pain.

The results of striving for authenticity are surprising and at the highest level, enlightening. But at the root of it, being authentic is a little like opening Pandora’s Box. It’s a little like venturing to parts of the universe yet to be theorized and trying to make sense of it; alone. There is only one you and no one can teach you how to be you. No one knows you more than you do — people can try, oh believe me they can try their damnedest — even pop a vein in the process, but all they’ll do is come close. Close to understanding the hedges. They haven’t even knocked on your door yet.

Which is why I find it ridiculous when someone says “I know you” sure buddy, sure. What else happened in your wet dreams? Did you become president? Learn you can fly? No? Then stop living through someone else.

*sigh*

— I know, I know, there is good when vying for authenticity. But that “good” comes paired with a medley of revelations. It becomes waaay too easy to scout narcissists, manipulation (conscious or otherwise) and how empathy continues to dwindle. I mentioned in a previous post how I stopped giving empathy to people who expected it from me. I actually don’t blame these people, I enabled most of them for years, they probably expect me to doll out empathy like some make-shift factory, but things changed. 

Titles and perhaps even blood, don’t cloud my judgment anymore. You won’t just “do something” and then see me forgive and forget. Forgive? Sure, I’ll forgive you; for me, not for you. Forget? because you’re “family”. Hell no, fuck you and your impulsivity. You knowingly cross my boundaries, blame it on impulse, then you expect a free pass? Get the fuck out of my face with that bullshit.

You can’t bear the impulsivity of a newborn and expecting me to mother you. That’s not my job. If you can’t control yourself and end up saying or doing something hurtful I have no time for you. Go french kiss a bear trap and suck a cactus vine for all I care. It’s simple — think about what you want to say, choose whether you want to say it or not. But that’s too hard, isn’t it? Yeah? Well, so is talking to you.

God forbid these snakes you were once a part of find out you’re trying to work on yourself. They’ll act as some kind of arbiters, pushing your buttons to see if you really, really, really mean what you say (now that you’re trying to be authentic). Because if you’ve been a snake — building relationships around falsities — these snakes will assume your attempts to be authentic are just another illusion. They’ll try to test you, because if you fail to meet the standards you’ve set for yourself then their neuroticism is fed and they can sleep better at night believing they are “dominant”.

And when their test fails to illicit the intended reaction from you. They expect things to continue as usual. Because they somehow believe they are above the rules they set for others. Even getting surprised when you cut them off like you said you would. 

Dear reader, authenticity means making hard judgments. Every day. Judgments you’ve probably avoided till disillusionment. 

Do I continue talking to this person or not?

Does this person actually care about my well-being or is it all out of convenience?

And you’ll need to mull over and answer these questions and more without looking away. It doesn’t matter who it is; everyone will be present and accounted for. It’s not easy, because you care. You’ve probably known most of these people your whole life. And you might feel a little guilty for even entertaining the idea of cutting them off.

But it needs to happen. Without hesitation. Answering as honestly as you can, you know yourself after all.

The fifth motivation for authenticity. Fifth? What could possibly surpass being authentic for your own self-fulfillment?

The lack of choice, dear reader.

I almost embraced the dark triad unwittingly. Because I was tired of feeling sh*t. Emotions and feelings felt like pain when I was surrounded by people that would sometimes try to exploit them. Disappointment after disappointment. Emotions and feelings started to feel like a weakness — But that’s not true. I was to blame for constantly putting them in the wrong place.

Emotions are powerful if applied in the right place. I’m happy I didn’t allow myself to eventually forget how to feel. But I learnt something — how easy it is for anyone to go to a really dark place. I felt my empathy increase; and perhaps it took a glance into the darkness for me to learn how to moderate my empathy radial. 

I can’t unsee what I’ve seen. I can’t unfeel what I’ve felt. After many cycles of looking within; I realized I’ve been tolerating many things out of fear of moving through this world alone. Making excuses for people; gas lighting myself; worsened by the fact that I don’t like confrontations. Unless lives are at stake I see confrontations as such a waste. You can’t reason with someone who is far more concerned with winning; absent motivation to reach a sound conclusion. You can’t help someone who isn’t even trying to help themselves.

