Greetings and salutations,
A word from the maggot museum. Today was just one of those days. My life is just one of those lives, I suppose.
It makes me so mad. I think about all the things people go through, all the shit that people have to deal with it, and it just makes me mad. Like...I know that there are so many people out there that have far worse lives than mine, and yet they just accept it. And then there's me.
So...why doesn't everyone want to die? Why doesn't everyone have a burning inside them that eats its way through their existance like maggots through dead flesh.
I mean, we are dead flesh, aren't we? If we've given up, we're dead. We're forfiet. I am. I know that, I have no delusions, not about that.
I would give anything to be free of this existence and the thing that bugs me is I know that somehow I have lived this life before. I've done it all. Everything's just repeating and repeating.
I just had a weird thought. What if I'm not really here, not really this person right now. What if the real me is actually somewhere completely different, locked in a cell somewhere seeing herself as the me I 'am' now. That actually made sense in my head.
So like...I might now even be a woman. Which would make total fucking sense since everyone reckons I should have been born a guy. I mean, I dress like one, I literally do - I buy guy's clothes, they're just more comfortable. I look like one, I act like one, I'm not all like oh my god, my hair (I know not all girls are like that, I'm just using it as an example).
So maybe I'm a guy somewhere, strapped to a table dreaming of this life.
If I am, then I have SERIOUS issues.
But it wouldn't be would it. If I was someone else...I mean it's just something you think about to make yourself feel better I guess, but in the end, no matter what you do, you have to come back to this.
Being a philosopher will drive you crazy, you know. Thinking all those clever little fucking things and knowing that you will NEVER know the truth. You will NEVER be able to prove any of it. You will NEVER KNOW!
You can have all the weirdest and most wonderful theories in the whole damn universe but they'll never mean a fuckng thing.
Like when people ask "Is the cup half empty or half full?" Psychologists ask this to see if you're optimistic or pessimistic. If you say half empty you're the latter, half full, the former.
However this is my reply. "It's circumstantial. If you're tipping it out, it's half empty, if you're filling it up, it's half full."
So am I pessimistic, or optimistic?
Not that it really fucking matters. My mum thinks I'm pessimistic.
But I always say look at it this way. If I convince myself that nothing good's going to happen, and it doesn't then I haven't set myself up for disappointment, but if something good does happen, I'm pleasantly surprised.
IF however, I convince myself that good things are going to happen and they don't, I'd be crushed.
So it's actually better to be pessimistic about things. It's a very logical approach.
Maybe life isn's actually life. I mean, we all assume that because we're 'here' and we have science and all that jazz, that everything's real and living and stuff. What if it's not?
What if we're in some kind of weird dimension that's in someone's head. Maybe the reason we all gravitate towards someone sort of theological belief is because we're actually just figments in someone's consciousness and they're sub conscious pops the thought 'god' into us because he would be our creator...having imagined us.
I'm sorry if this isn't making a lot of sense. It's kind of hard to explain.
Alas, I digress.
What was I talking about?
Ah yes. Life. I know my life isn't as bad as a lot of other people's lives. Someone could look at my life and then look at someone elses and go, bloody hell, maggot, you're living luxury here, quit complaining.
Like...it makes me feel kind of guilty. How I think of dying and freedom when someone else is getting the shit kicked into them by their own dad or something.
But I can't help it. There's horrible, horrible things happening in the world. Terrible things. And they'll never stop. Whether I live or die is irrelevant. The world doesn't revolve around me. It doesn't revolve around any one singular person so if one of us dies because of a series of unfortunate events, it wouldn't bother the world. The world would keep moving as it always does.
So if I die, those horrible things are still going to happen. And if I live, those things are still going to happen.
So what the fuck is the point in any of this shit?
Even if I work my arse off to become some great do-gooder who helps people, there's always going to be someone I can't help, someone I get to too late, or the occasional perosn who doesn't even fucking want my help. What do you do then?
What about those people that you get to too late? My mum keeps saying to me, it's not your job to save the world...
But it is.
But I've already failed. The only way someone can save others is to save themselves first, and I am way beyond saving. The only way you can save others is by having a clean soul, a pure soul...to be uncorrupted.
