Ataxial Waltz: to whom it may concern [brutal]

May 05, 2003

to whom it may concern [brutal]

To whom it may concern;

Oh jeebus freakin cripes on a pogo stick.
(how's that for mental imagery?)

Why do you have to take everything so goddamned personally? I'm not sure if you've realized this. So pay attention now. I want you to read every word very. fucking. carefully.

Not everything I do revolves around or even concerns you.

Yet, given this concept, I still have to justify all my actions, don't I. Otherwise, it becomes your fault. You have done something wrong. You must do something to change it. Well, for your information (are you still paying attention?).... it has:

NOTHING!

TO DO!!

WITH YOU!!!

Now say it with me, just so I know you're paying attention. NOTHING. TO DO. WITH YOU. Or, for you vernaculary pleasure, "ME." ABsoFUCKINGloooooooootely. Nuh. Thing.

IIIIIII don't feel like it. IIIIIIII don't wanna share. IIIIII am antisocial today. IIIIII am in a bad mood today. IIIIII wanna do something else. IIIIII have no interest in seeking out the company of others. Blah. Blah. Blah.

You know, that's a whole lotta me and not a single mention of you. Because you know what? This is all about me. Not you. ME. Yes, have we forgotten how much of a condescending, arrogant, egotistical FUCK I am? It's about ME. Get a fucking LIFE already. Stop living mine. Stop thinking that you have suddenly integrated into every vestibule second of my life. (and then you say I am the center of your life - do you realize how unfair that is?) Do I seriously have to, on a daily basis, validate your life with my undivided attention. Can I give you my full attention for two minutes and have tomorrow off? Honestly. It has gotten to the point it is ludicrious.

This inferiority/self-persecution complex is killing me, seriously.

You have your own two feet. Stand on them. Please. Give the altruistic martyring bullshit a rest for thirty seconds. It's getting old. At least put the fucking cross on the other shoulder for the next mile you crawl on your knees over broken glass, searching your soul and pouring it out on the filthy asphalt for all to see and trample and grind to dust beneath their feet because it's simply not good enough anymore - or whatever. Can you be any more dramatic?

I am not a god you have to seek acceptance from. I am not the one that's going to judge you for the afterlife or condemn you to an eternity of suffering. I am just. A. Man. I have my own problems. I have my own issues. I have my own personal hell which I'd rather attempt to navigate my way out of without the burden of having to constantly reinforce or carry you. Because you know what? What I have to deal with is something you don't even want to touch with a ten foot pole. Isn't the weight I already bear enough? Apparently not. Because for some reason I have yet to even begin to comprehend, you just keep flinging yourself off your fucking pedestal and refuse to believe there's a way to get back up there unless I'm the one placing you like you're some stupid Ming Dynasty vase.

That's just. Ridiculous. Do you really want to be a vase? Some little receptacle for water and dying plants? Get over yourself already. Get the back of your hand off your forhead and quit swooning just to get attention. You say you're doing this to help me, so you can be there for me. So that I am not alone and have someone to lean on. So that I see I am not the worst one or..... whatever. Well honey? Let me tell you something. It's. Not. Helping. At. All. It's making it worse. Because now I can't even do this without you tagging along, or clinging, or nosing your fucking way in. Now my issues aren't even my own. You're worse off. You're unhappier. You're hurting more. You've been crying longer and harder because, boo-freakin-hoo, you're not being paid attention to and suddenly feel no better than dirt.

If you haven't realized your self worth by now, there's not a fucking thing I can do.

Regards,
-W
Posted by Wolf at May 05, 2003 04:08 PM

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