You’d be surprised how much bandwidth you get when you have no toxic word salads to comb through, back-handed compliments to decipher or golden children to appease.  I don’t hate these people. Some part of me feels sorry for them. They are grounded in fear.

Some part of us is afraid of something. There is no shame in that. I’m afraid of many things but it just so happens that “people” are nowhere in range.

The fifth motivation was born when I started practicing ego-deaths. A practice that plays on the outlier of asceticism. (I’m not Buddhist or a monk btw). I don’t even know how to take peoples’ compliments anymore. Younger me would eat it all up and use that to further cement my illusions. After all, engagement meant validation. The more people who agreed with me the more I felt certain I was on the “right” path. My willpower was only as good as what people told me about me. But a consensus means nothing unless running for government. If I fool enough people to believe I’m a prophet, that doesn’t make me a prophet. It only means I fooled enough people into thinking I’m a prophet.

I’ve since toppled all those towers. 

Present me appreciates when people give compliments; but that’s where it stops. Appreciating that they’ve taken the time to say something nice (when they could have chosen to be doing anything else) but their words do not add or subtract anything from me.

Last week I kinda overdid it with the ego deaths, wanting to see just how far I could go. I felt so hollow. So receptive to all manner of energies. It was exciting and anxiety inducing at the same time. I’m already a person who feels deeply and in this state everything was doubled. It was a small reminder to moderate. Just because ego deaths help me find my center, doesn’t mean I need to abuse them.

Don’t want to get into unnecessary details so I’ll skip ahead.

Being authentic used to be a choice.  A choice when I had embraced all my strengths and weaknesses. When I firmly believed in my ego. When I believed certain people to be templates for where I want to go in life. But no longer. I feel a part of me die each and every time I think of pretending. Parts of me already died from giving some of these people way too many chances to get their act together. And I’ll be damned if they get the last part of me I have left. This last part of me is not going to be shared with anyone if I have a say in it.

*********

Wow. You got this far? Thanks. Not often complete strangers take in the babble of another stranger. I could never promise anything apart from offering what I feel deep within. The truth is, I will only ever write what I feel and nothing else. I love writing, but I’ve long accepted that the road I’m taking will have a lot of resistance. I’m not necessarily saying things people want to hear; and that’s okay. I’ve made peace with that.

What matters to me are the genuine connections I’ve made here and the ones I’ll continue to make.  1? 5? 10 readers? Doesn’t matter as long as they are authentic. Those people will see me show parts of my soul every step of the way.  

– O.D. ©2021 

Art by: Razaras

Pseudomutuality and Disillusionment.

A Good Day For An Exorcism

Soul Tired

A Part Of Me Died? Absolutely.

My Homework Ate My Dog. Wait.

I almost hesitated pressing publish

My Cat Is Walking On My Keyboard

I feel like I’m writing this in a trance. Like I’m on auto pilot, and everything I’m saying — despite my best attempts to steer in any other direction — will keep going through a finite-state machine.

“You’re being dramatic” someone says.

“Perhaps. Or maybe you just lack imagination”

No-one forces anyone to be here. Reading this means you consent to reading whatever I’m about to say. And if you didn’t know, now you do.

I’ve said it once, but it seems I have to say it again — I’m not trying to save the world. I’m not the harbinger of peace. I’m not an ambitious, closeted, self-titled messiah.

If you (only) come here for good news and hope peddling — you’re in the wrong place.  I don’t see myself as a pillar — or some kind of motivational speaker.

However, if you come here for someone who is uncompromisingly themselves; real with the good and the bad? You’re in the right place. Chances are, you and I will either get along or we won’t, maybe not so binary — but at the very least you’ll know what you’re getting to.

Sure, I’ll agree that followers are a nice gig, but I won’t kiss a** in an attempt to get more of them, and you can be sure that I won’t bend in a bid to win you over either. Counter-intuitive to the growth of this platform? Yes. Absolutely. I’m willing to let many things pass me by; but not my authenticity.

