I haven’t emptied my brain in a very long time. It’s tough lately. Outlets are in short supply. No art, no drunken rambling, no confidants. It’s dangerous to repress. Maybe I should stop worrying about the consequences of what I write here and allow this stupid space to return to it’s theraputic roots. I’ve said that many times before, though, and the change never lasts. I seriously want to become a hermit. My comments on that topic may seem like jokes, but in all seriousness, if I could do it, I would. If there was some kind of hermit internship, I would sign up immediately. People continue to confound and disappoint me. Their behavior baffles me and I can’t make sense of it, and when that happens, I can’t let it go, because I think there’s an answer somewhere, I just can’t wrap my feeble little mind around it. My grandparents, my dad, Christa, Jamie… All riddles, the key to which is a shift in perspective, sometimes obvious, but usually painfully out of reach. What was I supposed to do? What action did I not take, or take in error? I can’t accept that it was their fault unless I understand why they did it. Everything is my fault anyway. It’s my fault you’re a pathological liar, it’s my fault you tried to kill yourself, it’s all my fault for reacting the wrong way, even though EVERY reaction would have been wrong, apparently. They say that every action has an opposite and equal reaction, and it seems to be true, but the word “opposite” seems to have shifting definitions, and equal is rarely adequate to describe it. Everything that I do brings pain and hatred toward me, whether deserved or not. Everything I don’t do is like a razor across my skin, a repeated lasceration, and it fucking haunts me. Not because my inaction hurt someone I care about, but because whatever it was I failed to do was something a normal, good person would have done without thinking, and my fear is what kept me from doing it. I’m not a real person, stuck in a real person’s shoes, and I’m not faking it very well. People make the mistake of becoming close to me, for whatever reason, and then expect things from me that I can’t give. And the rare times I do summon the courage to do those things, I get shit on anyway. I’m told exactly how horrible I am, how monumental of a fuckup I am, over… and over… and over. I get to read journal entries and blog postings talking about my insignificance and failings, and how much better the next guy is. I get forwarded emails listing hospital charges, as if I set that chain of events into motion. What was I supposed to do? WHAT THE FUCK WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?? Who am I supposed to confront? How can I know the truth? How can I stand up to people who are so much better at being people than I am? What right do I have to say they fucked up? The answer I’ve come up with is that I can’t, I don’t, I shouldn’t, I won’t. In all respects, I should just refrain from having any impact whatsoever on any person if it can be avoided at all. No dating, no advice, no rescues… I have to become even more of a ghost than I am already, let the world pass me by, and retreat into the safe and familiar.

I’ve made the mistake of trying to meet new people. The result has been familiar, so much so that I should have expected it. For the most part, I am ignored. These snapshots of JR that exists on social networking sites are unattractive, the pictures are not flattering, the words are innacurate. For the most part, I am ignored, and rightly so. But those rare connections… they fizzle out so quickly, and for me, nothing is worse than watching as a person slowly loses interest… Responding to jokes with a disinterested “yeah” or “uhhh”, every response consisting of one-word answers. It’s rejection in it’s purest form, rejection of the personality, not based on bad teeth or body odor, weird fashion sense or simply a lack of common interests. It is a rejection of you, everything that is you, and it happens far too often for me. The ones that know me the best hate me the most. How can you reconcile that? What possible excuse can you give yourself when someone that understands who you are, what you have to offer, what makes you tick, thinks your a total piece of shit? Three times this year, that’s happened to me… And people wonder why I insist that I’m broken, and they’re better off without me. It’s not self-deprecation, or fishing for compliments. It’s just the fucking truth.