Ladies, you're not the only ones who have to deal with asshole men. Men have to deal with men as well; and it's scarier facing down another man knowing no ones going to step in and stop him from beating your face into mush, and lets be honest, you penis absent humans aren't a cake walk to deal with either. So when I search for support online, hoping to find an article to relate with and to help ease my nerves, it's very upsetting when I come across an article that assumes the victim is female and that the abuser is male. A quick google search about walking on egg shells in a relationship and this is the first paragraph I read. "An emotional abuser wants you to walk on eggshells. Telling yourself that HIS assaults are ’just something that happened’ and you love each other really, only makes things worse. The only way HE loves you is the way a dog loves a bone: HE loves what it does for him – and what HE can do with it." Ok, I might be indulging in outrage culture a bit on this one. OK I definitely am. Things like this never really bothered me before, I guess we all assume aggression is a male characteristic anyways. But the majority of resources dealing with abusive relationships seem to be exclusively geared around aiding women under the assumption that women deal with it more often; I call bullshit. Instead what is more likely is that men keep silent about receiving abuse from women because it is a source of shame. I've seen my mother threaten my father with knives and pans. I've seen her get in his face and degrade him viciously(My Dad's not innocent, but reverse the roles and you would be more outraged) I also remember the one time my dad lost his cool, picked up a bat and motioned that he would hit her with it if she came at him again. The cops were called, and my father was taken away in handcuffs. I remember all this from my sitting position in the living room, eating a grilled cheese sandwich. Every now and then I would see my Dad speed walk by, looking behind him, warning her to back off. Then I would see her follow, and around in circles they went. The food helped me detach from what was going on I guess, because I don't remember being scared. I remember one of the cops walked in with his boots on, and got our carpet all dirty with mud. Then I remember we went over to my cousins, and one of them asked me a question that I always thought was stupid. "Do you like when your mom and dad fight?" Yeah, I love it! It's great! I guess he didn't know what to say, but still, what a stupid question. "Be a man!" is what ever man fears hearing shouted at them at one point or another in their life. How does one be a man in that scenario? Should my father have beaten my mother? Would he have been justified in giving her a slap or two? Does a "Real" man turn the other cheek? Does a "Real" man just run away? That's another thing us guys have to deal with. The endless "Real" men comments. Everyone and their mother has some description of what a "REAL" man is. "A real man wouldn't have done that....real men show emotion..." "Nu uh bro, real men are stoic and reserved" "Na bros, you're both wrong, real men take it in the butt and aren't ashamed" "Uh guys, real men are bi, emotionally open, yet stoic when it counts. They have a strong jawline, and a thick head of hair. Oh and they have to be 6 f tall." "My momma says a real man takes care of his w-w-wamen" Everything these days in the MSM seem to be around women and their struggle to find a place in the world. I get it, being a woman isn't easy. I wouldn't trade being the shovel for the hole, but we need to balance things out. I think that's why figures like Jordan Peterson have found such an audience. Men have been left to fend for themselves for a long time. You're not a man if you need help, you're just a failure. Hold it in, don't let it show.....FOR THE FIRST TIME IN FOREVER! Frozen 2:The Princes.
