PHP: Soylent Green is Staley

PHP 03/15/2007

Currentmood: crushed

My case manager says I'm convicting myself of being flawed. It seems to be based on circumstantial evidence, but I bet if Sam Waterston was the ADA, he would seal my fate.

In group therapy, a discussion about aggression and assertiveness led to a discussion about emotional needs. You are trying to obtain your needs, and these are the polar opposite ways of obtaining them. One of those needs is a sense of purpose. How to work towards the future.

You may not have a grand purpose. That's good because after my broken wrist, I don't think I could be supported from a crucifix. But every moment has something that you should set your mind on accomplishing.

Maybe I'm suffering from delusions of grander. Probably not. This dilemma would have a simple conclusion if that was the case. It seems so much easier just to call myself crazy.

Then I would at least have a purpose. Surely there is a market for village idiots. I could have a monopoly on Central Illinois in that field if I can remove Willy York from the scene.

The delusion is that I have to accomplish something larger. Something to direct my life. Not to trivialize depression, but just waking up and going to therapy isn't an accomplishment. I've gotten pretty good at that, and I just find it pointless if there is nothing to build from that.

I wake up to accomplish something great. Make new friends, find out where I fit in to the world. Actually enjoy what I'm doing.

I think I've done everything I can possibly accomplish given my resources. I was officially part of the Chicago Cubs for one day (Thank you Milk Duds). I created a video game (Thank you you Nips who stole a 14 year-old Yank's idea just because he wrote in pencil). I lost my virginity to the most beautiful girl in Peoria (24 years in the making).

Not too many international goals. I've seen England, I've tried sushi. All I can think of is see Thailand, Japan, and Brazil. And to get a chance to piss on the Blarney Stone or shit in a boiler of Guinness.

Santa. Are these request to difficult?

All those times I had passion beyond the ring. Now, with the futility of the ring. I'm going to lose my last resource. The only enjoyment.

Now I know why I get off on concussions. Just one step closer from dying in the name of passion. Now I have a reason to wrestle. Send the green guys my way.

That's all sarcasm. Please, please, please, book me. I promise not to die in your ring.

I am empty. I can't do anything anymore. I not useful. Can I please stop wasting everyone else oxygen.

I was just too dense. It would all pay off as long as I stayed true to myself. That's why I didn't get therapy when I was in pain. Now all it's done is showed me that life has passed me by. If it hasn't passed me by, then there is got to be some flaw in me that prevents me from obtaining what I need.

All I can do is stop believing this, and faith will reward me.

There is some flaw in me that won't let people give me a chance to be something more. To let me feel safe. To let me know where to go. This is out of my control.

Believing that I am OK is not going to meet my needs. Accepting that being a loser is OK won't make me feel better.

I have done all that I can do to accomplish something accept me made into compost. Or being part of the fourth meal menu.

The future of Soylent and Green....that's my hope.