Being abused by loved ones hurts. Being abused by ones you love – hurts. Losing the ones you’ve grown to love – hurts.
Everythings a losing proposition; that’s what we learned when we were a teenager.
And that’s how I came to hate love with such an outstanding passion that I denied that thing to myself (and in doing so, to ourselves) – for so long a time.
From the time I was 13 on – until the time I think I was 24 or so – when I got out of the Marines – I had come to hate love in all its forms and ways.
I had begun building that wall between me and love early on, I suppose, for I had begun forming in what some would call ‘the child’s mind’ when I was 10 or so; I reckon I was 10 or so – it might have been when I was 11, 12, or 13.
After all, like ‘they’ keep on saying to me – it takes time to ‘build’ a controlling type of entity. But I’m all right with that. After all, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Neither were its walls. Nor were mine.
I guess it started when I lost my best friend, D.B. LO bitter laughing cuz’ that was the straw that broke this ol’ camel’s backbone. Then getting yanked over here; this side of the Atlantic states (from coming overseas you know, 4 years at a time: prison stretch yet not so much so – interesting times, that – but cruel and hard times all at once. some god awful times come to mind)
Here; everything f’d up. Lost friends; every friend I had; come to think about it: WE LIVED IN OUR PEDOPHILES HOUSE by god and mighty; isn’t that a strange co-inky-dink a kinda f’ing thing? (shaking mock fists at mocking gods above me somewhere in the sky.)
Go figure. We’ve always had that kinda life going on. “Interesting” they said (meaning that dream we had YOU go and find it I’m not linking to it, NOT this time). God’s hand and all that kinda nonsense.
and . . .
I hate feeling the so-called ‘children’ moving inside of me because they remind me of who I was and what I am today – because of those ‘children’ inside. The pain and the horror of them; hard emotions I must bring; harsh emotions to keep them under control – so I won’t be feeling those things, giving into those emotions.
I understand ‘them’, what ‘they’ say, these ‘others’ of mine. “understanding the children is key to loving them; forgiving them in time: why do you need to forgive them? (they ask) When all they did was done in order to survive – and thrive perhaps in some way, pitiful as that must be.”
But I’ve come to hate them as well, always trying to convince me of something that’s not true.
When hating love one must go ‘all the way around’ – hating everything with such passion that sometimes it seems it’s gonna be tearing me up sometimes.
I guess that’s why we cut sometimes, but ‘they’ won’t let me do it anymore. I hate them and all that I’ve become.
That’s why I want to suicide on out someday; it’s become useless fighting ‘them’ . . . on and on and on such a dreary battle and routine…
not that we’re gonna be doing such a thing. I’m such a ‘minor’ entity right now; always have been: at their mercy some of the time; doing what they say in my mind all of the time.
That’s the fate of being a ‘controller’ – and even worse, an ‘ex-controller’ at that.
Not that I don’t have my ‘times’ with ‘him’ (M3) at the helm of things. But I reckon and suppose that’s a damn good thing; as a matter of fact, I know it is. Absolutely and positively.
That’s why I gave up my own ‘power’ to him way back when and I and all can remember the day
only it was evening, and we were at the fair and riding with some blind date we didn’t much like (nor dislike, just didn’t care) and looking down saw all them people milling around, some arm in arm, some carrying kids; kids running around behind them; smiling faces, so happy and proud and you could ‘sense’ this thing coming off of them (not all, just some of them) – this ‘happiness’ thing and being in love
and then my own life exploded with HIM (M3) coming out and reigning control.
And thus a ‘new’ controller was born and I got shoved aside – except when I am needed – and I get the feeling (and I’m ashamed to say I know its all my own and none of theirs) that I am the ‘missing’ one, the one whose gotten left behind; and I am distasteful to my own and lonely self sometimes – a lot of times in fact.
But I became who I am because of them and through their own weird sense and sort of controller.
The life of a ‘controlling entity’ is never good sometimes as I’ve often found through my own personal ‘career’ in this thing Jeff’s come to have us calling “The Song of our livelihoods” or something like that.
We bore everything for him; them, all and the others. The scars and the pain. Gritting our teeth and moving ON – putting our hands in places they shouldn’t go (scarring them forever) – my whole body is a mass of battle scarring, LOL; we are tough and we are forever, if we make it that long (laughing somewhat bitterly at their hopeful and what seems to me a somewhat hopeless last gasp type of ‘optimism’ based on the animal’s need for some kind of survival technique; one which in this case includes some kind of religion).
But I’ve come to understand them a bit more clearly now; they’ve been pointing out things to me, forgiven me for the things I’ve done (and yes; I have hurt animals and children and people cruelly – not only with the things I’ve done, but left undone – like never saying that I loved them) . . . and god of all the hurts I’ve done; of all the wounds I’ve made ‘unto’ my own self – those are the ones I’m never gonna be getting over; those are the ones to stay. After all: there’s no ‘undoing’ of the past; once done, it’s over, written in the annuals of time.
For that’s the rub, (a polite term for me to be using; just goes to show “M3’s” influence on me) – me hating love and all. After all . . . when all was done and said, I fell victim to it again and again, only instead of being normal and asking something . . .
I shied away.
Okay, enough for now. I just felt like speaking my piece, and the system is saying it’s gonna let me (haven’t hit the “publish” button yet so we’re gonna be seeing . . . but I sense a new type of ‘freedom’ coming on; suspecting it’s Jeffery’s doing — but we’ll see.
and a cautious hello and good bye to you.
“Matthew”, the so-called M2 being – NEITHER of which, BTW, is my real name. (grrrr…. f’ing privacy acting thingie.)