I’ve been tested today and I’m continuing to be tested and it seems no matter how much I try to help people, there will always be doubt surrounding my motives. As I’ve said before, that’s fine because human beings are fundamentally distrusting beings. Yet we endure, don’t we? We deal with it and move on always, like lions searching for a new pride on a never-ending journey through the savannah of literal shit. Right now, I’m at a crossroads being asked to choose either a friend’s happiness or my own. If it was any other person asking me I would say ‘fuck you,’ but it’s not. There’s no running from this and the choice is mine alone to make but the repercussions will perhaps ruin one-third of the valued relationships I hold.
Life being shit, is not a TellTale video game where you can reload and overwrite the save file if the outcome isn’t what’s wanted. The scenario is entirely reflective of the Doctor Who episode title ‘Truth and Consequence’ that being the truth is being confronted by my own selfish nature versus the consequences of making a friend feel trapped or marginalised or both. There are people out there who make careers out of being martyrs yet throwing myself on the sword is less appealing than anything I’ve ever known. Does that make me a coward? Does it make anyone in a similar situation? You could argue that not sacrificing yourself and living with the consequences is the braver choice having to see the face of a friend you know that you would have fucked over.
I was told by someone today that I’m not alone and that I’m valued by people more than I realise but here I am, pouring over the outcome of a situation that makes me feel more isolated than ever before. Maybe that’s another fundamental truth about human existence is that sacrifice is by-the-by when it comes to keeping hold of the things we have. All I have is those few friends and twice today it’s been called into contention over what I can only describe as territorial, relationship intrigue.
For the first time, I’ve left a post unfinished and went for a walk to think about it.
Now, some two hours on, I’ve come to realise that this one tiny event is microcosmic. It’s totally representative of my entire existence since I’ve been here, in this place, again and again. A constant reminder to why I don’t expose my feelings. Every damn time we open that door, we don’t know who will come in with our guest. My mother always told me not to play with a Ouija board because we don’t know what we’ll let in our house but you’re never told, as a child, to have the same policy with opening up to other human beings – with being close to someone. It just invites in disappointment and shitty situations again and again.
I should get an actual Ouija board not just an analogical one. Maybe it’ll be far easier to wrestle with those unwanted guests than those who have already made themselves very fucking comfortable on my analogical sofa.
The dichotomy between good and evil doesn’t exist in a sense that there is no good and evil. There’s only consequences and perspective. From an abuser’s perspective, nothing wrong is happening and they need to take the actions they take to improve the lives of people around them. From the outsider’s perspective, an arsehole is taking his anger out on his girlfriend. With something like that, is inaction as dangerous as action? Getting involved could escalate the situation to Hollyoaks heights but not getting involved could do the exact same thing.
I was dredging through the comments of a Vice news article on Syria and it occurred to me that’s the same situation the world is in. Obviously, we did get involved and for a while it did very much escalate but now it looks like with IS routed, it’s getting better? If not better just more manageable. Is that what we strive for? Simply having shit managed rather than cured or resolved is, when you think about it, how we all deal with problems. A prime of example of this is fascism. While we thought Nazi ideals were crushed with Hitler’s Germany, the KKK is in 2017 touring around America like an angry, cancerous boy band. It’s managed like the mental neighbourhood dog held back on a chain – don’t look at it, it’ll only bark louder. We can’t put it down as they’d always be debate on whether or not it’s humane and we can’t get rid of it as no one will admit to owning it.
Looking at it in a different way, we have food allergies which are the bane of my existence. I for one, love salted peanuts but unfortunately anaphylactic shock is an incredible piece of shit. We manage things like that by avoiding the foods we can’t eat for the sake of our gastro-intestinal tract rather than actively seek treatment. I heard about a very small test somewhere to cure food allergies by feeding sufferers tiny amounts of it to create immunity yet isn’t that in itself, extended management? Training our bodies to manage?
It’s a mental minefield that means all job titles should come with the ‘manager’ prefix. I was on a train the other week and a fight broke out between two passengers at Doncaster. One was drunk and the other had issues – neither managed the situation or themselves particularly well and everything went to shit very quickly. The drunk man went down a single punch and as he fell, decided to use my leg that poked slightly into the aisle as a ledge for support. The bruise has gone now.
However we manage the shit will have to do. The constant responsibility of managing the world around us in our best capacity is unknowingly fucking soul crushing. When the day of the apocalypse comes it’ll be because some turd somewhere shirked that responsibility to manage their reality. In the end, our management tactics, our choices, make us and the world around us whether we’re a drunk man on a train or an arsehole is taking his anger out on his girlfriend.
I’ve just woken up and it’s 17:39 to find once again, I have over slept by a few miles and missed out on a pre-planned trip to the cinema with people who are making it more and more obvious to me that the friendship is becoming less of a friendship and more like a neighbourly situation between a drag queen and an Anglican priest: be polite, be tolerant, let’s not get over excited. The sleeping through the trip to see Wonder Woman may put some strain on that relationship, perhaps as much as going to see the movie before them with a woman I was hoping to sleep with despite the pre-arranged plans.
It took me a long time to realise that selfish behaviour isn’t as poisonous as every teen drama bullshit story line professes it to be. It allows your life to be a quiet island with a very protectionist foreign policy that while is inherently isolating, the day-to-day reads more like N.H.K. ni Yōkoso! (featuring a lack of motivation to compromise leading to little to no actual friends rather than crippling shyness) rather than any Harry Potter book – magical and full of romanticised ideas of friendship that has created unrealistic expectations for children across the world. Those traitorous little novels even infected my own forty-four-year-old father and have perhaps skewed his world view more horrifically than anything on YouPorn ever could.
Through this, I found truth in the line from Californication (the smutty comedy series with David Duchovny not the world famous Red Hot Chilli Peppers song): ‘there is no right and wrong, only the consequences of your actions’. Since the friends have returned from the cinema trip, the consequence has been very brief uncomfortable conversations and a faltering veil of politeness. For people who spend their time around me complaining how they wish I wasn’t around them, they’re taking it rather sorely. I had the same experience back home: a confusing knife edge between ‘fuck off’ and ‘where the fuck are you going’. It’s sadly nostalgic like Diane Abbott in a sweet shop.