Denial

How would my life be different if I had accepted myself for who I am? I'd probably have had someone who loves me, maybe even a lot more money. Why have I been so cruel to myself, yet so kind to others, many of whom gladly take advantage of my kindness and give little in return. For example, I promised to explain what makes me who and what I am in our last episode, but here I am, refusing to explore that subject. It's all so deep, and to go there dredges up forces I dread, some beyond my control. It makes me want to cry, and I hate tears, especially my own. If I promise to explore this subject next time, it could just be another false promise, like all the promises ever made to me. Just thinking about it makes me want to tear off my shirt and scream, but I must control myself, since my shirt is a homage to Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention (Freak Out)and I love Zappa's music much more than I could ever love myself. I believe it's my self-loathing that keeps me mired in my disgust, and unable to claim the riches that should be mine. A part of me, which has no name, hates me so much that my suffering makes him content. Brief moments of joy are allowed until they start to lead somewhere wonderful, then the dark cloud comes over me and I must wallow in despair, leaving opportunity for love and wealth sitting there unclaimed. It makes me hate myself even more. The only escape is to have no ego at all, and to just become one with all around me. How can I though, when all around me are the signs that tell me that what I am is unfit for any happiness whatsoever? Should I just kill myself? NO! With all my might, I refuse the offer yet I fear the day when all my strength will not be enough to save me. Damn, I hate having to examine myself, because I am too mean to let the beauty inside me flourish, and make tiny imperfections become major crimes, when it's those tiny imperfections which make me unique. In the good old days, circa 20,000 B.C., I would be a shaman and it would be all right for me to be apart from others, but the clan and tribe would come to me to seek my visions of what was to come. No one is seeking me in this cold era, and in an overflowing stream of information, how could anyone even care? For the sake of therapy, I will improvise something lyrical, to pull me from this depressing cul-de-sac I have forced myself into. Untitled I wander the same old ground,/ yet I find something new./ With no one around to care,/ is it a true discovery?/ No wonder I want to burn my life down./ Do I dare to imagine that I can/ rise from the ashes intact and alive?/ Yes, I do, for I am mad./ Insanity is my final hope/ to escape myself at last./ Long may I wander, a shadow on the world,/ a brief spark that leads to wonder./ I am daring to believe my disaster/ can bring the world true joy.