At least my writing’s improved!
Essay: Bad Brains in April
Sitting around hating myself for how obnoxious and insensitive I can be.
Christ. I’m too self-conscious some days. Like I’m made of worry. Sophia tells me not to fret about all the things for which I criticize myself but I feel like that ignores the issues in my personality. I’m glad to be aware of what flaws I have and to generally know, immediately, that I’ve done something moronic, but how many people I care for will I offend still? I’m always asking myself if I’ve missed any examples.
Before I was 10 I’d vowed to kill my stepfather one day. Always a murderous urge in his presence. This is quite true. I’m no longer interested in that sort of violence but it’s crippling to feel that I’m anything like what he was (he’s changed) (I find myself advising his self-transformation?) - insensitive, self-centered, loud, a nuisance in general. Obnoxious and overwhelming. Neglectful and he would just take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, and take, and take, and take. Some wonderful people support me but it’s hard to tell how much tolerance of my shit is behind it. Am I selfish? Still vain? I like to think not, but it’s hard to know. Must be one or the other. Both?
Hell if I know how many apologies I owe. Yes, it’s fine to be a dickhead every once in awhile but when you’ve got a head like mine every breath you take gets attacked with thought - at least in times I’m reminded of how coarse I can be. Tonight my fissured brain won’t stop harassing itself.
Patience. Breathe… breathe…
It’s so hard to respect others when you barely respect yourself, you know? Brimming light they say I am, and I like to think so, only I’m made of neurosis sometimes and can’t think beyond all my embarrassments - how overwhelming my presence can be. “Let me appropriate your person somehow.” “Your attention, please!” No warning. Things I’ve said that create a distance. I hate bad distance. Distance and vanity, and ignorance are all curses I’ve been knifing in the dark for years on end.
And holy hell, how I can drive someone away with my ignorance! One wounded smile to you tomorrow in apology, woman - I don’t have the wherewithal to apologize yet - maybe soon, but I’m liable to forget. Or get to you horribly late.
And you, who I admire, let us ignore that likely bogus self-projection I floundered in performing for you. I know I’m far too eager; yes, yes, yes. You don’t have to tell me, and you don’t. It’s in the corner of your eyes I think. I’m just nervous. Maybe you’re reacting to my bad habit of staring? Why don’t you say anything?
But as I well know I’m too hard on myself. I expect entirely too much too soon. 19 years? Grow up quicker. You’re a crass little child, not a man. What are you doing with your time? There’s not enough time. You’re a shit-head now, in this moment. Why?
But perhaps Sophia’s right. As usual. I hope she is at least, and I think she is. At least she loves me. She’s more forgiveness and patience and heart than anything. She’s also been gone all weekend and I’ve missed her healing. I tell her all that’s happened to me and what I’m trying to do and how hard and she tells me I’m so brave, and I guess that’s true; my brain’s not on my side sometimes and that’s a dark situation to be in.
Man I’m just glad
winter’s done with.
— And I wonder what this’ll look like tomorrow, some time when I’m joyful again.
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By the way,
I have a poetry page
The Voyeur, 2012. (Taken from Acne Paper No.13.)