IT'S GO TIME

So this is my white boy version of REAL TIME...

She waited till I was drunk to lay it out for me, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth...

So help you god?

I'm angry, all the time, and it burns inside me like hot irons in my soul.  I think hateful thoughts about people on a near constant basis, I fantasize about hurting people, and none of this is even remotely ok.  My anger has been building up since I was four years old, from those early transgressions that I didn't, no, COULDN'T protest.

And she saw through me like a pane of glass in a porn shop display case.

I'm displacing the blame for everything that's my fault, every fault of mine that I delay fixing, because I can always say...

"It wasn't me...  It's not my fault... THEY did this to me..."

And its not even remotely ok...

She took me from three sheets to the wind to dead sober just by bee-lining towards truths I hadn't even considered, yet in my heart knew to be true.

I'm in a cage, and its made of my anxiety and suppressed rage.  One feeds the other, the right hand washes the left, and it keeps going on in a circle without end.

I'm not ok, my situation isn't ok, and I'm doing nothing to fix it because its oddly comfortable to be this paralyzed, because the alternative is facing the truth.

"Talk to Jim..."

...her only answer to the simplest of questions, how do I fix it?  How to I rewrite a lifetime of programming from both internal and external sources?

Its not so easy, I don't know the answers, and she can't give them, because i rely too heavily on her and others to "fix me", when they most certainly can't.

They can't even understand me, for the most part, because so much of what I feel is hidden under layers that I THOUGHT were impenetrable.

"No one can tell, EVER..."

But they can, if its obvious to her its obvious to others.  I'm a wreck, a nervous hateful wreck and its not going away overnight.

And I can't expect her to fix me, even if she can so quickly an eloquently point it out in a moment of my weakness.  I'm on my own, but I don't have to be, I need outside sources, outside people to befriend or even simply associate with.  I need activities, responsibilities, and things to call my own.

And she can't fix me, maybe she never could, maybe I've been looking for solutions to problems only I  have the answers to.

Maybe she'll read this, and maybe she'll post a comment, something quick and witty and sharp to the point.

And maybe I don't need her to, maybe I need to find my own voice, my own identity, my own song...

I need to find myself, and only then will I be ok...