I am a person who goes through every single emotion with clinical deliberation. This includes the “bad” emotions. I want good vibes, believe me, I do. But I won’t pretend I’m feeling good. I won’t intentionally hurt anyone to feel better; but I won’t curb my expression on behalf of anyone. It’s a delicate dance, but I still take part.

Do you know how many people get offended by things you wouldn’t believe offend anyone? You can offend someone for simply using gender pronouns in a hypothetical situation; not an actual situation. “Why did you choose to use a he and not a she in your example?” and so on.

There’s no way I can say any of this without it turning into a series of justifications for my actions. An act that would leave me feeling like I’m taking ten steps back on behalf of others. If you don’t like what I say — Good. I appreciate the honesty, and quite frankly I’d like to believe everything in your world is perfect now — you can find what you want elsewhere; many talented people here. In fact, you’ll find people who take on the 24/7 positivity mantle. I’m just not one of them.

Now that all the housekeeping is out of the way….

Emotions… feelings… despite having mentioned them, I’ve been numb to both for a while now. I’ve been having a hard time feeling something for/about anything. In the short-term, I don’t necessarily consider my current state to be a positive, but it does help me be more rational in my decision making. Why am I numb? Well, I’ve been handling a lot of personal issues and others far outside my control. Job security, family, visa complications… everything has become one weird amalgamate that’s dispersing unseen pressure. 

But for some people, that’s hard to believe, because my stoic nature doesn’t give that off. And what’s left for those with plenty of time on their hands? Suppositions and assumptions. My story will only mean something when I join in on the collective suffering; when I make my suffering a little more transparent so people can see and acknowledge it. 

“You don’t complain every single time we talk. You don’t share a detailed outline of your feelings the same way I do? Well that must mean you don’t care. Because the way I express myself happens to be the benchmark. And if you can’t express the way I do, or in a manner that I understand, there is something clearly wrong with you” — perhaps they are not as malicious in their thoughts as I’m presenting, but that’s how they sound to me.

I have plenty of love and empathy. I just grew tired of choosing to give it to the wrong people — people who expected my love and empathy for breakfast.

I grew tired of blaming others for how I felt instead of myself. Expecting people to fix me, expecting people to have answers to my problems. This applies in reverse, I don’t like it when people expect me to have answers on how to fix their life. I don’t like it when people come to me to have a good day and blame me for not being as jovial as I was the other day. 

Think about it — if you’re coming to me so I cheer you up… who is cheering me up? Certainly not you. But you never thought about that, did you? It’s fun siphoning other peoples’ energy, brain muscle conditioned to guzzle fun juice and not much else. No one is doing my job for me and believe me I’m not searching.

I’ve been in enough relationships with people that take on some martyr complex just so they can sate their curiosity. Lending an ear on surface level just to see how your gears work. Some sick neurotic need to feel like they are in the know, simply for the sake of their ego, and not because they care. Disinterested with the monotony of your struggle; only caring about the juicy bits so that their day gets a little better.

“You can count on me, that’s what I’m here for. To listen to everything” and perhaps somewhere deep down you think you mean it. But you don’t actually mean it, do you? It only sounds good to the ears of those that follow words and not actions.

Perhaps I obsess over language and its application. Knowing that if someone says they are willing to listen to everything; they mean everything. But not everyone knows what they are actually saying. Not everyone combs through every single word they are about to say — most act on impulse and think about the consequences later. Pavlov dogging their way to the next hit of narcissistic supply or whatever else they need to keep themselves sustained.

But I don’t have time to be vulnerable and cater to peoples’ impulses because I KNOW my issues are going to become too much. I know this for certain, because I can (at times) feel my bitterness and anger fester. I write to try and sort my mess. Taking that pain — apply it in my writing in some juvenile attempt to give it value. Sadistic repurposing of my pain, because some part of me refuses to believe it was all for nothing. I tell people not to worry about what’s bothering me because even I (the owner) can’t handle it. How can I expect you to?

You’re just curious. You don’t care. And it’s not your fault; people are engineered that way. 

