White trash Dr. Phil

It’s is amazing to me how many experts I have out there about my life, who I am and what I do. It would appear that there are at least 5 and maybe more people who know more about me then I do about myself. All the answers to all of my problems, advice on how to be successful and happy in my own skin. An elite group I’m sure, full of the very cream of the crop. Not one of them has a care in the world, they’ve mastered this game of life and are qualified to cast judgement on peons like me. Ha. Yeah right. Y’all feel an urge to save me but it’s not me that needs to be saved. Sitting there talking down to me about the drugs that I do, in between shots off the bottle, or followed up with a handful of prescription pills. Talking to me about how I should feel about not having my kids in my life, and what I need to do in order to change the fact, yet having absolutely zero real information about the situation and just making broad assumptions which are nowhere near the mark. First off, can I see your degree in psychology? Shouldn’t it be hanging from the wall? Or are you more like a life coach? Or maybe you’re just a prick. Some high and mighty asshole who has earned, through his/her very successful, almost spotless life, the right to talk about shit you know nothing about. Things that besides not being any of your business are sensitive in nature and can possibly hurt people’s feelings and destroy people’s relationships if not handled correctly. But by all means, telling me about what a fuck up I am. Please tell me how I’m feeling and what I’m thinking because I really don’t think I could figure it out on my own. Fabricate situations and events so that they fit your therory and boost your righteousness but first take another shot. Don’t read this wrong, I’m a wreck. I have no idea what I’m doing. I live inside my head 24/7 and I still have very little clue as to how and “fix” Jason, if there’s even anything to fix. I’m not happy, I suffer from depression and anxiety. I miss my kids and I am not doing everything I can to remedy that. I know that I could be/should be doing more, but I’m scared. If that makes sense. If it doesn’t fuck you cause I don’t care if I make sense to you at all. I don’t care if you’re proud of me or if what I’m doing disappoints you, in fact why does it matter so much to you anyways. I am the kind of guy who learns hands on, I need to live it to learn it. I know that most of you just love me and care about me and so your therapy comes from your heart regardless of whether or not it helps mine. Y’all live in a world set aside from my own and so what is important to you, the things that you require to be content, well they aren’t anything like those which I require. But you wouldn’t know that because you believe that yours is the only way, which it’s not. There is no end to the possibilities given the right environment and opportunity. Secondly, who says I need to be fixed? Who said I was broken? Maybe I was made like this. Maybe this isn’t how the pieces fell, maybe this is how they were stacked. And maybe in order for me to find my happy place I need to first experience my sad one. In 41 almost 42 years in this meat puppet, I am not any closer to figuring it out then I was when I was 8. I’m still not quite sure what I am. Who I am? I’ve got that one dialed in but what I am? I really don’t know. I have a couple ideas as to what I want to be, but they are always changing, shifting, sliding. As to who I am, well that’s pretty much an open book. I’ve never hid that, never hid from it. All my life I’ve been brutally, awkwardly, rawly Jason. Marching proudly to a song that only I can hear. I very rarely give advice, I don’t like telling people what to do. I try to mind my own business as much as possible and regardless of what I think or how I feel, your opinion is the only opinion that really matters when it comes to your life, your ride. I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what it took to be you. I got no idea what you’ve been through or how those things affected you. I couldn’t imagine what life was like for anybody but me. And I don’t think you need to be fixed.

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.

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