Okay. I had to let go of my rage. I can’t afford to waste any more energy. I do apologize for throwing all cops under the bus in my anger, knowing not all of them are racist pricks. None have ever abused their authority with me (that I know of.) My fears, although rational, are frustrating because I can’t identify a racist by sight. Unless they’re wearing a MAGAt uniform or something, that is. (No hesitation to say that with confidence anymore, dontchaknow. The bridge pic in front of a youth indoctrination center in my last post did it.)
I decided I’m not going to respond to the letter. If the police show up, come what may. I’m not thick enough to answer the door. I’m not likely to forget I’m black. 😂🤣 Yep. I’m bitter. I think it’s because being hated doesn’t grant me the ability to hate back. Heather was a racist by age seven. I don’t think it’s fair I can’t even fake it. We had the same freaking environment and were only 13 months apart. This can’t be my planet.
I told M. to give me a week before we talk about him coming back. You know why so many veterans succeed at committing suicide? It’s because we’re trained to only attempt that which we’re sure to acomplish. We instinctively include redundancy, and don’t shy away from gruesomely violent methods. We’re also more likely to own weapons. Twenty-two veterans will commit suicide today, according to statistics. (Google it. I’m cranky.) And tomorrow. And the day after that. You get it. (I’m being morbid because I’m hurt, offended, and not trying very hard to adult.)
I think the veteran suicide rate is by design. Mostly because it makes fiscal sense. If you’ve read more than a few of my posts, you know I analyze the shit out of everything. Why the hell do you think I joined the Army? Sure, partly because I was an arrogant, spoiled rotten brat an inch away from rationalizing my way into some white collar crime that wasn’t technically invented yet, and I didn’t truthfully want that easy, easy path in life. But mostly because I wanted answers to several questions, am impatient, and didn’t understand what fear meant yet. The shortest distance from spoiled rotten brat to adult was surrendering to Uncle Sam’s ironic call for volunteers.
Oddly, it had to be either the Army or the Marines. I did my research. I didn’t do enough joint operations with Navy or Air Force to narrow down why. Coast Guard seemed a silly choice for a Dakotan. I didn’t consider the Marines at all. I’m pretty confident I would not have lasted another two weeks in boot camp, thankyouverymuch. (Failing basic is usually because you changed your mind, or you got hurt, in my opinion.) The only hard part is acting despite fear, staying awake on fire watch, and living with 49 other children experiencing the same trauma. If you want it enough, you graduate.
I came too close to a meltdown today, so my brain is defragmenting. I’m amazed I’ve stuck to something resembling a topic this long. I’m operating on dark humor and cynicism. (I don’t mind this phase of the process because it mostly amuses me.) This weekend is ruined, though. I can tell I won’t be sleeping anytime soon. I can’t even work on my song because the Muse won’t acknowledge my existence when I’m carrying around negativity for no reason. I already forgave my cat for continuously thwarting my ability to off myself without going through the agonizing mental exercise first. (I haven’t needed a plan in years.)
Yep, I’m that weird. I don’t care. (You wouldn’t either if you were me.) I forgot to eat today. +10 for remembering before midnight. Although, I broke a tooth from grinding my teeth too hard a bit ago. Thanks, Prozac, you evil, dry-mouth causing bitch. Even when I’m just recovering from losing my shit, I’m still aware I have an indefinable bond with my healing sisters, (Stevie Nicks, Amy Lee, Lorde, etc.) It’s probably why I’m able to talk shit while my CPU is under such a heavy load. I’m as strong as I am weird, now. I bet that scares you. 😂 (No, seriously, I hope not.) I’m going to go eat before I type something even more regrettable. Seeya.