I find romance hard because I’ve come to accept that if it’s going to work. I have to hold back. It’s the “healthy” thing to do. But that little distinction makes relationships useless to me. Why would I pair up with someone only to hold back on how I’m feeling out of fear of them leaving? It doesn’t work for me — how is that different from being alone?

I’ve given relationships enough chances and perhaps I’ve manifested some self-fulfilling prophecies by always expecting the worst. Sharing every little piece of me is impractical, because everyone has a line they deem “too much”. I just find it tedious having to continuously re-adjust what’s too much and what isn’t. I marked my own line and I stick by it.

Being completely honest with someone — and I mean completely — to me, bears the equivalent of jumping off a canyon; face planting; standing up and then writing a dissertation with a play by play of my experience as I fell down; perhaps evoking the sound I heard right as I hit the ground.

Was that dark? Yes. Yes, that was dark. And not for the sake of it; I’m a writer who just happens to be vivid with their expressions. 

But the standing question is, if that bothers you so much; what are you still doing here?

 

– O.D. ©2021 

 

Art by: AaronGriffinArt 

 

Canvas For Welling Tears.

I finished The unnamed girl series roughly a month ago, and it was received better than I expected. For those that don’t know, it’s a six-part anthology expressed through the lenses of a character going through (to avoid spoilers I’ll say) “many things” that are open to interpretation. You can check it out here if you wish to read it; links to all parts are within the post.

The past few days I’ve been reflecting over something else. The Unnamed Guy Series, I never planned on it but it felt like a missed opportunity in retrospect. I obviously don’t want the characters to mirror each other, but I feel I’ve done enough character building to piece this one together. This might be a once-off, let me know what you think and if you’d like to see more of it in the future.

18+  Sexual Themes, Language, Suicide.

 

I don’t talk about my failures.

Not all of them. Can you guess why?

You know why. Because failures are for losers.

It feels good not to think of them;

Don’t give me that look. I don’t want to feel weak.

Nor would you.

 

I hate myself, yet I scream “I love you”

— On the inside —

Hoping saying it enough times will make it true.

A running gag really— I won’t deny it,

Unless you say it in front of my mates.

 

“Also, also, if I may add — you latch onto hurt like an entitled child”

Who the fuck are you?

 

“What? You think anyone would stick around for you?

The REAL you? The best untold joke”

 

Hey, no-one leaves me, I leave them

Looking back. None of them were worth my time anyway.

 

“Sure buddy, Listen — you choose poorly because deep down,

You know, that’s exactly what you’re worth — You say you don’t need anyone

Because it will make living with yourself a whole lot easier”

 

You don’t get to tell that to me unless I do.

When it comes from anyone else, no matter how true

To me, it holds literally no value. 

 

“Loving you is your biggest complication

You wall off — it’s what you’re good at

When people get too close, you push them away

Because it’s getting too real — it terrifies you,

Losing your power.

You want control”

 

And what’s so wrong about that?

You say it like I’m supposed to give it all away.

 

“You’re a good bullshit detector

Because you’re a naturally gifted bull-shitter

I’d tell you to slit your wrists, but knowing you,

It’d be a miracle if you even manage to do that properly.

Remember that night, when you were called a ‘disgrace’?”

 

Would saying “yes” stop you from bothering me?

 

“Don’t interrupt me,

I can rightfully confirm you’re exactly that

But don’t worry — as if you ever do —

You weren’t taught any better,

It’s all about getting the girl and giving her a hard fuck, right?

I know how nice it is, to have an excuse to fall back to

When you don’t act right”

 

That doesn’t sound anything like me!

“Of course! But you sure as hell wish it could be!”

How can I or anyone like me be any better when you only speak of the ugly!?

“Because that’s all there is to fuckin’ see!”

 

You know this world does not reward being real!

Only the best idea of it! So what if I face a hiccup?

I fall and I stand up again! That’s how it works!

I own up and make something out of it!

 

“Hah! Your little tantrum means shit!

You’re nothing! Your worth is in what you have.

Celebrate ‘this’ because that’s as good as it will ever get

-For you. 

Natural selection baby! Life will continue to bend you over

And give you a hard one from behind

And you will learn to like it, maybe even enjoy it — talk about it? No.