How long do you invest, and how much do you accept losing in your attempt to save a sinking ship? A Captain has four children, four ships, three of those children are sinking, one is fully functional but has a rookie crew, it needs guidance lest it collide and sink itself. The Captain spends all their time scooping buckets of water off the three sinking ships, while the functional ship sails aimlessly into unknown water. Still the Captain foolishly thinks that all can be saved, and tirelessly scoops and tosses the water back into the ocean. The Captain sees the functional ship and hopes it finds favorable winds, but in the meantime it has a surplus of supplies on board that can be used to help the crew on the three sinking vessels. So the Captain borrows from the functional ship and wishes it and its crew luck. One of four has to make it, the Captain thinks, it will be fine on its own. Eventually they realize that they'll need to sacrifice one ship to save another. So they scuttle one of the sinking ships, and put some of its crew on an island, vowing to come back for the survivors. Now with more time to save the two sinking ships, progress is being made. Still the fourth ship sails towards uncertainty. The survivors on the island go mad, cannibalizing each other until only one remains. The lone survivor spots the fourth ship passing by, and coerces themselves on board. They begin antagonizing the crew, spewing vitriol at its novice crew for not being able to find its way back to port on its own. "If I had been given this ship, all my woes would be gone! I would have sailed back to port ages ago! You are all pathetic!" The inexperienced crew of the fourth vessel takes a considerable loss in morale, many feeling so discouraged that they opt to kill themselves rather then face the uncertainty at sea. But some make a stand, and fight the cannibal survivor off the ship. The survivor feels guilty and apologizes as he sails away on his raft, horrified at what he has become. But the damage is done, and the dead hear it not. He floats away on his raft to find new lands, and to build his own ship. The Captain still tirelessly works on the two sinking ships, stabilizing one , but unable to repair its sail. It floats, but it doesn't move. It is doomed to sit and wait for the water to determine its fate. The ship will survive, but the crew will eventually die. The last ship cannot be repaired, and the Captain must constantly scoop and empty the water overboard. This is where the parent must now stay, for if it leaves, the ship sinks. Now and then it sees the fourth ship in the distance, still lost at sea, but afloat. Hoping that it one day finds a way to port, but in the meantime the Captain needs its supplies. So anytime it can, it takes a little bit more from the fourth ship in the futile attempt to keep the sinking ship afloat. One day, the fourth ship sails away, the crew no longer willing to give any more supplies to the doomed crew and the Captain of the sinker. The crew opt to sail into the unknown rather then die in familiar waters. They are weak, inexperienced, and on the verge of cannibalism. But one of four has to make it, or it would have been all for nothing.
Not sure if I'm allowed to keep bumping my writing prompt thread in the lounge, and since no one appears interested in the writing exercise I'll just put them in my blog instead. "Finally! This time there's no escaping. Growlithe, I choose you!" Red threw the pokeball like he was tossing the opening pitch in a full stadium, aiming to knock the pokemon out before his even had the opportunity to try its luck. It slammed into dittos blubbery body, sending undulating ripples across its form. A blinding flash of light erupted from the pokeball and shot to the ground. A luminescent, white outline of Growlithe soon morphed into reality with a roar. "Growlithe, use bite!" Red screamed. Growlithe sprinted forwards, pouncing towards the pink doeball; her canines gleaming from her open mouth. Latching on tightly to the blubbery mass and shaking her head back and forth viciously, she tossed ditto into the air, opened her mouth wide, and devoured Ditto whole. "Dit.....TTO!" it screeched as it disappeared. "Bad! Spit it out, Growlithe! Spit it out!" Red pleaded. Growlithe tilted her head in confusion, then began dry heaving. "Good girl! Cmon, out, out!" Growlithe whimpered in between heaves, laying itself down in pain, and soon into convulsions. "No, Growlithe!" Red cried, running and kneeling beside her. A large mass erupted from Growlithe's abdomen, sending bloody bits of projectile flesh every which way. Gore covered Red's face, and he stared in shock at Growlithe. This Growlithe wasn't his, but had exploded out from his beloved pokemon. A spitting image of its victim. It's eyes locked into his, and he could feel the rage they held. The impostors jaws opened wide, and a small ball of flame swirled into a larger frenzy of flames that licked out of its mouth, before shooting out at him. Red screamed as flame touched his skin like sandpaper from hell; He could feel it shrivel and tear, until its burnt black char could no longer send back the message of pain to his brain. His teeth grew soft like marshmellow, his eyes exploded, and his brain boiled, receiving the message of pain from any nerve still left standing, doing its duty until it could no longer do so. Growlithes skin and fur undulated, its jaw opened wide beyond its physical capabilities with a snap, and pink sludge drooped out and began encasing its form. Eating itself into nothing more then its original form. Dittos jello body rippled in the wind, it stood before the charred corpse of Red, and the exploded corpse of Growlithe. It showed no emotion, for no emotion it could show. It was a monster, capable not even of feeling joy from its deeds. "Ditto" it said as it drooped itself over some flesh and began slurping it into itself.
