I vs I

There are times when I'm so blue, I don't know what to do.

But the new me is still alive.  Things get done on a more regular basis and in a more timely fashion.

But there is that Anti-Me that still thrives inside.  That's the one that often gets hold of moods and says, "You got nothing going on, and there is no happy or sad, just the exhausting state of being.  I have an idea!  Why not take a lethal dose of some pleasant opiate and drive off the edge of the Grand Canyon?"

I guess it is like matter and anti-matter.  Or something.

I know that anti-me mostly tells lies, and there are people who would get very angry at its general assessment of me and my life.  It is probably because of how I feel about those people that I continually make the effort to ignore the harsh inner critic and go through the motions of doing something constructive, like sanding things.  I can do mindless work while having a running battle between myself and anti-me.

You're a loser.
So?  You're annoying.
Wonder if you have any fun or pain when you're dead.
I think life is supposed to be both those things.
If you were good enough at it to even know.  You are the lousiest at living life of everyone in your family for maybe six generations.  Or more.
Maybe I'd be better at it if you weren't part of me.  I hate Anti-Me.
Too bad, because I'm never going away.  And I only have one mission--destroy you in any way I can.
You suck.
Racist.

I don't think throwing out a word like "racist" works when the dispute is in my mind between me and anti-me.

It isn't two personalities.  But it is a battle which involves somehow distorting the truth, or hiding it from myself.  Lots of people do that--lie to themselves and believe the lies.

Could be worse.  I could be someone who is really evil and a waste,  like those irs people, or Harry Reid.

The hell of it is, it is not like I can control how that internal destructor entity makes me feel.  Physically and to a large degree, mentally.  I just tell myself, "OK, you feel like you are trying to walk through quick sand.  You aren't.  Just try to do whatever it is at hand without injuring yourself or others."  Then I drive off or do whatever it is even though I feel like my head has been injected with cotton balls and wet socks.

Eventually it passes.  Unfortunately, so do the times when I experience moments of freedom from that constant weight.  Actually the best temporary fix is some sort of stimulant like amphetamines.  But it is no good long term, so I don't bother.  Besides my primary care physician is a retired veterinarian and they don't prescribe things like that.

No matter what, the organizing gains will not be reversed.  I will not backslide.  It is actually my deep, yet misunderstood, love for friends and family that prevents me from following a path of certain, imminent doom.

People don't get why I don't throw out I love you every ten seconds.  It probably means more to me than to them, but they don't believe that.  Guess that means I have great affection for some true dimwits.

Actions.  I've heard plenty of I love you as the soundtrack to some of my most devastating sorrows, defeats and betrayals in life.

I love you, sorry I can't pull your bleeding body out of the ditch.  Running late, you understand. See ya!  Luv yoo!  XXOO F***  Off

Save it.

An example of the odd detachment that comes with this sort of thing is how I approached dinner tonight.  I knew I should eat but couldn't say if I was hungry or not.  I considered what I had eaten and when, today.  I did eat some kind of breakfast.  I should have been very hungry hours ago.  So, I forced myself to fix something that I would fix if I were happy, hungry and on top of things.  It was good enough---everything I fix is.  But it held no enjoyment.  I can feel that my stomach is full.  I ate because that is probably what people do.  I often copy what it is people allegedly do to stay alive.  Basics, like eat, breathe, seek water.

Those things rarely feel natural.  It would be natural to eat once then have it out of the way forever.  Wash once, etc.  It feels like ritual more than necessity.  But reaon tells me these things are necessities.

And that is the blues.
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