Who wants to hear about your limitless failures,

What kind of man are you anyway?”

 

You’re wrong! There’s more to being a man than that!

I’m allowed to have feelings, to be vulne –

 

“Fucking sensitive, god! Have a little grit!

THIS is why people leave. You’re not a pillar.

Talk to me when you learn how to wear pants in relationships alright?

Till then, get under your covers — tug and pull

And when you eventually leave your shell and don’t get loved back?

Make like an incel and blame everyone around you, except you.

Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone”

 

You’ve said a lot. I’ll be completely honest about one thing.

You’re the voice I dream of killing.

 

“I’m you, so you know exactly what that means”

 

– O.D. ©2020

 

Art by:  StephanePellennec

This Alphabet Is Missing An “F”.

I’ve never liked living in the same space with other people far longer than I have to. Sometimes — *scoffs* who am I kidding saying sometimes? I ALWAYS prefer staying alone. Just the thought of hearing someone fidgeting in the other room annoys me to no end. Living alone means I can hear myself better. Also, My home is set up in a way that makes sense to me, there are things I’ve placed in questionable places. ‘Questionable’, according to a stranger’s standards. But who cares what the stranger thinks of my home? I see my thoughts and headspace the same way — don’t enter unless you’re invited. To be fair, people are rarely, if ever, invited.

Sure – check out the entrance, scope out the terrace — use the bathroom if you have to. But while you’re at it, don’t ask me why the green door is locked. It’s locked — correct me if I’m wrong but, that’s none of your business right? What are you? The door police?

[insert laugh track]

I have good news though. If you don’t like locked doors in other people’s spaces — Leave. then go to your place and initiate a ribbon cutting ceremony for you, the stray cat and all your neighbors. I’d like to believe we’ll all be happy that way.

I hear its unhealthy for me to want to be alone this much. True, I’m open to accept that, but if its about choosing which hell I’m willing to go through. The hell of being stuck in solitude is far more favorable to me than being stuck with a bunch of people. Far too many variables. Nothing against people in general, but I find them incredibly frustrating, annoying and at times boring. If you have a halo floating above your head — that was your cue to know this isn’t an entirely wholesome prose piece. I’m not exactly known for being the best light bearer, but believe me I try, but there comes a point …

What was it that Kurt Cobain said?

“I would rather be hated for who I am, than be loved for who I am not”

That quote — that quote comes the closest to describing how I feel, about pretty much everything. I could tell you all the things you want to hear, make you happy, but at what cost? My sanity for one. Spending most of my time alone means I don’t get the chance to ruin someone else’s day or whatever expectations they have of me. I kid you not, the only motivation I had for leaving home and venturing out on my own and doing my own thing was just to have a place to call my own. To wake up and decide how I’m going to ruin my day as opposed to having someone do it for me. It was never about getting a big house, a big car, a wife and whatever else society considers as the best sequence of events. I am completely hard-wired to be me, kissing up to people just isn’t part of my dna. And you can damn well be certain that anyone is expendable in my pursuit to continue being myself; don’t try and stop me, because I will never change myself for anyone. No-one is worth that much to me.

I don’t have friends, I have people I know. This means I talk to a lot of people, but I wouldn’t call them friends. Honestly? I’m not really trying to find any. I already wrote my reasoning for this here if you want to see, not looking to say it again.

Meeting people as an adult feels like a lotto draw, sometimes you get lucky, and sometimes you find duds. Judgmental, superficial, manipulative, narcissistic, one-track minded people who — admittedly — have worth, because they serve as the best examples of what not to associate yourself with.

Look, I’m an idiot, I know this — I say it all the time — I can even laugh about it — but there is only so much stupid I can tolerate in my life. I’m constantly working on my myself, trying to find the best ways to improve. Reining in as much stupid as I can so it doesn’t cause unnecessary harm to others. Or worse, add to the stupid that has already been allowed to enter existence. I try and avoid harm that could easily be avoided if I took one minute —- just one more f*cking minute to think about what I’m about to say. But you know what, for some people, one minute is far too much time to be wasting in your head, gotta get that clumsy thought out there while its still hot.