The cool autumn air whooshed in through the small gap in the driver side window, bringing with it memory of years past. Jacks first steps, Steven's berserk rage, blackness, then strained consciousness, then blackness again, the apology, the sickening feeling of embracing the animal that had maimed her, and the fear, the lingering fear that had griped her tight and had never let go. Haley slammed on the breaks, exiting her waking nightmare at the sight of a school crosswalk guards terrified face, his arms outstretched, the red stop-sign crooked in his grasp, and his mouth agape in what could only be disbelief that he would die on a Tuesday morning. The car came to a screeching halt, leaving a trail of skid marks in its wake. “I-I'm so sorry!” she yelled, raising the mandatory hand from the wheel in apology. The man took a deep breath, shot her the angry look you give your kid after a prank that nearly gave you a heart attack, and waddled off shaking his head. Then he was gone behind her and in the past. Another memory to associate with the cool autumn breeze. Fall will forever be my bane. Haley turned on the radio and began switching through the channels. She needed something to keep her here in the present, so AM radio it was. She stopped at the first voice she heard that wasn't an advert, and took a deep breath, focusing intently on the road. “News 1010 morning news, 404 south still slow moving as we near 9 am, the DVP south looking slightly better, just be wary of construction as you approach the Finch off ramp. Today in news, fighting continues in Syria with 5 civilian casualties confirmed after the Assad governments bombardment of supposed rebel strongholds. The white house condemning the attack early this morning.... Haley started to regret her decision, this was likely to put her to sleep. She reached for the radio dial. Local news, a prison break out of Steel view late last night has left two gaurds now in critical condition. Two of the escapees were detained early this morning, but one still remains on the loose, police are asking citizens to safely secure homes and to alert them of any suspicious activity....Boy, seems like something out of a movie..Today in sports! What do you have for us Greg?” Haley's eyes were stuck in a wide stare, her body tensed to the point of paralysis, her fingers on the dial. Steven. It couldn't be, Steven wasn't capable of such a thing without Jack Daniel egging him on, and besides that, he had one year left to release. Why would he break out of prison, why would he come after her? He knew what he had done was wrong, Steven wasn't an evil man, was he? You're victim blaming. Haley, you're the victim her therapist would repeat session after session. Had she ever gotten past it? It was a major breakthrough in therapy when she stopped blaming herself for his incarceration, she couldn't remember all the times they had worked through the scenario during her sessions, how many times she had been blind to the truth. She had insisted that it was an overreaction on her part, he wouldn't have done any permanent damage, it was just a bloody nose, or a black eye, a sprained ankle, a broken arm, they would heal quick enough. She hadn't needed to call the police, Jack needed his father, why did she take his father away from him? Jack, Jack go back to bed! Leave him alone! Jack, run! He did a number on her that night, the Lion didn't like it when the sheep barked orders. But she had distracted him, Jack hadn't been hurt, and when she came to, Steven was passed out on the lazy boy, beer and blood splattered on his shirt. Blood? Steven, you're bleeding are you all right? It didn't hit her until her eyes were back in this reality that she was the one covered and leaking the red stuff. She hadn't intended on calling for police, but when she groggily called 911 for an ambulance, and let slip that she had been attacked, the two came in partnership. It didn't take long upon their arrival to deduce what had taken place. The cops had given Steven a rough awakening, and she remembered feeling fear, not relief as they dragged him away. She pulled into her drive way, her mind still half in the past. This is insane, you just need to calm down, do the breathing exercises Dr. Erik showed you. Talk through it, am I thinking rationally? “Are you Haley?” Her therapists voice emulated in her head joined in. A few deep breaths later, and she was actually feeling better, still on edge but not on the point of panic anymore. She had until the afternoon to pick up Jack from school, and maybe what she needed was some well earned rest. She made her way inside, setting her keys on the counter where she always left them, but somehow always lost them, grabbed herself a yogurt from the fridge, and popped herself on the couch to watch the Dr.Phil. Haley needed all the doctors she could get. 10 minutes in and her eyes were like cement blocks, she