The Wrong Side Of Life

I was trying to feel better about myself by thinking about all the shitty people that they are in the world, thinking about what total and utter shits they are, thinking about what total rotten scumbags they are. Usually this works a treat but it just wasn’t doing it for me today. You know how frightening that is I’m sure, when you do the thing you always do to feel better when you’re not feeling so great and then nothing happens. You’re waiting for it to happen but it doesn’t and you just can’t understand that. It doesn’t compute, you can’t seem to comprehend it. You’re sitting there like a complete dummy. You’re still feeling crap. You’re still feeling shitty. You think about all the crappy people that there are in the world and how much better you are than that and still – nothing. Nothing’s happening. Your self-esteem is in tatters. You’re feeling like a pile of crap. You’re so used to be able to turn this around without any effort and now it’s just not working for you. You’re stuck in a hole and the hole is getting deeper all the time.

 

I’m trapped in the false expression of myself – no matter what I say I don’t really mean it. The more I try to prove that I actually do mean what I say the more of a freak I appear, both to myself and others, and this is the nature of my predicament. I want to cut loose, I want break out and scream and roar my head off but when I do I know I’m not really being authentic either – it’s only an act that I’m putting on, it’s the insincere act of breaking out and not the real thing. I’m trapped in the act of myself and even when the horrendous pain of being trapped in that act grows so intense that I break down and cry these tears are only make-believe. They’re alligator tears. I’m trying to fool myself that it’s real but I’m not succeeding. I swear to myself that I will do what it takes to reconnect with myself; that I will regain my sincerity, my integrity, no matter how much this costs, but deep down I know that I don’t mean it. Deep down I can’t help knowing that I’m a phoney.

 

The problem is you see that I’ve been putting on an act so long that I don’t know what’s real anymore. Actually that’s not true. The truth is that I’ve been putting on an act so long that the act is now all there is – there’s no sincerity left anywhere in me, no honesty left any more. The truth is, the truth is, I blabber on helplessly, trying to extricate myself purely by the sheer force of the inane bullshit that’s coming out of me. If only words could help, huh? If only words could make things be right, but they can’t as we all know. We know they can’t but we still can’t shut up. I’m battering my fists against the glass wall that keeps me on the wrong side of life. I’m battering and battering, but it doesn’t do me any good.

 

Here’s a question for you. Here’s the question – suppose you’ve gone so far down the slippery slope of self-deception that there isn’t a sincere bone left in your body. You couldn’t tell the truth if your life depended on it. You don’t know what the truth is any more. You don’t know and you don’t care. You’re lost in the hall of mirrors, looking at all those false reflections of yourself. We’ve all been there, right? We all know what that’s like, don’t we? So my question is, what do you do when everything you do is a lie? Just what the hell do you do then? Just how the hell do you get out of that one?

 

Not that I really want to know get out of it – I think that I do, I say that I do, but that’s all just an act. I know what you’re thinking of course – you’re thinking ‘Shut the fuck up you depressive little bastard!’ I only wish I could, I only wish I could. Happiness is such a rare beast, isn’t it? Would you even recognise it if you came across it? Would you even know what to do, would you know how to behave in that situation? It’s like coming face-to-face with some kind of space alien. It’s almost embarrassing – just what the hell do you do?

 

 

 

 

 

 

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