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Fucked Up College Kids File 561
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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The jaws that bite, the claws that catch
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We have to, in some way, admire those elusive parts of ourselves. Those
certain qualities be they thoughts, emotions, idiosyncrasies, what have
you that we have either never reigned under control or have only in the
best of times wrestled to the top of. There is something to respect about
having piece of your own being that seemingly roams free of its own accord.
While I, like most I'll assume, better appreciate the parts of ourselves
that we have squarely under control, have a special place for the parts
that inhabit us almost with a life of their own.
Insecurity is one of those characteristics I caught slew almost entirely in
the wild years ago, and have since mounted upon the wall of conquests
within my head. It's form has been gutted of flesh and eyes replaced with
pupils of glass that seem to follow wherever you go, as if from beyond the
grave. That was a beast that appeared upon the near-unpopulated plains of
within during the Great Self-Awareness that took place around 10 years of
age. How it ravaged the Confidence that had just started roaming those
vast, open areas at that age. Confidence didn't know to travel in packs at
that time, and would attempt to stake out an area of territory by itself
more often than not. This thinking made it easy prey. Insecurity wouldn't
just kill it outright, it would play first. It would kill via wounding.
Slowly carved, open, uncoagulating wounds that bled and weakened Confidence
until it could do little more than lay down in surrender.
How I despised both beasts back then. Insecurity for being so strong, so
stealthy, and so completely through in its hunt; and Confidence for being
so weak, so soft, and so susceptible - the perfect victim. I don't think
there has been a battle since that left me so tired and depleted that I
could barely marshal the forces to hunt and thus end the slaughter. It
wasn't until 15 years had gone by before Insecurity in turn became the
hunted, and pushed back into virtual extinction. It of course still
exists, as it should. It must remain on the plains, balancing the chain of
life within ourselves. It must be allowed to hunt off excess Confidence,
lest Confidence blurs the land and overpopulates making us no smarter than
population explosion of deer that have no room to move except in front of
the passing cars. We let Insecurity continue to hunt to keep ourselves in
check.
That was one part of my own self that eventually fell under the gun of the
Great White Psyche one of many rouge and unwanted parts of ourselves that
we all learn to hunt. Be it from guidance, experience, wisdom, or tragedy,
we all become keener hunters, and the prey easier to find in our sights. I
don't claim to be particularly apt hunter, just a patient one. I also do
not claim arrogantly that every part of myself hunted is easy prey. I am
no better off in this regard than most. In fact, I have clearly come to
face those parts that still live in the wilds of within that will take a
great many years to come to terms with.
The largest of which is loneliness. There is a great deal of difference
between being alone and loneliness. I enjoy being alone. Being Alone was
a beast that I domesticated rather that killed outright. It makes
excellent companionship when broken properly. It can roam among the native
parts of ourselves sleeping, eating, and co-existing without
destabilizing the balance we strive so hard to achieve. While despondent
and individual, it can still sit quietly at your feet like an old friend.
Loneliness is a whole different beast. It is ambiguous, formless, and
frightening when you feel it near you. It roams when and where is pleases.
Into the Land of Happiness to foul and mark it, and down into the Valleys
of Despair where it adds easily to hostile and inhospitable environment.
It moves as it pleases, but not predictably nor in a planned manner.
Sometimes it plays the myth: moving just out of sight, so that when you try
to express it, it's hard to prove that it was there at all. Other times,
it wears the clothing of other parts of ourselves. When we think the beast
we see is anger, sadness, or loss, it is sometimes Loneliness wearing it's
guise sometimes to the point we do not realize the ruse until it has past,
or not at all.
Then there are the times that in moves right into the center of ourselves,
with no announcement and bold disregard for what it treads upon. It sits,
stubborn and fearsome, so that any attempt to move it meets with failure,
provided you can even summon the courage to make the attempt. It seems to
sit perfectly still, but in fact it moves with terrifying speed almost
beyond our perception. When Hope or Happiness try to make their rounds, it
gobbles them up with the ferocity like that of the Jabberwock and
absolutely like Jormungand. While it moves as if it does not want to be
seen or caught in the act, it is in fact neither subtle nor ashamed of the
act itself, smacking its lips and picking its teeth in plain view. It is a
proud beast, and made so in its pride about what it does, and more
importantly, by what it is.