I have many colorful words to describe what those people are to me. But I choose not to use them (Who knows, I might change my mind mid-piece)

I can get extremely critical of others. More so in the company of hypocrites/pathological liars — worse if I’m pushed into a corner by said hypocrites/pathological liars. Judging me, from what pedestal exactly? Calling me selfish for not sharing my inner thoughts? Do you really care or are you just curious. Your answer won’t matter, because you’re a chronic liar, remember? The reason you think you’re so clever is because I don’t call you out. Why would I take it upon myself to dive into your cesspool of acid, especially when I don’t feel like it, to sort out your mess. If you’re feeling miserable over there, don’t come over to me so you can web me into your misery. If you feel inadequate, do it waaay over there, not anywhere near me.

How can you get offended when you learn I don’t need you to live; were you in the womb with me? Didn’t think so. How can you ask me why I don’t share my opinion when your low self-esteem beckons you to always try and get a one-up. When you turn simple conversations into competitions. Is your entire perception of existence shaped like a ventilation shaft?

Apart from being labeled as an alcoholic. What do you call it when I need some kind of vice to go through an entire conversation without feeling compelled to point out how ridiculous some of the things I’m told sound? I hate (not dislike) hate confrontations. Especially when I’m trying to help but it’s misconstrued as an attack. You have to go through the rigmarole of proving why it’s wrong first, and if you are oh-so-lucky, you get to go back and forth with the person till they become comfortable with the idea. Look, I’m not saying people should change what they feel about something just because someone says so. But I’m also saying I wont go through the hassle of correcting people when I rarely (if ever) feel like it. Its exhausting and at times futile. What next? Pinning their diaper. Ugh, I don’t have time for that. You’d be surprised how many logical inconsistencies you can avoid with a little research. But no, it’s much easier when you choose to be lazy to think.

The other day I laughed to myself, thinking about how If something were to happen to me, anyone who decides to check my browser history would be in for a surprise. Might even see something they didn’t know they needed to see. Also, the Google searches I’ve had to input in the name of researching for my manuscript would leave you in a, uh, “state”, I should say. But I’m getting side tracked …

I can be called toxic, harsh or whichever word makes people feel like dolling out justice on my personal truths. But don’t mistake me for someone who will look at your words and re-think their life choices. Starting my blog in 2014, I cared so much about how many followers I had. I cared about how many people commented and liked my posts. Of course I still do, to some extent — but only as a way to see my growth on this platform and not as a conveyance of my success in life. Noone wants to do something for absolutely nothing.

I was hooked on the high, because it was nice; seeing your post booming. Linking my worth to the amount of people that told me how good my writing is, seeking validation, you name it. Now, none of that applies. I don’t give a f*ck what anyone thinks about what I do and who I am. But it’s rude to say it out loud, so I keep quiet when they say whatever they consider to be reprimands of my character.

This change isn’t something that happened over night. Many things happened to warrant this. Some of which I have written over the years.

My co-worker asked me one morning “Who broke your heart?”. Funny question, welcome one too. I told her “No one in particular“. I’ve just come to learn a lot growing up. And I fear what else I’ll be learning past this point. After all, I’ve learnt that no-one is reliable, according my ridiculous and definitely fictional standards. I’ve learnt that love is conditional; I’ve learnt that even when you keep an open mind, even when you love someone far more than you should (in my experience) that’s hardly ever enough. Which, to me, makes romance a futile venture. Your heart doesn’t pay the bills, does it, darling?

