Dear diary, today I had my first period!
A lifetime of control, lies, secrecy & manipulation.
Every day you live that way is another day you’ll never be happy. Everything I’ve done in my life, I’ve done to try to be happy but every day I live this way is another day that happiness and normality escape me. It’s not about being caught out, a good liar can get away with it 99% of the time, it’s about the one person who always knows. While ever you treat people with suspicion and mistrust - and that leads to handling them carefully - you’re never free.
I have to come to terms with the fact that I - like my father - am a cold and calculating person and that’s all I’ll probably ever be. No happiness, no normality, just more secrecy.
Wow, this new post-writing layout is a bit small. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I worked with a better resolution but I’m still CRT (which I just recently realised stands for cathode ray tube; you know, the old bulky tv / monitor tech.) Anyway, this is supposed to be a reboot, when I’ve got more time I’m gonna clean up my old posts and try to re-invent ol’ Mort but for now I’m gonna go on a statement of intent / stream of consciousness kinda thing.
So, this reinvention. I need somewhere I can be honest, say the things I’d normally keep to myself, at the moment that’s just about everything. I’m in yet another one of my recluse phases, seeing just about no-one, never going out, living the life of a shut-in. I’m never the most social of creatures but in the past these phases have literally lead to people thinking I’d died, these people lived just down the road from me too. Sometimes it’s just easier to not have to deal with other folks, I don’t always wanna be second-guessing them and tripping myself up mentally, sometimes all I want is solitude. It’s not a great way to keep friends.
My life since I was here last? Not a fucking thing. I was on state benefits for a year before they interviewed me and decided I’m not depressed and socially dysfunctional enough for them and nipped me loose like a human turd. The way the UK is going with welfare is dire, it’s not just me feeling it, unless you’re a retarded quadruple amputee with parkinsons they’ll judge you fit for work. Maybe if I’d told them that a couple of weeks before the interview I’d been dwelling on suicide they’d have thought differently but I doubt it, they could’ve found a job for my corpse, probably propping open a door.
Emotionally I’m either flat or inconsolably sad. I see myself as an android whose only moments of feeling are filled with the the despair that I’ll never be human. As usual, my only moments of genuine happiness are because of drink, the one thing that allows me to escape who I am and act something like a real person.
"I could crawl around the floor just like I’m real / Like you / I want to be you / I should learn to be a man / Like you" - Numan
Just opened a bottle of red, I hate wine but when the beer runs out, it’s the only thing around to keep the night going. I’m crap at opening wine so I used a little trick I saw in a video… well, part of the trick at least. If you can’t get out a stubborn cork, just give the bottle a few whacks on the base with a good solid shoe and via some kind of physics or magic, it gives the cork some encouragement. Wish this was at least white, even if it was dry white, wine gives me a headache and makes me tired. Maybe that’s why adults prefer wine, it discourages being energetic, makes fun less likely to happen, fun is dangerous.
I turn 30 in less than a month. It’s given me a chance to look back at 15 years I’ve spent doing nothing but shrink and decay. In 15 years I’ve acheived literally nothing; I have no job or career, no lover, no kids or even pets, no money, no qualifications, no home of my own, not even a car and it’s desperately depressing. I could bear all of that if I just had someone I could be a nobody with but I’ve estranged virtually all my friends and since I rarely step outside there’s not much chance I’m gonna meet my soulmate. Week by week I shrink more and more, less sunlight, less words to the outside world, less tolerance of other people, less hope, less will to keep going but no will do die either. I exist, it’s all I do.
That said, it’s not that I don’t have anything. I have music, I have my mum and brothers, I have talent (unused) and intelligence (also unused) but just no drive, no desire, no life. More and more I feel like a ghost, haunting people and places now and then, barely visible, anonymous, easy to dismiss as nothing real. I wish myself away, wish that I wasn’t real, that I could just be something created in someone’s dream and they’re about to wake up and I’ll be gone. I want to be forgotten by existence itself, with no trace of my being. My torment is that I am and continue to be.
I’ve been reading too much Poe.
I had a dream the other night that I was being “escorted” out of a factory by this tough black guy. I don’t know why but I think at some point the guy had raped me or sexually assaulted me somehow, thankfully I don’t remember that bit. As we’re walking thru the factory I keep stealing stuff and stuffing it into my bag, hoping the big black guy won’t notice, my dreams involve stealing stuff a lot, no idea why.
At some point all this turns into me & him actually being in together on a heist, we drive thru this multi-storey car park in a big black American-style SUV (think Cadillac Escalade) and now I think of it, I think the guy was American too. We get down to the ground level and get out and the guy leaves the SUV to roll out thru the barrier while we get into another vehicle (think it was a yellow pickup) with the other guys in on the heist and we drive off, past the broken barrier.
Anyone out there any good at analysing dreams? Like I said, stealing comes up a lot in my dreams and it’s always stuff that I like in real life, I’m never stealing something I wouldn’t actually want in real life. It’s excessive too, I steal as much as I can even when it risks me getting caught.
Action is nothing new either, my dreams are quite often like action films or horror, very dramatic, sometimes whole sections seem like video games. The sexual abuse thing is new, I rarely dream about sex at all, let alone something so horrible as rape altho I’m not sure that actually happened in the dream, I just had the impression that it had.
At least for once it wasn’t a really traumatic one, they’re usually fucking awful.
Wow, I’m hot.
So what happens, do I hit 58 and decide it’s time for a sex change and some age reversal?? I’m not complaining.