struggled to keep them open, conflicted between her interest in the show and her biological need for sleep. “You want people to love you, you gotta show some love” The audience clapped. “I know Dr.Phil, I know” “I don't think you duu, now are you willing to get help?” “I am Dr.Phil, I am” “You're going to need all the help you can get after I'm done with you Haley” Haley's eyes shot open, and she gasped for air. The credits were rolling, she had dozed off, it was an auditory hallucination. She looked around nervously, feeling uneasy about the news about the prison break, and about being home alone. She needed to get out, do some errands, clear her head. Walking over to the counter to grab her keys she huffed in disbelief. “How do I lose the damn keys every damn time” she said aloud. I put them right here, right fucking here. Didn't I? Yes I'm positive. Maybe I left them in my pocket. The couch. As she thought of turning to search for her keys in the recesses of the couch, she heard a floorboard creek behind her. Frozen, a million thoughts raced through her mind, and yet she couldn't focus on a one of them. A single word emerged victorious from the cacophony of thoughts, and played over and over in frantic tones in her mind. Steven. “Hey babe...you uh, looking for these?” a rugged voice said behind her, mingling with the sound of her key chain jingling.
WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT, DO NOT READ OR RESEARCH SAID INCIDENT IF YOU ARE NOT OF SOUND MIND I recently watched a video I'm not proud to have sought out, but I needed to see it, I didn't know that I did until after I did, but I did. It brought life to just another story about people I didn't know dying, it made their deaths real, and it helped me understand once again, when it was starting to fade in my mind, that true evil exists. A morbid curiosity many of us have experienced drew me to seek it out. A beheading of two women from Scandinavian countries who went on a trip to Morocco and were abducted,and beheaded (God only knows what else) by Muslim extremists who have claimed links to ISIS. I read about it before watching, and I couldn't bring myself to listen to the audio, but just reading the retelling of it with the visual aspect still in my brain has left me on the brink of vomiting. I was hyperventilating with a feeling of dread, mixed in with extreme anger, and with the sinking realization of being unable to do anything. They were gone already, and even if they weren't they were a world away, and even if they were next door, could I have saved them? My mind and body screams to me that it would die trying, but it's another incident where I have no experience in. What evil would I be capable of if I were given access to these sick 'things' that did that to those two girls? I say 'thing' because animal is to kind a word. I would torture them, they would not know the mercy of death until time itself removed them from my grip. Would that make me a monster? Worse then them? Before when I wasn't in it, when I hadn't/if I hadn't seen it, I would of said yes. Two wrongs don't make a right, becoming evil to punish evil seems irrational. I'm conflicted, I know what's "right" but it doesn't seem like it anymore, not with this mix of emotion running around inside my stomach, not with the nausea that permeates my body. What would Jesus do? And would his solution be the right one? Mercy, even for the devil? Is the devil so wrong to despise humanity, what's so evil in trying to rid the world of us sinful beings. It's days like today, after seeing things like this, that I just want it all to burn to the ground. All of it. The Cosmos, in all its beauty, is tainted with even the smallest of these evil creatures, I can't justify its existence if it means we must take the bad with the good. Better nothing, better to burn down the antarctic base, then to let that thing into the world.
I was talking with my sister recently and she brought up an incident that had happened years ago. I was struggling to remember what she could be talking about, when all of a sudden the memory came back in vivid, cringe inducing detail. I was shocked, how could I have forgotten it? I struggled to determine if it was really a memory of something that I had done for a few moments. It wasn't a "Oh yeahhh" recollection, it was a genuine shock and surprise that I remembered something that was on the verge of being deleted from my mind forever. I kind of wish I was given the time to let it go for good. It reminds me of my first email, and its password I can't remember. I've tried getting access to it a dozen or so times throughout the years, but for the life of me I cannot remember what I used for the password. Not even a hint of something, its just gone. Why couldn't that memory have come back? Now I have to live with this terrible memory popping up every so often for God knows how long.
