21 days makes a ?

Scene One.
Curtain up.

Introverts should not attempt two straight weeks of daily events, hostings, meetings, and etc. We get self-destructive.

No, really.

I've become a cutter. But instead of using knives to open my flesh, I use people to open my spirit.

See the couple, coffee shop
Beatniks beating out beebop
Rainy day, skies are grey
But the couple feeling gay
Boy is laughing at her joke
Girl, embarrassed, takes a smoke
She should quit, yes she knows
But she's happy as she blows
Down the cafe, through the bar
Pass the hippies and the jars
Of the bean that they drink
Everyday, every week
They should quit, coffee's bad
Makes you crazy, fucking mad
But they say in defense:
(With a pause for suspense)
"It's the stuff of the gods
Sexy smart hot rods!
Roller coaster! Hurricanes!
Super-sonic jet planes!"
They should quit, yes they know
But where the hell would they go?
They're like me, in a bind...
Don't you see?
Love ain't blind.

We are addicted to the people we like. We must have them. Hell, we 'nic' and we 'jones', we desperately need a hit of Maryjane or another taste of jack. We anthropomorphize our drugs because people are the first and last addictions we will ever have.

And like all addicts, people that make us feel good are just as important as the people that make us feel bad. We must have them around us. When someone breaks the mold of our particular addiction, they have to go.

Maybe your addiction is sycophantic adoration--the first time one of your acolytes tells you to fuck off because you don't know what you're talking about, he's out. He's no longer satisfying your need for the high (howdy Cyanide!).

I could make a habit out of you.

However, not all drugs make you feel good, and it is easy to get addicted to feeling bad.

Everybody says blood tastes like pennies. I don't.

Scene two.
Same play
Same people
Different day
In a car with no top
No speed limits, no cops
Girl is driving, she's the queen
In control of this machine
She is talking much too loud
Excited by the sound
They are screaming, buzzing hard
Open road, super car
What they need is some speed
105 is the key
Life is short, so they say
Carpe diem, seize the day
Unlike me, in a bind
I don't get it, love ain't blind.

So what do we want, really?

We know, right? The mixture of good/bad feelings that makes reality feel 'ok.' We use our interactions like a combination of upper and downer drugs to let it feel like it is 'supposed' to feel. If you get too nice just hang out with someone you hate, soon your vitriol will make your mouth taste normal again. If you get too mean pick up someone abusive, they'll remind you that you aren't all that, bring you down to size, cut you up and leave you to put yourself back together.

We're addicted to uppers and downers. And I'm a cutter now. I intentionally seek out time with people that I know will exhaust and anger me. People who play games and pick fights, people who tell lies and then cry when they should laugh and laugh when they should apologize.

A cutter lets the pain out through the wound.

I do not like running, but I like the high that comes about two miles in, when the sweat begins to bead and roll down my face. Because for just a moment, if I delude myself a little bit, I can imagine that they're tears, and I can still cry.

I let the pain out through the wound--I seek out people who would injure me spiritually because I am trying to find a way to control the damage that was done to me. And self-inflicted injuries are always the worst--who knows your weak spots better than you?

I could make a habit out of you

I want to be the worst person in my social circle, but I need people to hurt me: so I must search out a very specific subset of humanity: good, inconsiderate people.

That is the pattern. They're undisciplined, nice people. People with potential that will never be realized are like my own personal human heroine: I must have them. I surround myself with people of good character with deep seated emotional problems or a simple inability to function in the adult world. They let me believe that they are better than me (because they are more noble or honest or true) while they quietly rip my deadened emotional nerve endings open one by one with their mistreatment.

And if I can just grin and keep my mouth shut I feel that somehow this will make me feel again,. This therapy will provide me with a way to rejoin the human race.

Scene three.
City streets
Buying shit, selling too
Need a fix or some food?
Or some sex? There's a whore
Looking beautiful but bored
Like to drink?
There's a bar
Need a lift?
Take my car
A stop for every whim
Your heart's desire lets you in
In this city, in this scene
At this party you are queen
You're addicted to the lights
To the sounds, to the sights
To the pleasure, to the pain
The hot nights, the cold rain
To the smoke, to the drink
To the buzz, don't think
To danger to the fear
To the speed, it's fifth gear
All the time, night or day
There is no choice, it's just the way
You should quit, yes you know
But where the hell would you go?

Failure is something that is hard for someone like me to attain, but when I set out to help one of these souls that I find in the gutters and shadows of my life, I am guaranteed to fail, and usually at great cost to my own welfare.

And since people like me always feel like we were given more than we deserved and do too well at everything (we're told it by everyone, including the gutter and shadow crowd) we desperately want to be part of the crowd, and that means we need to fuck up--what better way than self-sacrificially?

But it's not really sacrifice, right? Because we do it to help us feel more human, not to help others become more human.

You're like me, in a bind
Now you see
Love ain't blind

I could make a habit out of you

I see the pattern, but I do believe that I might be powerless to stop it.

lyrics: Jump Little Children - Habit


Within the next 72 hours, one of my many well-intentioned but incapable friends will contact me about this post, and express concern for my welfare.

It will be very sweet, almost touching.

And it will piss me off.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007