I’m imaginative, never have I lacked imagination or been considered dull. I’m about as far from dull as is possible. I’m impulsive and unpredictable. Spontaneous to the point of causing problems. While I like to think of myself as being reliable, I’m not. If I tell someone I’m gonna do something then chances are I will do exactly that, but my spontaneity and impulsiveness matched with my tendency to be irresponsible actually prove me to be somewhat unreliable. I have probably never lived up to anybody’s expectations for me, disappointing plenty, angering a few. I’ve always marched to the beat of my own drum. A drum only I can hear. Can’t be for certain but I’d be willing to bet that besides my father I never cared to impress anyone, couldn’t care less what people thought of me. I never followed a rule I didn’t agree with, punishment or no punishment. Never believe things I was told without looking into it myself, and still might not believe it even if I had. I’m pretty sure that my brain is wired differently then y’all’s, I’d be willing to bet that our thoughts and beliefs are not even close. Things you believe are laughable to me and things I believe are insane to you. Our definitions to the word success most likely aren’t close with your success involving money and prestige while mine involves happiness and togetherness. My idea of a good time most likely would sound scary and ridiculous to “normal” people and their idea of fun makes me feel uncomfortable and out of place. We are not the same. Not even close. I am considered an outcast, a loser, a career criminal and a drug addict by all but a few. I’ve got a horrible reputation given to me by people I don’t even know, who I may have met once if that but who are none the less convinced that I’m a piece of shit. My exploits infamous and my actions nefarious, my reputation has outgrown who I really am and so ceased it matter much to me all at except how they affected people I cared for and loved. It never sat well with me that my actions or reputation could ever reflect negatively on those I loved simply because they chose to be my friend. Truth be told, 90% maybe more of the people in my life didn’t know shit about my exploits and if they did almost every single one of them discouraged me from doing it, very few agreed with it and even fewer participated in it, yet they would still catch flak. So much so that I’ve lost so called friends due to the opinions of society and their need to fit into it. The stigma of being my friend more then some could deal with, causing them to be alienated and categorized as drug addicts and losers. If you asked society I would have no redeeming qualities making drugs the only reason people would interact with me or be my friend. Good for nothing drug dealer, just a blight on society, until of course the day that they themselves want some drugs, in which case they were never part of the group badmouthing me, claiming that they had actually defended me in these conversations. Ha. Bullshit. We are taught early not to rock the boat, to go with the flow. To conform and obey. Just drink this nice refreshing cup of Kool-Aid and welcome to the machine. Which is taken with no complaint or objection, embraced even. Welcome to the cool kids club, where we all think alike, dress alike, act alike, be alike. Individuality is discouraged here, opinions, unless agreed upon by the mob are squeezed out. Your uniqueness is molested and shaped so much that it becomes forgotten or suppressed, eventually destroyed to be replaced by a more socially acceptable uniqueness, one shared by a majority of the population. Seems nobody likes to be alone, to stand alone and I can totally understand this, agree with it? Fuck no but I understand. It’s no fun to be a weirdo, to be a freak. It’s depressing as fuck to be made fun of or ridiculed. It’s a lonely life to be ostracized from a group of people. It’s not like I don’t want friends cause I do. I believe that you’re only as good as the people supporting you, and at times the people supporting me became the person supporting me, with my mother incapable of quiting me, her love that strong. People talk about a ride or die chick and I’m not sure they even exist, except you mom, or at least mine. That’s my real ride or die, fuck the lies given by people just out for what you can get for them or do for them. The hollow promises given by chicks who were there for the dope, girls who were just trying to piss off mom and dad by slumming it with me. I haven’t met many parents cause they typically hate me from the rip, having heard rumors and stories of “who” I am and the things I do and refusing to allow their children to interact with me for fear that whatever is wrong with me might be contagious. Judging me by appearance and police report, never looking past that trash to the person that I really am. It is nuts to me and while I legitimately don’t care about what people think of me or the things I do. It still makes for an unpleasant social life to be most hated, to be public enemy number one. To have people you’ve never met telling stories about you when they were never there to see what actually transpired and probably couldn’t point you out in a line up is retarded. Were all the people that”hate” me given the opportunity to actually meet me I’d bet that at least 40% of those people would actually like me maybe more. But I won’t waste the time and effort required to change their minds. I have no need in my life for hopeless sheep who refuse to think about anyone but themselves, no room to consider their own opinions if there is a group opinion to lock onto, farther pushing them into a mob mentality and a false sense of importance. If you are hungry and I got food I would feed you. If you’re cold with no place to stay and I got a spot, make yourself at home. If there is anything that you need done that I can do then ask and I got you all day. I don’t judge or at least I try not to and even if I did judge it most likely wouldn’t stop me from associating with you. I try to be open-minded which leads me to overlook flaws and mistakes, instead looking at the person as a whole. People make poor choices, that doesn’t mean they are bad people.
Published by devilmonkey666
I'm a hot mess. A 41 year old child who still doesn't know what he wants to be when he grows up. Or even if he wants to grow up for that matter. People say I'm a writer. I'm not so sure. But it is therapeutic and helps me from going all the way left sometimes. View more posts