I'm too angry, too sad, too frustrated.
I've let the chaos in and now it's too late for me.
There are people dying right fucking now man, each second I spend typing on this fucking site, someone's getting the shit beaten out of them. Someone's getting shot, or stabbed and raped. Some arseholes beating a dog with a stick, somen prick is fucking his own daughter, some jerk is shoving an outcast around, thinking it's absolutely fucking hilarious.
There are people dying of diseases, or starvation, soldiers getting blown up, animals getting slaughtered, kids getting beaten up daily.
All this shit is happening every fucking second of every shitty day. And I can't do a fucking thing about it.
I suppose the one thing that makes me a woman, apart from the physical, is my maternal instincts. They are very strong and I think that's what makes me want to hold someone who is hurting close.
I wish I could find the kid who's just been beaten up so that I can help them up, find the guy who's hurting himself because his parents hate him so that I can tell him he's not worthless, find the girl who's just been raped so that I can tell her there are people in this world that actually love her for her rather than her tits.
But I can't. It's happening all over the world and I have zilch fucking power and THAT is why I can't stand it.
I can't stand it because I'm the one that's worthless. I can't stand it because I'm the one who's hated. I can't stand it because I CAN'T help.
Why should I eat tonnes and get hideously fat when there are kids out there who have nothing to eat at all? There's kids out there who have never had a full meal in their entire lives.
Why should I cry cos no one wants to touch me, when there are people out there wishing that the one touching them would stop?
Why should I wish for death when there are so many people praying for life?
Why should I say anything or do anything when it's all one big fucking joke to the rest of humanity?
Nothing's ever going to change the way humanity plays this game and while everyone else is just sitting around accepting it, drowning in their own lives...I'm here. I'm here wanting so much to change it. "You aren't here, I'm here. I'm always here" (Beth, Sharing the Secret).
No one rips out the truth anymore and makes me hurt so much that I feel so alive.
No one pushes me and pushes me until I snap.
No one goads me to kill myself anymore.
And as sick as it sounds, I miss that.
I miss having a physical reason to be this way instead of the shit that goes on inside my head.
Technically, in the physical realm, my life is going better than it has ever gone before.
Unlike at 11-15 when my life was ruined by school and other things, now it's ruined by me and what's inside.
I'm stuck back there at 11 when everyone else has already forgotten what they did to me.
I remember what people said to me and they don't even recognise my face.
I sabotage myself because I'm holding on to the past and I can't let go. I've tried, god I've tried.
But every time I start to move on, it comes back to bite me in the arse again.
It's so haunting and that's how I view the world now - through haunted eyes.
All anyone sees when they look at me is a lazy pudgy kid with a bad attitude and an ugly face.
But it's not me. My body isn't me. My face isn't me. Not even my eyes are me. I'm not in this world anymore. I left years ago. I'm caught between realms. This one, the one where all anyone cares about is money and image, where bankers and celebrities rule the world and where the only way to get anywhere is with an unlimited fistfull of cash.
But that world is becoming more and more ethereal. I'm in a different place now. A place where voices whisper mockingly and claws rake my skin and no one's here to comfort or protect.
It's not a place of my choosing, that's for sure. There's so much here that shouldn't be.
Sometimes when I'm particularly balanced between them, I can barely tell which is which.
Sometimes I can't tell what's real and what's just in my head. It's like when you have to have three groups, side a, side b and then the circles overlap and you have things that are both, in the middle bit.
Well I'm on a swinging pendulum that hangs from the centre section but swings from side a to side b.
Right now I'm swinging further into side b.
The funny thing is, I can't tell which fucking side I hate most.
Maybe I despise the pendulum most.
And here's where all the bullshit about philosophy comes in. What, in this physical realm, is the pendulum?????????
Is it me? Or is it my mother or father? Is is culture? Is it society? Is it my ego?
So many things could be represented by that pendulum...
They say that when you die in your dreams, you really die.
I don't remember ever dreaming to the point of actually dying, so I wouldn't know. But I feel like I'm in a dream now. I feel like there's a very large something missing and that I've got to wake up to find it.
