I'm sorry.

Private thoughts.

I just woke up from a very vivid dream about school life. This is day 17, Kris is away in Australia. 2 weeks to kill.
Anyway, I was on a bus. And everyone represented an element of my personality. I didn't know any of these people but I could feel their energy. There was a deep sense of hostility in the room, of aggression and confusion. I felt about 5. A lot of things came flooding back. How I hated uniform. How I felt like a lamb to the slaughter.
I've realised that I just...don't like people. That I came into this world deeply sensitive, seeking someone the same, finding that was impossible and that I was the exception to the rule, even though I wish that I wasn't because the pain of being singled out as a 'weirdo' was excruciatingly painful, and the pain of being sensitive to the brutality of that kind of environment probably drove me a little crazy at a young age. But I played it up to spite them (wow, that showed em!)
I was privy to how my first self talk was profoundly negative. How my earliest awareness included the idea that I would never fit in. How I never got past a place in my life where I was looking up to people of the age I am now and seeing only cocky anger, judgement, and hypocrisy, and silently mulling whether this world was worth living in even as I dehumanized myself gradually. I can only say the state of the world right now is a direct consequence of the kind of emotionally drug-addled consumer insanity where we are ALL still emotional 5 year olds, projecting our programs of the school bully onto each other and the world with such power and skill the circle completes behind our back without our knowing and gives us a cold kick in the arse for good measure before it sends us on our merry way to nowhere.

My memories of school, as a sensitive, were mainly that of anger, depression, hostility, alienation, and uselessness. Of an incredibly vivid and powerful fear of teachers. Of how they would yell, judge you, look at you and find you wanting. This particular one really got under my skin, it means my earliest memories of my fellow man were chaos and disruption, and then a deeply painful period of utter rejection. It's why I hung out in the Library in the Priory. Not fitting in is hugely painful. Good if you survive it, but it's a pain that no one in my position should have to bear.

To the educators: what are you trying to prove? That we should replicate your way of life after you have apparently destroyed it at the root level, which is a child's innocence? That goodness and morality have to be stamped into a person? Even if it were, does that make it real or right? Are you going to have the open hearts of a thousand Yes-Men, bullies, coddled introverts and gossip hounds? Fuck your way of life. I would rather burn the schools, burn your useless reputation, burn capital punishment, burn this world to the ground, than go through any of that again. But I know I will, because you got to me before I had the chance to recruit myself to my own cause, didn't you? And you've got plenty more lined up to take my place after this illness eats me alive. Loughborough Grammar School thinks that by creating more lawyers and doctors from behind its' pious, judgmental walls, the world will be 'saved', but their vision is one of cowardice, because money and class only insulate you from the problem of your own mortality. It doesn't matter that our climate is rendering life on this planet impossible. It doesn't matter that we're running out of oil. It doesn't matter that there are too many of us on this planet. Not to you. I hope you've enjoyed your cheese and wine fundraisers, because the party is most definitely over.

This seems like such a futile gesture to myself, writing this post. I can't be fully honest about the nature of the revelations I get because it's not direct experience, I can only pour out my feelings when they occur, before they vanish into the ether and the inevitable programming takes hold, another circle that completes itself without your knowing. I mean, thank God for the body's ability to regulate with homeostasis, right? It keeps me breathing, though I don't know for how much longer. My only hope to myself is to observe and pour out whatever comes through, I just don't know.

To the teachers: what are you trying to prove? Do you think by keeping the ornate tradition alive, you'll somehow instill respect in your young ones for what's come before? That we simply MUST honour the tradition of corpses, of the dead? Why must we honour corpses? They're DEAD, they don't care! Why did you make us wear uniform, a psychological gesture towards how you used to conform? Does it make you happy to see us acting with the same insanity that you have exercised in the past? You have created the notion of a world where it's perfectly OK to act without heart, without love, compassion, without your own truth. Where it is possible to fake life. I understand but I cannot forgive you. Because in this narrow window of time before this transforming gap in my own awareness closes, I get to see a quantum leap in my own development, with my waking eyes, in dream state. I understand, that it's possible to live in a world where none of this was necessary. For a brief moment, that world becomes more real than waking state. For a moment, I become angry enough to justify my existence and pay credence to my pain.