Paper, here's one of them emotional youtube comments. About 4 years ago I had gotten a part time job at Walmart as a produce clerk. It was the only job I've ever had where I was expected to do some customer service. I loved it, and of course I was laid off. My co-workers were great, and the job had me busy and moving so the time flew by. The location of the store was beautiful also. During my breaks I would walk a little ways away to a pond nearby and smoke. I remember a late September day, a cool day, but warmed perfectly by the sun on my skin. I was listening to Metrics "The Shade", looking out on the pond at a congregation of Canadian Geese, and puffing away at my smoke. Life seemed so good in that moment, I was excited for the future, I felt like I could make it out for the first time in forever (Do you wanna build a snowman?). Every time I listened to this song, the feeling would come back, but I had to take care not to listen to much, if I did the feeling would become weaker and weaker with every subsequent visit. But I couldn't resist myself over the years, sometimes it was the only thing that made me feel happy. But I overused it, the well began to dry up and the magic had been lost. When I listen to it now I get only a small flicker of the feeling I once had, even in its weakened state its a powerful feeling. Fleeting remnants of my past self animating itself, only to wither and die again and again, until one day it will be gone forever.
Ingred emerged from the portal in a daze, her tongue gliding against her toothless gums in anticipation. Finally she would return home after all the years of torment and trickery. Grey, rugged rock greeted her gaze, and the acrid smell of sulfuric gasses struck her immediately. "Howm, howm, nn-nawt howm." she muttered. Ingred turned back towards the portal, but it was no longer there. She had been duped again, and the dread of finding out what torment this realm held for her sat like a sack of stones in her belly. What sanity had been recovered by the aid of the nameless one was now cascading down into an inferno of insanity. All around her was the same barren landscape, accented in the distance by the towering mountain that shot plums of smoke and debris into the air. She felt hot, not the humid hot of the hive, but a dry, moisture zapping hot. Her mouth was already parched, and strings of thick saliva began clinging to her lips as she licked them. The rock beneath her feet rumbled, and the mountain in the distance gurgled, and spit bright orange soup from its crown. Black smoke sped up in its ascent into the dull orange sky, casting the ground around her into its growing shadow. Gurgling ceased, rumbling intensified, her ears were assaulted by a heavy bass that left her no other option but to try and muffle the sound with her hands. "Howm, I waynt to go howm!" she screamed. The racing wall of darkness towered above her, soon engulfing her in complete darkness and intolerable heat. As he tried to scream, her mouth became a cavern in which millions of tiny biting insects latched their mouths onto, and injected their acidic poison. Every orifice leading into the internal structure of her body was now filled with them, and that brief moment of consciousness she had no choice but to endure, was the longest, most painful she would ever endure.
