That thing my brother once said about how I am, or could be, extraordinary, if you could get past that often comes back to haunt me. Mostly because he was right, and because that is a hard thing to define, yet I know it is as real as rain. He said it to someone I was with at the time. One of the few who ever met my family.
It doesn't matter in the details. I was too afraid and confused to know how to feel like I was worthy anyway.
Sometimes I hit the road for fear of destroying some nice girl's life. I use the term "girl" loosely. We were legally adults in these cases. Sometimes I just took too long being aloof and they opted to find a better way without me. That showed sound judgement I thought.
As well as withdrawing socially, I withdrew professionally, and there were times when I actually had some sort of profession. I had as much confusion in many work situations as I did in relationships. I'm not sure I regret the stands I took in the workplace based upon principle, even though it was a quick path to the exit.
At this point, all that leaves me worried and scared. I'll deal with the fear. I always do. But I have nothing much to go on as far as which way to go from here. Many years have been passed assuming I would disappear somehow out in the ocean or in a remote mountain with high drops. That is a lot of work and takes some doing.
I know right from wrong in most cases, and I see through the power structure, I think. On the other hand, I'm pitifully naive when it comes to people and normal life. Very odd mix.
There is a pattern which I see fits in both relationship land and work. Both are activities in which I would love to be immersed. I actually enjoyed work situations in which I had to put in 12 or 18 hour days, just because that was what was needed to win a particular battle. Yet I managed to escape those vocations for reasons which have no real validity.
I wonder what is next. I'm tired of hiding out, and I don't think I'm ready to give up altogether.
Being sick tends to bring out this sort of thought. Being alone does it as well. There are those who have done it right, and I am not one of them. I'm proud, or relieved, yet a little angry that the rest of my family is doing it right. I wouldn't wish on them what I've been through or what I go through, but I don't think they are that much smarter and better. It is just that if they have a "that" to get past, they have been able to do it, and I can't.
They tend to think of me as creative and somewhat artistic. I'm thinking maybe they are wrong. The only thing supporting their view is something I read recently which claims that artistic, creative people are more likely to be mentally nuts. Especially writers, they say. They are more suicidal and such. But my writing lacks imagery, and is grammatically weak. Not to mention boring.
I guess I'll end this confession here. It may be all fiction, and something I dreamt up for no reason. Or not. Who cares? Possibly others have felt that same disconnect which prevents them from defining their nemeses and waging the holy war which would set them free.
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