The final message? I guess I really don't like people or myself. I think people are stupid, ignorant, violent, and self destructive, and I don't really see any hope for mankind. Bottom line. I see it as logical cause now, from a young age. I say this with a mixture of incredible sadness and resolution, because I know Ive wasted my life on this shit, that my demons have become my best friend, no more than a relic of the unresolved, and thus it's natural cause that something like this should happen. Negativity lingers in the heart and slowly poisons and ingratiates you into a painful reality, over months, years. You can feel yourself gradually going down like an emotional submarine into your own private hell, one which has many faces without a root, appearing and disappearing like a silent weapon for a quiet war as we all play these different roles, none of which are real.
I'm not completely angry. I'm actually quite satisfied. This feels natural, the first thing in a while, I mean, negativity is very logical. The good events in our life tend to naturally resolve, they don't re-emerge. It's the negativity that lingers in the subconscious, it's messages literally trapped in every cell, faceless but very powerful, as its' programming is insidious and thick, subtle, many headed, and virtually invincible, as every wound gets passed down to the seventh generation. This isn't me being flowery. I am being literal. It gets stuck in the tissue of your body. I can feel that, I intuitively know how true that is, don't I? I know I can't stick my fingers in my ears and start singing like a 3 year old when it comes to genocide, torture, rape, and all other manner of things I can't take responsibility for but nonetheless feel the consequence of in a very subtle way. That's the power of these kinds of hurt, they ARE cancerous. They bury deep in your mind and appear as self obsession. Silence like a cancer grows.

I hate how they looked at me and instantly found me wanting. Was I a soft target for you? I hope I justified all the self hatred you invested in yourself. I hope I gave some credence to your hurt by being someone different enough to hate. I hope you enjoyed my Angry Leftist years as I hid in the bathroom at school. Getting hit by my mother, spat at by Marcus, humiliated by my peers, by women, brutally, feeling my life slipping away...and now this. You think that stuff is just going to magically resolve? This is how school shootings happen. Get enough disaffected kids, heartless bullies, and emotionally deadened adults in a room and watch who gets it in the head first.

Point being...I'm writing this because I now remember how I felt like. I remember that sick, sinking feeling in my gut as I attended school over the years. I remember having this ugly, violent animal in me develop because I never felt communicated with or even remotely understood. This goes against everything I've taught myself, to let this out, because normally I wouldn't. I would simply not exist, not be there, just be invisible. Why? Even a knock down, drag out school fight is better than that. That's something that parents don't understand. When it comes to schoolyard politics, it's actually OK to kill the other guy - that's the world we've created, anyway. The only truly unacceptable way to live is to not stand up for yourself.

YOU HAVE TO HUMANIZE YOURSELF. I'm not talking about BS New Age positivity where you never have to go through hell. I'm not talking about disgusting self help where people follow the unicorn of success instead of baring their heart. 'Point A to Point B, bro!'( Eugh. 'Bro' is the last catchphrase of an adolescent culture just about ready to blow up). It's a tough racket out there, and thank God that it is, because otherwise, I would get very bored.

God, I am very very lonely and want someone to understand. I convinced myself I was broken and beyond repair. The extraordinary bitterness and emotional violence was never worth it, not for a second. Watching my parents and my sister fight, feeling the grief, hiding, failing and coming to a rumbling, gradual, sickening lurch of a realisation that my life is actually getting worse. I'm sorry, please forgive me God. I don't know how to get out of this mess, and I see your children making things worse and even more painful. I feel every last drop of it as if I were feeling it for the first time, and that's why I'm impeaching you as I impeach myself to feel something, to feel anything. What do we do? We are a generation regurgitating the uselessness of the past. What good is this ride, this journey? What's the point? Is there a way of escaping the sadness and fear, or do we just go straight through it? Am I as sad and pathetic as I make out here? I don't think so. I came to pull the IV out of my narcissism and drain it like a boil.
I remember when I would listen to metal and it surged with passion and life. When the music I loved helped me to escape from the nightmare my life felt like. And now it feels empty and hollow, quite literally a broken record to me. I know the sad reality that most of these people live, in order that they can feel like a success for 1 hour a day on tour. I wouldn't recommend killing your idols in all cases. It leads you towards hating culture and being unable to express or feel. I mean, an inability to feel anything. Anhedoniac. That's not normal, but a normal consequence of the life most of us lead - endless stimulation, not looking at depth, dehumanizing media sources, various theologies that promote self hatred, ignorance, and hurt, all coming together with the subtle, overreaching feeling that this reality is a prison that seeks to punish you for your simple desire to be loved.

The feeling is starting to subside now, the post dream awareness has run its course and I've said a lot of what I need to, but I recognize and understand now that I am a very sad, bitter and lonely man who feels a deep sense of fear and guilt for the stupid way in which he ran his life. I understand that feeling nothing is not only deeply unnatural but consequential. I understand you cannot escape your past. I understand the limited value in writing these posts, hoping to convince anyone of what I'm feeling, even myself, because I know I cannot go back. I don't want the empty words and shallow applause of those who think they understand. I understand my hatred and violence are NOT normal. I understand fear and pain are NOT normal. But I announce this not in the bluster of a business but with a sad, weary, groan of spirit and a knowing I'm not able to escape my own narcissism.

Well. I might if I survive Anna.

God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/video/2011/01/12/VI2011011207235.html?sid=ST2011011406249