Wednesday, November 18, 2009
A Sick Man
I have a suicidal personality. But I never actually attempt suicide. Life is awful, useless and painful, yet I remain. I'm sticking around, because, I might as well. I have nothing to offer to the world, but it has nothing to offer to me. So it's a mutual relationship. It's friendly enough.
If anything, I don't have to kill myself because a cancer, accident, or human being will do it for me eventually. I'll get sick and lose my hair while all of my friends and family members cry. I'll look at them and say "you're next, you know."
I'll be riding a bicycle when I hit a pothole that sends my face into the pavement. First I'll experience major brain damage, and after many long and difficult weeks they'll pull my plug.
Or maybe I'll be stabbed or shot. I'll be walking home from the store with food in a bag when someone kills me. They might not even say anything to me first, they'll just kill me and walk off with my wallet.
I've been saying this for years now, but the way I want to go is by tornado. I think it has something to do with The Wizard of Oz or A Serious Man. There is no image that terrifies me more than a tornado in the distance. It is so reckless, so powerful. There is nothing that anyone can do about it. There is no technology that will protect innocence from this natural disaster. There is no arguing with a tornado. There is no tragedy, no moral. The tornado is simply God's finger, taking sweet life away from the earth he created like a baker swiping a finger-full of frosting off the top of his cake.
But I know the tornado will not come yet. I can tell that I'm still in the midst of God's story. He's still playing me out, watching the struggle like a dramatic movie. And I don't want to disappoint him. I don't want to end the movie too soon. All I have now is a fever.
I'm a sick man. I look at my self, and I see nothing but uselessness. I try to write for others, and am told "bad job. try again." I am not funny. I am not nice. I am nothing but a screw up. So I write in this blog, hoping someone will be able to tourniquet my emotional bleeding for a day or two.
There's no one to blame but myself. I am a failure and I hope I get better. The point I'm at now is suicide. But since I don't want to be a complete failure, I will make sure to keep myself alive.
A living failure, that's me. I've disappointed my mother, confused my family and hurt my friends. I don't play any instruments anymore, I've quit them all. I don't even have a bicycle anymore. I'm so sick of the lousy human being that I am, and I want everyone to know how sorry I am for leading such a frivolous life.
Realize that this is not a character speaking, this is Dylan Peterson, being as honest as possible. I am very sad today, sad to be alive. It makes me sad to think that someone may actually be reading this, taking some sort of useless pity on me. I hope you don't! I hope you say "fuck him. and his self-loathing internet bullshit." Say it to my face. I have no reason to hear anything more positive.
And yet I'm still intelligent. I'm probably smarter than most of you and yet receive your pity. I have nothing to talk with you about except my own misery. If you want music suggestions, go check out fucking pitchfork.com. If all I am is a pandora station, I'm about as valuable as a computer algorithm.
But I dare you to find an intelligent person who isn't an asshole. He's the prick who says "only an unwise man will declare himself wise." There's no wisdom in that. Only trickery and nastiness. We know when we're wise, and we know when we're assholes. We know exactly who we are, whether we're lazy, perverted, manic, bubble-headed, boring, funny, pretty, uptight or rude. We are aware of ourselves. That sorry old excuse of a prayer that goes, "show us our sins so that we might ask forgiveness of them," is the most poignant example of human bullshit.
I know what I have to offer. I have cynicism and criticism for you if you'd like it. If not, turn around and run away from me. I am a carnivore who preys on the less intelligent and unenlightened. If you believe I am your friend, you mistake my evil for solidarity. Because I am only here to take from you. I am here to enact a stronger blow than what you can deliver. I am here to be stronger, taller and better than those around me. If you are my friend, you are lower than I am.
Is there hope for us? Sure, we will change our minds and write new blog posts and become parents and drink champagne. This is why God continues to watch our story. If he became bored, he would offer his tornado. But for the time being, let's fight each other and make it worse. Let's not offer encouragement anymore, but insults and violence. If I am the only one here with serious emotional problems, make fun of me for it.
We'll be done soon anyway.