Pretty much writing without any inspiration here...just trying to get some old demon monkeys off my back...and it's not working. Massive problems with insomnia, and the ol' depression is back-one can tell, when one sleeps a lot. Mostly, I try to pretend that life is not that bad, or my life, anyways, but that's not true. How the hell I've managed to get this far, is beyond me. I'm one of those whose always a step away from being homeless, and the best they can hope for, at least at this point, is scraps at Labour Ready (which is where I'm going tomorrow). Labour Ready is not a career. It's a stopgap in-between kinda thing. But for some-it's all they've got.
I'm fucking worn out. As a youth, about 15 years of beatings, from Dad, and any school we happened to be at-never had a solid home, we moved every two or three years, it seemed. Also psychological, there's always that component. A brief period of at least interest, as a young, very poor punk, in Saskatoon. Never got laid there, either. No girlfriend. Then, in desperation, or something I can't even name, out to here, where, amongst the beauty and the trees, I endured 22 years of grinding poverty, roomates from hell, near total career failure (mostly due to my own, at the time, unsolved problems) and except for a couple of brief relationships, 20 years of celibacy-and not by my own choosing.
Oh yeah, let's add into that actual real blocked memory. Not false memory, but really actually blocked. And it wasn't anywhere near a picnic when it got sort of unblocked, or mostly unblocked. There's still a couple of chunks that are pretty deeply buried. A few years later, and the fun and games are still going on. Because now, in whatever half-assed attempt at healing I'm trying to do, I've got to work through the Vancouver years.
It's almost impossible to describe the endless, brutality of childhood, of high school, and the years after. It's equally as difficult, when one realizes one has a pretty bright mind, so what happens? No girlfriend? No Job? No life? Blame one's self, cause hey, if I was stupid, I'd have an excuse, right? It's actively painful to be in polite company-'what do you do?' and try to make something up. Maybe I should just say "Oh, me? Just a total loser constantly dancing at the edge of your basic doom and gloom." Because shit, that would be easier than trying to sound like I'm actually doing something with my life.
It's equally difficult trying to describe what it's like. How do I describe, without sounding like an old emo-fuck, that the best I've seen of life, so far (outside of moments here and there, of course) is the bottom of a hob nail boot? How do I put that in words? Maybe as many as possible. Maybe I should write about this shit, until I run out of words. Do I beat myself up? Yeah, like I said, I'm bright enough to know I've played a part in it too.
I'll tell you why I'm not an athiest: because with what I experience on a daily basis, to learn, or know, or find out, there's no free will, no mind, nothing much human, it's all random, so shit, you can't even blame the rich, and then after all that, there's nothing? Because that would make me just fold up, and give up. There aint many athiests in the world I know. Think about that. The one's that are, almost all have a nice lover, a nice job, and are north american comfortable. The world I know? Might as well just stick an aids infested needle in those people's arms, and call it. Our kind, we have to have hope-even if that hope is that, if nothing else, if it's going to be shitty all the wey through, it won't be on the other side. Or, failing that, that free will means having the strength to go through the shit.
It's that important, it's that vital. It's called faith. Doesn't have to be faith in God. Just faith in human spirit, and courage. And love. Because without it, you're done. You need that free will, you need that hope, that feeling of strength, because that's what keeps you going. While I'm not a Christian, either-when's the last time I've set foot in a church, aside from a free meal? Yeah, I've done that. I've also done food lines, way too many times-I still hold onto the need for my own humanity, for a human soul.
It's why I got angry when, a few years ago, some politician, can't recall his name, lived for three days, in east side hotels, on 75 a day-what a joke! And then said that now he knows what it's like. No, he doesn't. Cause he goes back to his cushy job. Try losing everything, even family, and not being able to go back to that. Try not having even a tent, and living on anywhere's between nothing and fuck all, everyday, and maybe, just maybe he might know what it's like.
And I've got no shoulder to cry on. I don't have a lover to pet me and say it's alright when the chips are down. I have no back up finance. I can't hop off on a nice vacation, because that might be neat. I don't even have applicable skills, and my resume? What's a resume? And I've got a real problem with all those years of unending shit-the memory, by now, has seeped into my very being. The experience not to be forgot. Poverty does not build character. It builds scar tissue. Even should I somehow make it, that memory won't go away. And I have to make it-I can't, and won't, face the alternative. I'm at the bottom anyways, far below the poverty line, and only a half step above the very bottom, so you know, no where to go but up.
It's why I face each New Years with very mixed feelings, and why I threw this one out there. A state of my mind kinda thing. what's holding me together is the very thing I was talking about-hope. Hope for healing to continue, hope that maybe, just maybe, this time, I'll find enough strength to crawl out of this crap.