02/19/2013 @ 12:51 p.m.

Freedom’s on my mind, has been for some time now.

I’m rather preoccupied with, shall we say, finally taking control of my life and reconciling what I have, heretofore, viewed as the “incongruities” therein. The “incongruities” stemming, predominantly, from my own lack of understanding about who I am and who I “am.” Who I “am,” I too late realize, is not necessarily who I’m not. Just because I “am” doesn’t mean I’m really not, to beat totally and utterly about the bush.

What I’m trying to explain is that, during my whole life (almost 30 years, what?!) the people who are closest to me have had this very interesting habit of viewing me in no sweet terms. I am THE devil. I’m a rotten, awful bastard who means no good… yet, roll out the red carpet, sound the trumpets: I’ve entered the room. I’m so amazingly smart, beautiful, capable… but evil and manipulative. My only true claim to anything is my loyalty to myself.

Which is interesting, because it begs the question: what, indeed, have I done to merit any of this acclaim and criticism?

NOTHING.

Blows my mind, really.

So, having officially freaked the fuck out some months back and given up the ghost four years prior, I started to analyze how I felt about this, I mean really felt about it.

First of all, it’s always confused and bothered me that people see me this way. I could never understand it, so I did the only thing I could: I took shelter in denial. I’d like to say that this would be a good place for my story to end — so much easier: live a half-assed life of denial, ordinary. Boring. SAFE.

Alas, the irony is that all these things that I have been both lauded and damned for are, for the most part, actually true. I am the devil, I am smart, I am capable, I am, above all else: unwilling.

I don’t think I have felt fear like this in my life. I really am a monster. This is unbelievably inconvenient, to say the very least.

What the fuck do you do about something like that?

You sit. You think. You cry like a sissy. You figure it out. You get over it. You GET ON WITH IT.

Indeed, that is the only choice that I had. I had to embrace it. After all, I have, all my life, been in a haze that conveniently prevented me from having to be anything real. I could have been a non-person to my heart’s content, unfortunately that isn’t sustainable. Particularly if there are things I seek to accomplish before my untimely end.

This, of course, requires a substantial amount of freedom. Freedom, I always thought, I didn’t, COULDN’T enjoy in my present situation. Being what might be best described as “kept,” it seems I have little wherewithal for such undertakings.

Until something occurred to me: there is a reason, a palpable reason, those who keep me take the view of me that they do. I’m as anti-establishment as they come. I have, unsuccessfully, been trying to dance to my own tune my whole life; not knowing that that is precisely what it is I am doing, NEED to be doing. Everyone in my life despises me for who I am because I am so fully myself, the only thing one can do in reaction is stomp all over it, try and squeeze it out of me, make me ordinary.

Or some suchlike.

Having realized this, it is imperative that I act completely in the interest of this awareness. Which (here we go) requires freedom. Freedom that, actually, I do have. Imagine that?

But, freedom is another scary business. Freedom means failure. Freedom means discomfort. Freedom means UNSAFE. Freedom means being able to make the choice to accept the perils that come with it, or… to remain kept.

Tough call.

I have yet to reconcile the incongruities of my latest revelation VS my perennial unwillingness. Unwilling and filled with desire. Bad mix.

Life, if nothing else, is interesting.

And as we all know: I am a sucker for anything interesting.

(Excuse the hodgepodge of this post. I’m still workin’ this out in me mind.)