So I finally got a call back. I was literally just woken up, said the wrong things. Now I’m sitting here stewing about it like an idiot. I called them back and left a message, not that it will do me any good—I’m sure they were typing out a decision as I was speaking. Usually I can manage not babbling or repeating myself, but fuck if I could do either of those. It’s just irritating that I’ve been doing paperwork for over a month and filling out all this shit to no avail. The universe always slaps me in the face, but fuck if I won’t take it like a man. I’m starting to think it’s bullshit anyway, and just another thing I’d use to avoid the inevitable. I didn’t even bother to do a ritual for it; I thought it was doomed from the start.
Okay, let’s be honest here (everyone put on their honesty ring!) I couldn’t be optimistic for anything. Optimism always ends up leaving people butthurt and defenseless, of which I will be neither. I think setting myself up to fail is much worse than a mild apathy toward every situation. Even though in a normal circumstance—without barriers of “I don’t care” dutifully blocking the way—I would be in a corner sobbing like a bitch. But what the fuck does it matter anyway? I said the wrong thing—someone is judging me accordingly. How is that anything new?
I hate this bullshit. I hate all of it. People can decide your fate for you, and that right there is a load of shit. I want to bulldoze my way through life. I’d like to make all their decisions for them. Playing God is not something any human being can do with grace, but I think I could manage to hate everyone and deal out bullshit decisions without much of a conscience. People deserve the worst that could possibly be dealt to them, even me. Fucking tear us down and start over, because this whole pathetic reliance on a justice that doesn’t exist and right and wrongs that are definable a thousand different ways, they aren’t doing any good. Where the fuck have we gotten? Nowhere. We’re still a bunch of idiot cave men wildly swinging a club to see what we can hit, which would be fine, so long as we didn’t go into it pretending to be righteous and and pure, and like we fucking give a shit.
I don’t have to worry though. People dig their own graves, and sooner or later, somebody on high is gonna get a treatment like mine and they’re going to see the devil they’ve been harboring. Oh, they won’t see till way after the fact, but it’s fucking coming, you can rest assured.
I had a therapist tell me that she’d never met a Satanist who was well-adjusted, like it meant I had some sort of debilitating disease that couldn’t be cured by her bullshit psychobabble nonsense. She said we were too self-destructive to lead a normal existence. This all being because we fuck without guilt and do what we please. Bitch, I took the same classes as you, I heard what they were preaching and saw it for what it was. You couldn’t accept reality. You WERE ON THE SAME PILLS I WAS ON. Clearly, there was a problem.
But I get now what I didn’t get before: I accept the fact that I have issues. I acknowledge that I have those issues because everything I look upon is carved from a fucking ‘reality’ that suits the weakest links in our society, people like the woman who sat there typing, in full-on denial of the fact that she was using medication to push down perfectly natural feelings of disgust and self-loathing. Be disgusted. Hate EVERYTHING. Hate everyone. Because you know what? That’s the only honest feeling you’ve ever had. Your pseudo empathy? Your fucking piece of shit Mercedes Benz? That was bred into you. You’re a fucking breeder that does what you’re told. You fuck like they want you to fuck, you act like they want you to act, and what do you get out of it? A handful of the pills you tried to pawn off on me? I have news for you, something I neglected to mention to you. Those pills? They made me worse. You think I’m an asshole now? Well you should have met the basketcase I was when I was popping them like fucking Tums chewables. You can’t fix something that isn’t broken. The only reason there is something wrong with me, is because you people deemed it so. Who died and made you my god?
I am whatever it is I am. Maybe I have a brain tumor. Maybe I really am fucked up as all hell. But you aren’t going to be able to sideline me forever. I’m learning new things every day, while you sit there regressing, entirely unaware of how stagnant and tired your pathetic excuse for a world truly is. This place is going to fuck you up, and you know what? I look forward to watching.