For all its much-flaunted might and power in can have over me, I do not
fear it as I used to. Not because of what it is or what it represents, but
because it is not a common beast. It is rare within me, only coming to
feed once in the greatest of whiles. It exists more like a shark or lion
in our lives: unlikely we will encounter one, but not a mythical creature,
nor one to be trifled with. It has my respect because of what it is, and
what it can do. I have come to realize that respect is sometimes
misappointed given to things we are afraid of or less than, if only to
curb the fear of the hold it can have over us
Regardless, it nonetheless exists, and be it fear or respect it, I am
painfully aware of its uncontrolled presence within myself and my life. I
do not wish to hunt it outright, as I am unwilling most days to consciously
face it. Yet, I must or at least begin to in some way.
I see Loneliness in a possible future as if foretold in prophecy or in
vision. I have come to contemplate or consider the possibility that I may
come to a point in my life that I will be completely alone. Not that those
I know and care about will cease to exist in some way, but they will
continue on their way: making new friends and taking lovers so that they
themselves will be enabled and prepared to fight of their own Loneliness
when it comes. They will seek companionship be it lovers or
husbands/wives as if they were arms, and perhaps the best for such a
battle.
I, as it is beginning to look, may not have availability of such arms at my
disposal. As I said, I can content with the pet I have made of Being
Alone, and enjoy my time with it considerably. As a result, I am not prone
to the situations that would make companionship a possibility. I do not
venture into the world often, and when I do, it is not with trepidation and
reluctance. I am not impersonal, but I am not quick to new company, nor I
am easy to making instant conversation from the spark of an introduction.
My existence does not propagate company, let alone companionship.
This is not meant to be a declaration, nor is it to be cast in stone.
Claims and predictions are what we make, and life is what happens
regardless. Anything can happen, and it can happen within the hour, for
all intents and purposes. What this all adds up to being is preparation,
not prophecy. I will not associate myself with those that wail and lament,
"Oh woe as me; no one loves me. I might as well don my blackest garb, play
my most somber Pink Floyd, and cry into my wine that no one will live as
unloved as I!" Hardly.
I face this prospect, so that should it come to pass, it's not some
horrible surprise. I'm sure the majority of the families in '62 found
little comfort pricing shelters as Russian ships unwilling sat paused off
of the Cuban coast, in what was perhaps the coldest October of them all.
We do not install smoke alarms to warn about a fire we will have, but as
protection against the horrible possibility of one.
I think about friendships lapsed, a marriage failed, and relationships
lost. I think of the possibility of children that I will never have, and
will never be. I think of it all, and realize that indeed Loneliness wears
other guises - in this case, those of regret and loss. I realize more as I
write that perhaps, at times, it lurks less in woods than it does in the
camp. That perhaps, without knowing it, the battle is already upon me.
It will not win, and I can say that with almost arrogant confidence, in
spite of the doom such claims can bring. Even if the future I call
unwelcome does come to pass, it will not be one wrought with pain, living
under the shadow of fear of Loneliness. While I may not be able to make
obedient beast of Loneliness as I did Being Alone, I will learn to coexist
with it. I will be able to walk with yards of it, without flinching or
being afraid of it lunging. Life is too singular and invaluable that it
cannot be squandered by the fear of it continuing.
I write this to vindicate myself, and perhaps vindicate the reader. We are
all equally mortal, and both strong and vulnerable at the same time. We
often spend far to much time trying to overcome and defeat the parts of
ourselves that are so ingrained and integral to our character that we could
ever neither succeed in extinguishing, or live without. We try so hard to
remove fear and doubt instead of realizing how important they are, and how
they act as part of the survival mechanism that keeps us out of harm and
danger. Coexistence with the predators that live within is perhaps the
best tribute we can build to our own perceived character. While we can lay
to waste the bastard offspring like Hate and Insecurity, our own emotional
food chain is dependent on their parent feelings and emotions. We must
make peace with ourselves. Otherwise, it makes no more sense than trying
to smite the ground you stand upon.
- Capone
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