Original article posted by ravenpaine:
I am not an optmist.
I’m not even a pessimist, and despite my better attempts I am not a pragmatist either.
I am a Fatalist. Which, by my last count, is the hardest thing to be. Being a Fatalist involves a large amount of taking what happens and trying to figure out what possible purpose it could serve. You can always hope to just bloody run for it too. Just take everything that happens, say this is what has happened, and move right along.
Either of which will ultimately leaving you feeling ill and empty. Not having a particular stake in what is happening around you can drain you of all the vital essences which propel you through your day.
Maybe I’m just unhappy because I cannot figure out why I have never really interacted well with anyone I haven’t “converted” to my own side previously. Perhaps, and this may be a stretch, but perhaps, maybe, I’m angry that my mother sent me an ad for a set of self help tapes that are designed to help you thing positively and therefore not live a life of sin.
A negative thought, of any sort, be it of sadness or murder or just asking the question, “Gee why is all this stuff so crappy,” is apparently a sin. So I sin often, not because I’m a bad person but becaue unlike so many fucking self-righteous bastards I don’t claim that all of life is good and bending down into the mud to help someone is going to somehow taint me.
Because it does, you know? I think Jesus had a particular grasp on this. He spent a lot of time trying to help the people who needed it. Those people at the bottom? You know? The ones with problems? Maybe, huh?
He wept openly on several occasions and even questioned God from time to time. Oh! And he had an open dialogue with Lucifer one day. Just chatting around and comparing values. But you know, he can do all that stuff and still be nice and pure and inoccent. I dislike a rap song and suddenly I’ve commited the “sin” of having an opinion.
I was at church in the asylum one day. The preacher took an extra moment, for reasons I’m not too keen on, to point out that mental illness was a sin. Really? I thought to myself. I had no idea that a society full of fucking bigots and hideous bile-spewing-water-headed people that had driven me crazy just because I was smarter than them or different or just didn’t react the way they were hoping, made me a terrible sinner. I’m going to Hell because a bunch of holier, more normal people took the time to make sections of my life not worth living.
This was a system I was bound to agree with, it was, like, just soooo, logical, ya know?
So then the preacher takes an extra moment to include a question in his sermon, which went something like this: “Stand up if you would willfully go to hell for the guy next to you.”
In a room of nearly 2,000 mitilatry trainess, learning to fight for God and country, 20 stood up and they were all from the asylum.
The preacher responded with: ‘You are stupid! Stupid! I would never do that, you’d have to be crazy to do that!”
Me – “We are crazy, this entire row is from the asylum. Yeah, we’re the big mental case sinners.”
the preacher – “Uhhhmmm.”
Me, cutting in – “Yeah, it’s kind of funny, but last time I checked Jesus went to Hell for the rest of us. One guy for several hundred trillion people. But you know, he was probably crazy too. But he had a better deal, he died for everyone. I’m willing to go strictly one for one along with all of the people over here that you insulted.”
the preacher – “Get out of my church.”
Me – “No problem, I’m going outside with rest of my crazy people, you stay in here and be better than us.”
And so I wasn’t let back to church for the duration of my five week stay at the asylum. While there I prevented two suicides and met some fantastic people who I still use as characters in some of my best-liked works.
But, you know, they’re crazy so I’ll eventually see them when we go to Hell together. If your lucky I might save you one of those limited spots in heaven by my actions. I can only hope.
So the worst thing that could happend in my life has happened. I’ve betrayed the woman I loved, I had my life torn away from me, I lost all my possession, I spent five years hating myself, I was committed, and I betrayed every principle that I ever held myself too. And yet I still have no desire to die. I just want to pull it together and get back out there…
And yet every week I have to be reminded just how little it matters. Every day I face the trial of walking around with a carefully contained set of horrors lurking around in my skull and do I get any credit for that? Do I get told, “thanks for not showing up to such and such event, I’m glad you felt it necessary not to yell at everyone and ruin everyones precious day.”
No! I don’t get anything of the sort. I’m not out here trying to use my problems as a crutch, but that’s no reason to kick the leg I’m limping on from out beneath me!
I fight really hard to do something that makes a difference around here and not just come apart and give in to all my pain and fear, and what do I get for all of that? What do I get? I get fed shit for not being like others. For not submitting to some dominant religous ideal that has decided I fucking fail before I even try.
I hate any system in which you can atomatically lose just because of who you are. Yeah, one little mistake and you are fucked, forever. Let me tell you, that is exactly the game I want to be playing. Mac Hall said it best
I’m done. Go away. Don’t fucking comment on my bad mood or how nice things can turn out or that it will all get better.
If anything feed the hate, so I dont’ have to.