Saturday, June 19, 2010

I can run but I cannot hide...

from myself.

The War on Poverty has actually proven to be war on individual enterprise, a war on opportunity, a war against those who might escape poverty.

The War on Terror is, in large part, a war on the innocent, a war against individual freedom, an excuse to abuse those it deems to protect.

The War on Drugs is a war to ensure their proliferation, a war on individual liberty and a vehicle by which organized crime and violent gangs proliferate. It is a war to assure that the traffic of drugs remains under control of selected entities.

My war against self defeat has become one of a war against self acceptance. But I'm not that bad, I don't think. Not sure. I fear screwing up even the most minor of responsibilities, commitments and obligations. I'm a slack citizen.

If I could run fast enough, long enough, I could escape all that worry. If I had a vehicle and means to spend all day racing away at hundreds of miles per hour, dawn to dusk, then I might be able to sleep at night, but only if the next day was spent the same way, racing on too fast for me to catch up.

It is a guilty thing, self pity and loathing. Look around at those who would love to have a roof over head, arms that ache, legs for walking, eyes to see, etc. What a whiner I am sometimes. Go, be no more the stoopit idiot, or at least forget complaining about it. Some people would love to have the luxury of such idiocy.

Maybe avoidance of all is best

It must be the recent contact with a long lost friend that is bringing this on. That sadness which chases me through time has come back. Remembering things long forgotten, people long gone, and misguided choices and bad judgement whose influence seems never ending is like a death sentence. Try as I have, it never quite clears out completely, or enough.

I know that all there is is from now on, and that time spent fretting over what can't be changed is not sane, but knowing and convincing the involuntary reactive mechanisms of the body are two different things. Perhaps the pervasive waves of disconnect from life are an inheritance. It is my job to carry the sadness. That doesn't sound like any job I'd voluntarily seek.

Maybe it was like the draft; no choice--your duty is to give over your life for a cause which is unclear and probably not founded in anything honorable or right. Who would have thought I'd now be siding with the sentiment of those who shouted, "Hell no! I won't go"? What about loyalty and fidelity and allegiance? Holy smoke. That is what got me into this mess.

Misplaced, blind allegiance can destroy a person. It is the stuff of dysfunction. That is what keeps a person in an atmosphere of abuse, becoming an accessory to his own demise. (or her, for those unaccustomed to universal pronouns) One thing for sure, the path of one's life can be irreversibly altered when one succumbs to loyalty in the face of deceit, treachery and misguided use of power and control.

The real result of being so steeped in the pain and clouded vision of others is that you lose all sense of your real self. You become someone you are not. At least you try like hell to be what you aren't. That can happen, anyway. And it often does. People like me spend a lifetime attempting to fit where they don't, and get good enough at it that from the outside it is rare that anyone else can see the root of the problem. It just appears like I do what I want, and that I have some need to drop it all and start over every five or ten years, or less.

It all hit me like a tidal wave today. Talking to Jonathan brought back choices made trying to escape the insanity of my life. Many of which were due to the constant threat of the draft looming around the corner, yet being a draft dodger was taboo. Being almost anything was taboo.

In the realm of seeking approval, it was drilled into me that being other than an officer in the Air Force was no good (if you were in the military), being drafted was a failure, and avoiding the draft was a cardinal sin. To do it over, I'd have ignored the draft altogether. I certainly couldn't picture myself in ROTC. Nothing wrong with it, but I am not the stuff of a military based on obedience rather than clear cut reason. I had no desire to be in the military unless it was a case of clear cut defense; a definite principled cause felt at my core. Some people are not that drawn to the military and its culture. I wasn't, except to the idea of flying Navy or Air Force fighters--carrier landings would have suited me. So, for me, the Air Guard. I thought it was the state militia. Obviously those days are gone.

Armed forces do have cool machines and amazing training. The feats the special forces of various branches can perform are nothing short of amazing. The direction from the top is nothing short of criminal, I'm afraid. But that is not the issue here.

I snubbed the people I really should have befriended and gravitated toward those who proved to be duplicitous and lacking in honor, integrity and, often, intelligence. That set the stage for a meandering mess of good efforts overshadowed by bizarre lapses in judgement. The life of an idiot.

I keep trying to convince myself, "Go. Be an idiot no more", but I am not clear enough to know how. It puts a wedge between me and my family in some tacit way. I feel like the loser among them. They appear to be less burdened by the ghosts of their own ineptness and stupidity. I stand out like a sore thumb. They'd like to believe I just travel to the beat of a different drum, and I do. The problem is, I have never quite found that rhythm.

This sort of feeling tends to paralyze one, and I get sick of it. Writing it out has helped relieve the pressure some. The number of people in my bracket, who have slipped between the usual categories we're told is normal, are legion. I know that. Many guys are floating around wondering that they are so distant from the path we were taught is normal, healthy and right.

Many of us are not convinced that the prescribed path is really what is best, yet deep down it is ingrained, still, that not following it was a sin never to be forgiven. We try to pretend, at times, that our road is not one of failure, but of choice and creativity. Bold travelers, living a life of freedom. Not without a tinge of self pity and woe over being victims of whatever.

We are not sure where we should be, what we should be doing, but there is that nagging feeling that this is another enterprise into idiocy and self destruction. I said "many", not "all" of us feel that way. There are those who don't fit the usual cubby holes who know who they are, and why, and have no qualms about it. They are fortunate.

This is why people have spiritual beliefs and practices. Without some kind of faith in something beyond us, we'd have no hope of tolerating ourselves. Self loathing run riot. Maybe that is the real psychology behind gangs, addiction, and groups who use causes to make life hell for others as they suspend decency in the name of some greater good. That last category is a sneaky one, but rationalizing reasons for self righteous anger, then using that rationalization to act out at the expense of others is definitely a detrimental activity to the health of the race.

Just a rough day. I'll get over it. What is in front of me may not be what I think should be here at this point in my life but it is the best I have. Thinking beyond the immediate is not something I can do at the moment with any constructive clarity. Dealing with the immediate, trivial aspects of life is the best hope, and essential to making things better.

I live like a hitchhiker, never knowing for sure what is next or if I will ever get from A to B. You just live on faith that somehow you will arrive.

About Me

My photo
Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
Like spring on a summer's day


Blog Archive