And if being alive right now is the dream and I have to wake up to find out what's missing, then once again relying on logic, I'd say that would make dying a pretty practical solution.
The world has enough psycho babble already, without adding mine to the bullshit frying pan.
The answer is the metaphorical needle...and life is the hay stack.
Sometimes I feel so close to finding the needle, I actually feel the pain of pricking myself on it's tip. And it being the answer to all this shite, it's a VERY painful and vicious prick!!
But then as I go to grab it...it slides under more hay and I have to start all over again.
Repeat. Repeat. REPEAT!
Circles. Cycles. Over and over and over and over.
Round and round.
Well, I gotta say I'm past the point of dizziness. I think it's time to get off the magic roundabout.
I don't know what happens when you jump off. Maybe you disappear forever. Maybe you get put back on in a different place as a different person.
Who knows?
But I do know that I can't spin anymore. If you spin long enough, you collapse. Sometimes you puke first.
Well, if you'll forgive the rather graphic and kind of gross metaphor, I think I've thrown up enough times already and should probably skip right along to the passing out stage.
Every body dies, I'm just jumping the gun.
Why wait? What good will it do? Sooner or later, someone's gonna turn round to me and say "You came too late. She's already dead. You should have gotten here sooner, maybe you could have saved her but it's too late."
And they're gonna look accusingly at me as if I did it deliberately. They're gonna whisper behind the hands with the people next to them and glare and blame.
And you know what? They'd be right to do so.
If I can't do this, what fucking good am I?? If I can't even survive the first 18 years of my life, what the fuck good am I gonna do anyone else?
Third time lucky so they say, and this time, I'm gonna fucking get it right. And if I don't? Well...I'll do what I always do.
I'll convince everyone I'm fine and I'll try again and I'll keep fucking trying until I pull it off because there is only one thing I know for certain and that is that I am NOT supposed to be here.
I don't belong here, this isn't my world, it's not my time, my clock stopped fucking ticking years ago.
I'm not meant for this world. I don't know why I was even born. All I've ever done is make things worse.
I know to anyone reading this it must sound really fucking pathetic.
But that's the beauty of the world we live in. I can say whatever the fuck I want on the inernet and no one can do a damn thing about it.
People slag off the queen of britain and the president of america and get away with it. You can say you're gonna blow up a school or something and no one would do anything because the net is just a monster now that is beyond anyone's control.
No one lifts a finger because it's NOT THEIR PROBLEM!
Why the fuck should they care if some girl the other side of the world is getting raped or some guy in the next town kills himself? Got nothing to do with them, right?
I can rant my fucking heart and soul into this blog...and what does it matter? There are 7 billion people in this world, not a fucking one of them gives a shit what some basket case in a small town in the uk has to say.
This blog is probably read by what...eleven people, if that? Hardly ground breaking. So no matter what I say or do, no matter how hard I try...I'm not gonna change anything.
I'm gonna join a statistic that no one gives a shit about because it's a fucking joke. There was a kiddy stood on the ledge of a building and people down below were TELLING HIM to JUMP!
And I'm supposed to WANT TO LIVE?????????
People say that suicide is the cowards way out. I never said I wasn't a coward. And it's not. Wanting to escape whatever hurt you may be feeling doesn't make you a coward. And it's actually surprisingly difficult to kill yourself.
I'm too tired to rant anymore. I apologise for the length of this post. I wasn't actually intending to write this much, but I sort of lost control.
I'm going to try and get some sleep. I may very well continue this tomorrow.
I don't really care if it gets read or not. Maybe it will and someone will agree with me. Maybe someone will read it and think I'm a pathetic waste of space. Or maybe it won't get read and it'll just stagnate at the bottom of the internet blog pool.
Whatever. I really don't care.
I type these posts because I like typing. I could type it into a word document I suppose, and I'm tempted to do so, but I just like posting on a blog and this is MY blog. If people don't like what I write, don't fucking read my blog.
Want to think I'm pathetic, go ahead. I don't give a shit what people think of me. You don't fucking know me. And anyone who's read this entire blog, if you think just by reading a few rants that makes you an expert on Maggot 13, you're wrong. You'll never know me. Nobody knows me.
I'm ash. Nothing more.
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