Wednesday, July 25, 2012

I seem to have lost my mechanical pencil. Maybe my daughter has I want to write, to purge myself of the thoughts, feelings, negative input, etc that is causing me to feel physically ill. I have been trying really hard not to write those things here...and somehow, the act of physically writing seems more helpful and lasting than typing. I can't find it.....

So called normal people talk about their feelings all the time. They use feelings as the basis for their position in arguments or debates that should be taken on objectively. They use feelings as the reason for their religious beliefs. Everything seems to be about feelings, without much emphasis on thought or reason. But I don't understand this, because.....

They want me to change my feelings. How something so tangible, so clear, can be defined and written off as a feeling is another issue altogether. I am supposed to find my way to the fuse box of my heart and switch these feelings off. Then I am supposed to go to a similar place in my mind, lie to myself, say that their reality is the truth and that I am exactly as deluded as they say, and I am supposed to simply turn off the power to the tangled mess of questions, to the math problem from hell that never adds up, never can be solved. Oh, so easy! Just turn it all off!

Well, it's not that easy. I can't do it. And furthermore, I want to know how they can assign any sort of value at all to a feeling that is apparently that changeable and fickle in them. They can just turn it off??? Why on earth would anyone waste five bucks on a box of chocolates for a love like that, let alone the elaborate, theatrical weddings and all that crap? Why would they use a feeling so worthless as their reason to spend their life with another person? Yes, worthless. If love is something they can turn off and on that easily, their love has no value whatsoever.

Maybe they can't turn it off and on, but they think that I'm less human, that my feelings are less, that my love is dirty paper while theirs is porcelain. I think is probably the case, because they never allow me to use the same words for my feelings, as they can use for theirs. They smear the picture of how I feel with all sorts of colors and things that don't belong, they draw things in that aren't there. They look at my picture and cannot tell the difference between a rock and a turd, a flower and a piece of litter. And then they say that I paint ugly things.... Their sensibility is broken and dysfunctional. I cannot be helped by such people.

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