Threads upon black moods

For the last several days, as my status message would indicate: I’ve been in a black mood. Except for xfire, where my names been set to `Spidey01 = status message`, because of issues with the software I use to login to xfire with.

Status messages like this, is generally meant to serve as a warning, like a rattle snakes sound, only much less dangerously. It is meant as a warning, of the nature: that you shouldn’t expect to find me roundabout in a chipper mood. Unlike my family, who’ll rip anything or anyone apart when in such a  mood: I don’t take things out on people around me. So I’m more likely to be extra polite, rather than unnaturally snappy. I’m more snappy when I’m in a good mood lol. The closet I get to taking my blacker frames of mind on other people, is making it known that I’m not in a mood to talk (and thus think) further about it at the moment.

Within my small inner-circle, I rarely hide or conceal anything: I wouldn’t be allowing friends much chance to know me, if I hid from them, now would I? My belief in that, is part of why most of my life is essentially an open book. I’m an easy person to get to know, just hard to stand being around lol. Although I generally trust people to respect my right of privacy (as I do theirs), or I wouldn’t speak;  things of a truly private nature rarely stretch beyond me and GOD. Over the years, I would have to say the fact that I’ve never been struck by lighting, is proof that GOD is extremely patient (if you believe in the existence of such a divine power). My journal only sees entries I’m tolerable of being within public view: I have little to hide, beyond my computers login password.

Something running through my mind, among the thoughts being pushed aside on the way to sleep, was of a morbid nature. Along the lines that if I died, and everyone I know, both in person and digitally made aware of it, who would really notice my passing? While there’s plenty who would be sad (yes, I know who y’all are), the only ones I believe would truly shed a tear at it, amounts to a sub set of my inner-circle, that I can count on less than one hand. This isn’t a bad thing in my books, in fact one is arguably one of very few candidates I could honestly call the best friend I have in this world, still above the grave (don’t worry, I’ve no plans to leave you that soon). The thing that hurt with that morbid collection of thoughts, wasn’t that the majority of people who would be sad, are people that I have never physically met (although in one or two cases, that is likely to change in time), but instead that none of my own flesh and blood can be counted on that ‘less than one hand’ of people, who really would care that much.

For much of my life, I’ve just been ‘here’, I’m the reject, the asset, not something people can care for, just something they can use—that very much describes what my relationship with blood kin is like, and how they’ve damaged it over the course of things. In fact, I would say that it has been suitably fractured, that it is the source of certain equationals that I’ve often wrestled with GOD over; of which only 1 or 2 living souls know even a fraction of that. Undoubtedly, most of the people within my inner-cricle of connections know me better than my own flesh and blood relations; a price of how I’ve been treated.

Much of what, I describe as life having given me a fairly high pain threshold compared to most (people that I know), is also due to that. For some reason, I can remember the doctor cutting on my toe and sliding cardboard under my nail, and finding it remarkably low on the painometer: I also know the people I’ve got to thank for that (which remarkably is not far off from whoms responsible for how my toe ended up in that situation). I’m not sure if that’s a positive or a negative train of thought.

For years, my family has generally stripped away the good parts of my life, and I’ve come to have an unhealthy level of sympathy for such plights, as  that of Edmond Dantès. The existence that’s been imposed upon me, is not that far off from a prisoners, only the food here is better.

It’s part of why the success of Operation Redeemer, is such a critical aspect of my life’s goals. If I’m going to close my eyes on this world someday, I think that freedom is not to much to ask for. I’ve given family, a large percentage of my life-thus-far, and have generally been made utterly miserable for much of it. As someone who has essentially reached the half-way mark, in the time I expect to live for, leaves me little reason to dilly dally, and even less, as I hope to live twice that long. As I’ve said more than a handful of times over the years, because of my father an certain aspects of family medical history, I consider whatever time I have past my 30s and 40s, to be a gift: not something I’m entitled to.

My family cannot of had a more negative impact on my life, if more things were intentional, and I believe the chapter after redeeming my right to life, will likely be to solve that issue.

To barrow an axiom from a favourite film: time not important, only life important. It would be nice to have the latter, worth the former.

1 thought on “Threads upon black moods”

Comments are closed.