I think it is a bit redundant, but I will say it here anyway. I think all Human beings, regardless of their variances, have some form of set point that they get used to or find comfort in, and will do anything to get back to. This is especially the case for autistic people, emotionally ill people, or people who fit both descriptions.
And like it or not, people are less and less able to reset their point as they grow older. As children, a few moves from place to place, whilst disruptive, can be taken in stride. When we are fully grown and have ties to an area, moving away from it can cause a great deal of distress. Especially when one begins to feel that there is no place for them in the place that they have arrived in. And such was the case for me the entire time I was out of Sydney. But that is not what this is about.
When a person is brought up in such a constant state of general distress and disfavour that they start to think it a normal state of affairs on some level, they never really leave it. As the song goes, I know I do not deserve to be here, but I know I will never leave. And that is what keeps me up at nights, or struggling not to burst into tears, or trying not to upset the people I care about the most. This simple knowledge, taken as read, that my life and fate were pretty much decided for me when I was born. They like to sew fantasies in your head of having a wild stroke of luck or somehow winning something that changes your station in life completely. Knowing it to be bullshit turns it into one of the cruellest taunts that we are given.
And as with everything in an interdependent society, this has a roll-on effect. Not only will my life not be improved by the things I vainly try to get out to the wider world, nor will the lives of others be improved. The cycle will just continue. That is the biggest factor in why I just want to be put in a bag and thrown out. I know it sounds like I am lying, but if I could reach just one little boy who is being beaten with a cleaning brush for being lied about at school and tell him that he does not have to take that shit, now or ever, then I will be okay with being alive. Until that happens, everything feels like a waste.
It was trendy when I was a teenager to say that hate comes from fear. Bullshit. Hate comes from a number of sources, all of them with their “pros” and “cons”. I do not hate Hillary Clinton, for example, because I am afraid of her. I hate her because she gets chummy with curebies, thanks them for promoting my genocide, and then has the gall to tell us that she should be leading what is arguably the world’s most powerful nation. Fortunately, she was passed over in favour of another candidate, but I am spitting chips now that the woman said candidate, now President, appointed to a big position has apologised for calling her a monster. Let me make this clear to you. Hillary Clinton is, and now always shall be, a monster to my mind. There is no way to explain my hate of Hillary Clinton other than it being a natural law. When someone issues threats of genocide against you based on a characteristic you did not even know you possessed until you were around twenty-five years old, you hate them. Anything else is like a tiger not hunting.
And hate is often motivated by love. Funny, no? If you see people you love being forced into second-class citizen status for a characteristic that they cannot help or because someone mistreated them very badly in the past, you hate the people forcing them there.
Something inside me broke last December. I mean really broke. The advantage of an openly-declared war is that not only do you know where your enemy is and what they look like, so do the people sitting on the sidelines. Curebies know that they cannot fight an open war of attrition. Too many people adversely affected by such would simply stop pissing about on the sidelines and actively come to help our side. So, much like a CIA war, this war is being fought in the shadows, in the court of public opinion and political policy. The problem with this being that the manner in which the enemy is prosecuting this war is causing real people real harm that no number of repetitions of the word “sorry” can ever fix.
In a way, the greatest injustice is not what has been done, but rather what has not been done. Even today, in the wake of a national disability movement that is basically about supports being put in place so that disabled individuals can live like Human beings, not a shred of effort is being made to correct past mistakes. They simply throw people born before 1990 away and say forget you, we do not want to know about you, and expect a positive response.
And all my promises are lies, all my love is hate; I am the politician, and I decide your fate
Lemmy Kilmister believed, and probably still believes, the song that the above quote is from, Orgasmatron, to be his lyrical masterpiece. As a description of how I believe the rest of the world really sees me, it has very few equals, and even fewer superiors.
In other words, your world sucks, normies, and I want no part of it.