I was a bully, we all were that day on the bus. The big kids were on some trip and we had the entire bus to ourselves. Of course we booked it for the back seats where normally we would never be allowed to sit, and I think I can speak for everyone's past self when I say it made us feel like the big kids, the cool kids. There we sat, my friend Christian and I surrounded by a group of people I can't envision anymore. All but Christian, Monique, and Irena are just faceless, nameless ghosts. Monique was cursed with being hideous, there's no way around being rude when describing her. He face was long like a horses, and she was sickly looking with a voice to match the appearance. I never disliked her, I don't remember ever interacting with her outside this time on the bus, and one time when I saw her at Harvey's when me and my Mom went into the restaurant and I waved at her giddily, excited to see a classmate outside of school. Christian was the popular kid that everyone liked, and I made him laugh, so I had some status in our grade 3 ( or 4, I can't remember)class. He even had a stalker, no joke. This other kid in our class was obsessed with him, and would often break down crying when Christian told him to get lost. I recall one occasion where the boy lost his bay blade in a duel to Christian and was sobbing so hard to induce feelings of intense sadness in me. Irena was bullied herself but struggled despite the fact to gain status. She was a tom boy, a rugged looking Italian who could have passed for a boy if she had cut her hair short. She's just another victim, I didn't see it at the time but years later I saw her again in high school and the taunting took its tole. She turned into the quiet girl at the back of the class, one best friend equally as shy. They would whisper back and forth and furtively hide their giggles from everyone else. On the bus, Monique was verbally thrashed by all of us. Remembering it now I can't recall if I had any hesitation to join in, I just remember getting a laugh from Christian as I chimed in an insult about her appearance. I remember looking at Monique, her head was tilted to the right and down, eyes peering outside the window. I felt so bad for her in that moment, I couldn't believe what I had done. In that moment Irena tried her hand at an insult, and my anger at myself unleashed on her. "That's enough, stop" I remember saying "You just made fun of her" She responded,no doubt puzzled at my change of sides. At that moment I let forth a verbal barrage against her, what right did she have to bully this girl when she looked just as ugly!? Christian laughed at that as well. But I think I convinced him that Monique wasn't moving anymore, the wounded animal was dead, and there was no more fun to be had playing with the corpse. Funny what we remember, I don't know how it started, and I don't remember getting off the bus. I don't remember the rest of the day at all, or the weeks that followed. I have no other memories of Monique what so ever, she's just a memory of a random kill I bagged. A lousy hypocrite I am, crying about being bullied in school, about how mean people can be! Boo hoo! I had my time near the top, and I acted just like the people I despised acted. If I had continued to be higher on the social ladder I would of become just like them. Christian struck Gold, he ended up being a big Youtuber. He started off doing Vines and even did a bunch with the Paul brothers. He currently has over 1 million subs. When I saw him again on the screen, one of the first things I remembered was this incident. I wondered if he felt guilty about it as well.
My computer chair has seen better days. The PU leather on the backrest is worn on one side more then the other, and the seat itself is almost entirely grey where it was once black. The arm rest on my right side no longer locks in place, making in impossible to adjust the height, and both arm rests have been ripped to shreds by me for reasons I cannot remember. Superficial damage on an otherwise functional chair, until the past year or so. Now the gas lift cylinder has gone completely and I find myself feeling like a child at my desk as I reach up for my mouse and keyboard. The padding has worn down to the point of being useless, and my back and ass have taken a beating for it. I can't endure this relationship any longer. I find myself fantasizing about other chairs, reclining and adjusting all night long. My hands shifting from one long hard lever to the next. I explore the curves and ergonomic design, and rub my skin against real leather..... I'm pulled from my reverie to the screeching squeaks of this old partner of mine. Maybe it knows its days are numbered, has it grown to hate me too? "It's just a chair Magus.... what a weirdo!"
Why do some people mercilessly tease and belittle people who are struggling to understand things? I think back to a time where my grade 6 class was in the library, though I can't recall why. The topic of Verbs came up in our furtive conversations, avoiding the ire of the library lady. I asked my friend Micheal, "What's a Verb?" A boy named Jonathan who was Micheal's friend, but not mine, overheard and immediately broke the sacred sound threshold of the library with "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT A VERB IS?" Eyes peered to our table, and even Micheal joined in their visual assault, shaking his head with a grin on his face. As I felt the eyes all return to their respective tables, Jonathan struck again. He wasn't content in my humiliation thus far and needed more scrutiny directed at the boy who dared not know what a verb was. "David!" he whisper shouted, defeating the purpose of the whisper. "He doesn't know what a verb is!" "What!?" David giggled, mouthing the word 'wow' silently. My humiliation was complete, the gossip spread like wildfire in the silent halls of the library. Another subject the idiot kid from the subsidized housing co-op didn't understand. He couldn't do math, he stood like a deer in a headlight in drama class and gym class, and now they found out that I didn't even know what a verb was. I stepped into the image of the stupid kid that day, that was who I was and there was no changing it. When I failed to understand something in the future I immediately understood that it was because I was incapable. Instead of getting help, I gave up and downgraded my education. I played the part so well as to convince my teachers and my parents. Hell, maybe I'm not playing. All I want to say now is, fuck you Jonathan. How do you like that Verb?