I’ve learnt those I called ‘heroes’ are only human. That cheating has become a rite of passage and that charming mentors can sometimes be aspiring cult leaders. I’ve learnt no matter how much I may try to be kind there will always be a moron out there who will see it as weakness. I’ve learnt not to blame the world for my mistakes; to be responsible. I’ve learnt that those you value can sometimes cherish their belongings far more than they do you. I’ve learnt that the world is full of people who wish to be other people; sometimes you. I’ve learnt that those who ask you to trust them are usually the least trustworthy. I’ve learnt that words lost their meaning long before I was born. I’ve learnt that no matter how bad things get, it can always, always get worse. I’ve learnt … … I stopped myself from going deeper. It only gets darker down there and I don’t want to bring anyone down with me. Though if you’ve read this far you were probably aware of the risks involved.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and say. Yeah, I’m done. F this world and whoever thinks there’s an easy solve for every little thing. F that guy who always wants the last say in everything. F that moron I’ve caught one too many times about to let the N-word slip from their lips in my presence (No, you didn’t get away with it. But I now know you at the very least say it in my absence). But you know what, you’re not that important to me anyway.

… Sometimes, before I walk away from the mirror I say maybe…. maybe, not yet. If I’m going out, it won’t be because of those losers. Surely I’m worth more than that.

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: AngelGanev

Broken Keys And Missing Dial-tones.

“No. I wouldn’t dream of going ahead with it.

… Can’t bear the thought of leaving you alone.

You know that — right boy?”

*Woof!*

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: snatti89

Mind Reading Error.

Deep down, I like to think of myself as a good person.

So I’ll do you a favor and save you the trouble

Of trying desperately to trace my shadow.

No matter how many times you try and tell me who I am;

You’re wrong.

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: CaringWong

Unpopular opinion: You can never know someone to the core; you don’t even know yourself. So to think you can narrow someone’s personality to your limited perception of them is a little stupid moronic idiotic foolish ridiculous …don’t you think?

But what do I know, I’m just a guy who loves writing.

Undulating.

Proclaiming shamelessly that those who commit suicide are weak

Beckons me to give you news that will split your mind in three.

The good: Today, you learn something new.

The bad: You get to learn that you were far smarter a second ago;

Far smarter in fact, before deciding to lampshade the mushroom cloud;

The mushroom cloud that is ….

The ugly: … Your overbearing ignorance.

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: CaringWong

People who attempt suicide are not weak, they are in psychological pain and are in need of help. You may think it’s irrational for someone to end their life when looking from the perspective of someone who has yet to go through similar pain. And how could you? We’re all different.

Suicide is an act that comes from pain, not weakness. People that attempt/ commit suicide are in fact afraid to die. But the pain they will be going through will be so overwhelming that they see no other way to stop it. I understand how easy it may be for some people to judge and make light of someone else’s pain. After all, I grew up being told the remedy for being depressed was to simply “cheer up” and to stop being “so sensitive, like a lady”

“You’re feeling depressed? But you’re so young, Wait till you’re an adult then you’ll know what true depression is”

True depression? What the f*ck is that bullsh*t? Like there’s some kind of absolute depression that blankets all other forms of depression. F*cking morons, the lot of them. If you have no knowledge to impart because you don’t understand a particular issue well — or rather, if you have nothing constructive to offer, Have the decency to keep your mouth shut.

What pisses me off is how many people commit suicide because they are afraid to open up to all these judgy idiots. These idiots who feel they have suffered more than anyone else. How many more people would we be able to help if these idiots weren’t so flippant about how they address issues regarding suicide? I don’t like cursing, but this issue really gets me heated.

I never told my parents this story (only my sister) because I was afraid they would worry. But at the start of 2020 I was flooded by suicidal thoughts. My poetry did nothing to hide this. I don’t need to get into the particulars of how it reached that point, but, well, everything sucked. It’s like, try as I might, when looking all around me, all I saw were ways I could kill myself in the least painful way.

These thoughts are “gone”now but I know they could just as easily come back. I’m at a point in my life where I no longer know if I’m depressed or not. Take that however you wish, but it has helped me empathize with those in pain. I may not know exactly what they are going through, but I’ve felt and understood a similar pain in my own unique way. And i’ll try, in any way I can to give them a listening ear, and if my writing lights up their day, even better.

But much like everyone else, I have good and bad days; and that is, at times, reflected in my writing. Despite trying to help others, I need to make time to help myself; and this might mean writing a piece that carries little to no positivity.

I believe in helping people help themselves, not saving. Fostering self-reliance; not co-dependency. I’m a teacher, not a cult leader.