Memories.of.the.Flawed
Growing up in my household was not as pleasing as some of the stories that I have heard from those I used to consider my friends or even that of strangers. Violence or a form of it was a constant friend to me in those days. Almost everyday I could expect to see my brother and sister attack each other either physically or verbally.
I believe this has been the root of my problems in being able to open up to anyone. I will not speak my mind to someone if I feel that they will be harmed by what I have to say. Now mind you that is only if I have some emotional attachment to you. If for whatever reason I am able to disassociate myself from you then I find no fault in being scathing and unrelenting in pursuing in what I feel to be the best course of action for you. My advice is not advice it is a way of life. Only within the past week have I come to realize this. I do not tell people what has happened to me, I tell them what they ‘will’ do based on what I feel that I know. And, for the most part this is harmless advice and would in more times than others be helpful in some form or fashion. Though it wrong, fundamentally wrong. Especially the outcome. If say for instance you have asked for my advice and I actually submit to your request and then am not followed I take it as an affront to me. How dare you ask me for something and then not go through with the plan I had so easily set out for you. Who are you to do this?
It is strange as I actually seek help, again at the prodding of my sister, for without her I would never have gone to MHMR and been admitted to see a psychiatrist. I find that I am more readily able to identify the things that I have done over the years to people and realize that they are wrong. Though I really don’t care that I have done them because well… they are in the past, and are already done why should it bother me? Move on! Callousness is something that I have been told I qualify for. How much of this can I believe is true, I can’t say because I don’t care what it is that ‘you’ think of me. Its what I think of myself that matters. Though going back to what I had said above about wronging people and not caring, I have begun to look back and notice these things. Does that mean that I will stop? Supposedly through medication and psycho therapy I will learn to curb this innate ability to manipulate others and the constant lying. (On that last note I am trying to be as dreadfully honest in these compositions as is possible for me. There are memories of the past that are warped and beyond repair to remember truthfully.)
I remember a lot of things from my early childhood. Some of the memories are innocent and are in some aspects actually healthy memories. I remember when I was a child living in the country seeing a double rainbow and walking through out the country with my dog. I was at the oldest four. My family then moved from that country setting into a small town and again the memories of that first house were not for all tends and purposes, bad. They were actually fond memories of sitting up on the balcony of this beautiful Victorian style home and watching a hail storm ensue around us. It was beautiful, and of course I remember my brother damn near losing his finger when the BBQ pit lid slammed down on his hand. Though most of all I remember the horses that my parents owned that were stabled out in the country on a friend’s piece of land. Those were cherished times nothing ‘ill’ was happening, no wrong could occur so to speak.
Then things started to change, my father could no longer afford that beautiful two story Victorian home for his family and we had to move across town to the ‘wrong side of the tracks’. These are when my memories start to become warped and my life began to change. This is when my memories of my brother and sister violently attacking one another begin. (Now mind you I know that there would be some sibling rivalry and bickering in any normal family… the amount of violence that ensued between the two was not normal, nor was it healthy.) My father had a violent rage and took it out upon my older siblings and even myself when I was not careful to get out of his ‘war path’. One memory that still follows me to this day is that he beat both my older brother and myself for losing my Mother’s pocket protector. Only to come and find out minutes after being beaten by him that she had misplaced it in her pants. How I had felt about that then I don’t remember but years later I learned to resent my Mother and Father. I thought little of them, and they were never there for when I needed them. Only at times that I had failed in some way. I later took to just taking off from the house for some times days at a time. I was the only child that was allowed to do this. Why? I don’t know they (being my parents) kept a tight leash on my older brother and sister, never allowing them to leave until they knew where they were going and at what time they were coming home. Me, I never told anyone where I was going, what I was doing nor when to expect me to return. I just left and grew up on the streets. I got one hell of an education out there. It wasn’t from the public schools that I learned to add and subtract. I knew about these concepts from the street. I learned to add to my own ‘holdings’ by taking from others. What they were to blind or stupid to hold onto why should they need it? Obviously they didn’t. This rationalization only worked for me for a few years before I was caught stealing. That is possibly one of the few lessons that my Mother and Father actually did instill into me. One does not steal ‘things of monetary’ value. Now if I could steal your emotions or something else then by all means… I did.
Perhaps things could have or rather should have been different. Though I have no regrets, never have even through out the years of constant failings. I just move on. Never particularly caring whether or not someone had to be run over for me to get where I was at. They were in the way of me achieving my goal. Why should I care that they weren’t smart enough to get out of the way? I hold at the core of me the truth of Natural Selection. The strong will survive and only they should prevail. The bullshit of the “Weak shall inherit the Earth” that these damn Christians like to preach is bullshit. They don’t understand what it is that they preach and neither do they follow their own advice. They preach and then do the exact same thing that I do. Though the only difference is that they would admonish me for actively living that. I don’t hold myself in contempt for the things that I have done. They do. They feel guilt for having to run over a fellow co-worker to get that promotion. Or for using that girlfriend to get to the next step of their life. I could care little for that. I just go. I attack and move on. The useful ness of people is only so far as they can be useful.
Do me a favor those of you who read this. Look up the song “Slow Motion” by Third Eye Blind. You will begin to see the type of character that I am. I swear that song is a perfect rendition of my life in exception of the first few lyrics… Let me know what you think … I am not necessarily done in writing, though I am going to take a break because I do not like writing so much at one time. It is a flaw, or I see it as flawed…
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