I might be out of practice. Writing here is difficult.
I try with an earnestness, a deep and abiding earnestness, not to hurt anybody. I meet someone, I want them to be in a better way. Despite my best efforts, I don’t think I can avoid harming, though. I got me some baggage that tenaciously hangs on. That distorts my logic and, good intentions aside, I hurt me my fair share of people. I want to tell them I’m sorry. Explain my logic and make it all better. I oft think of myself as a version of Lennie in Of Mice and Men. I just wanna love you, but my oafishness only causes harm.
My answer, or coping mechanism: Don’t love them or allow them to love you. If love enters the equation, it means trouble and I’d better panic.
I think any layman can see the trouble with the logic. It’s a foolish, misconceived, and sad way of thinking. Of living. Still, here I am. Days away from thirty five years and I am as beholden to this obtuse way of life as I am to breathing.
I wonder if there isn’t a way to make this self induced suffering worthwhile to someone, somewhere, somehow. To make my sacrifice worthwhile . . .
Look at me. I’m a martyr looking for a sword to fall on. Where my only worth is in suffrage. God damn it and god damn me. I thought I shook this absurd thinking. I thought I got to the other side where I could actually be and do something.
Oh man, I gotta do something with myself, Anything besides this silliness. I’m gonna need some help.