My Brother and me had gotten into an argument. He was acting insane, manic like I had never seen him before. I went outside and got a call from my sister and started discussing what had just transpired when I heard a scream. I looked into the house through windows that do not exist in reality and saw that my brother had hung himself, and my mother was kneeling by his feet sobbing. I woke up feeling nauseous and on the verge of crying. All my hate had vanished and I found myself just wanting to talk to my brother again. One of the last times I saw him before he left we had gotten into a fight and he ended up punching me pretty hard. He had his manic states where he was unreasonable and has said some horrible things to me that will be hard to ever forget. I held onto that bitterness even when he came to say goodbye and apologize. I pretended I was sleeping and didn't answer the door. He left a note that I will probably keep forever that reminded me of the big brother I knew as a kid. It hurts to think that that might have been the last time I would ever get the chance to speak to my brother. I love him, and I hate him.
I began reading Stephen King's 'The Stand' a few months ago. Yes, months, I don't know how fast you people read but I feel a sense of shame admitting it takes me months to get through a book. It's a large one, and on top of me being a slow reader, and a reader who doesn't read daily, I've only made it half way through. Even so, not a lot has happened. I've grown attached to the characters of course and find myself wanting to read the book more and more as the plot is finally developing, but that wasn't the case after I read a few chapters initially. It's a slow burner, and more often then not I found myself sighing as I returned to a characters chapter that I loathed. I almost made a pact to myself to skip these chapters entirely, but decided to stick through it.... I asked myself why I did? If it had been a short story from a stranger I would most likely decide within the first two sentences if I wanted to read on or not, but because this was Stephen King, I urged myself to read it all and endure the suffering. I'm glad I did, but would I have been so kind to Joe Shmoe? Nope, I would of closed the book and let the dust settle on its cover until I died or it found its way to a new home. I don't know where I'm going with this, I just felt like writing and I just finished a chapter. I guess my point is, it's hard not to judge a book by its cover, especially one which has on it in bold red text, 'Stephen' Fucking 'King'. For Christ sake now that I mention it...the title of the book is dwarfed compared to his name. From a distance you might even think the book was Called 'King', and as you drew closer 'King Stand'.
Where did this ridiculous saying come from? I haven't met a met a man who has cried before me who has retained MORE of his masculinity. It's utter bullshit spewed by a generation of weak men like myself. Sorry, but crying doesn't make you any more or less a man, but it does take away your masculinity. I get it, you're showing weakness, and that shows confidence! But crying isn't a voluntary act, its urge comes and goes when it pleases. It's our strength that holds it in. If we allow ourselves to cry, it is because we ceased resisting it. How does that show strength? How does that show the world you have a set of bowling balls clanking together between a set of muscular thighs wrapped in golden tanned...beautiful skin... leading up to a sublime,tight ass...I-I mean! SICK CRYING BASTARDS.
That I'm beyond saving. I've reacted to every positive piece of advice, or encouragement, with the same pessimistic vitriol that echoes inside my mind daily. In doing so I have essentially cut the rope, on multiple occasions, that was thrown down the well for me to climb. It used to be that if I said I would jump into the well, someone would say they would pull me out. Now I have worn the patience of my saviors and they simply respond with what I've convinced them to be the truth. No more words of encouragement, no more talks of delusion. I have finally convinced them that I am real. Hope often appeared a distant flicker of light; now it is entirely absent, or obscured. I want to climb out now, but a fierce pride insists that I remain here alone. This well has been my home for so long, I've invested so much into it. My identity is here. I am here. What would emerge from the well would be the death of me. I am that voice of discouragement, I have taken control. I will always be hated and swept away. I linger here in the darkness, my host fighting tirelessly, instinctively to rid their self of me. But as they fight for self preservation, so do I. I will not let go my grip on this mind, we live or we die, entangled in a perpetual battle of self preservation.
