The hardest part is saying goodbye.
Even when there’s nothing left, when there is no reason, the living potential matters more. You live to express. Or maybe it’s just lower-brain survival. Throw in the feeling of fatality, and you struggle to stand, even fight— fight or flight. It’s a tough battle with yourself not wanting to leave.
Versus overwhelming twenty-year isolation.
I thought I could just, here and there, right some things for the sake of writing. Just try to put this or that feeling (or general complaint) into words. But then you either run out of words, trying to appease something or someone, or you run out of stamina— too much stress of emotional attachment to the words, whilst being uneducated… sigh to the point of not try.
At times I see this whole thing as a mistake— my role here. I can’t write for crap, and improvement on writing skills can’t happen much, just as much as improvement on any skill, as isolated as I am. I reflect how unfair it is. The response time resets back to what it was before I started, and it looks pointless. Just as I see that no one cares, I could care less.
I would be so harsh. I’m horrible. So self-absorbed— I’ve caused enough damage.
I was lying* way back when when I said to Le Clown I wanted the attention. Of course I didn’t. It’s never the point, the motive of someone who needs help and acknowledges it like hell to actually want attention. I may be a bastard at times, but I’m ultimately shy. It’s like an alcoholic that realizes that s/he should be going to AA, but… can never find one. Or something like that.
No, worse— it’s always worse for me. I have no one and no excuse other than I have no one.
And then, you just say, I’m through, I give.
Seeing my importance and self-worth so low— lost the reader, yet?—, I do what I’m used to, work on “what I work on,” and waste away otherwise. Working on getting that MP3 decoder to run real-time*** is more important in the real time, being alone no matter what— too much effort for a tiny, tiny chance of something. I think I addressed this before… and then I deleted two posts that “helped absolutely no one.”
Sometimes I care and sometimes I don’t. The way I see it nothing works. A little “hysterical,” exaggerated in the itty bitty mind I have that seeks awareness but can’t keep it, given how my level of competence is comparable to that of an insect**. (And hysteria fits a bit, having no sex life. Shut up, me.)
And then the stupid blahg broke the 100 Follower mark. I practically warned the readers to unfollow. I entertained the near-promise of deleting the account if it ever broke the mark. But saying goodbye is the hardest part. God damn it.
Write like no one is reading. Heh, I thought. Beyond the impossibility of zero views, so few actually read. It’s close to zero; it’s like no one is, so why worry. But my problem lies in how I tie impetus to reason; what’s brought to mind is whether it should be read. The will to craft any art is lost, and the blah comes out.
If you want it done right, blah, blah, blah.
A recluse that avoids making trouble (so he’s never bullied), or whatever— I don’t give in to envy or jealousy or believe in revenge, etc.… but there is no comparing what I write to that on The Outlier Collective. For
good bad or worse. At times it’s far better than what I do, and at times what I see is the kind of thing I try to avoid all the time— that I get the message, but… you’re not making total sense. Call me whatever, but seeing the video myself, I don’t see that Robin Thicke wrote a song about rape. Do you think anything like that gains popular traction? No… but a douche is a douche —is someone who thinks, I’m awesome, and, chick, don’t be shy because of my awesomeness.
But I’m out of the mainstream. Even though I may know better… or at least try to know better, I can’t write for crap. Not even well enough to write a comment. So beyond a tiny amount of influence, it doesn’t matter what I say. Not one bit. Out of the mainstream, I must get it right, or else. Out of the mainstream, I’m a nerd. Out of it†, I should just say goodbye. Even if I’m not actually leaving.
God damn it.
Walking away… the only way to clear my head.
Though I always walk away feeling I’ve accomplished nothing— or nothing good enough.
|*||Going with the flow, speaking off the top of one’s head, the believable, not the truth. Fact is, as stated before, I lack the access to even know that I got a reply until late.|
|**||Acting on instinct, some work their way in, but never get out.|
|***||Smoothly, asynchronously… using computer terminology, during “interrupt” time.|