I’ve had a really shitty Christmas. My family is so fucked up they make the Manson family look like the Cleavers. I’ve got a sister who’s batshit crazy and hooked on alcohol, a daughter who’s a junkie telling everyone she’s an “addict in recovery” when she’s still actively using (and is surrounded by enablers including her husband), a mother who’s attention span is as long as the amount of time it takes until she sees something shiny, or a bird, or some wild thought enters her mind making it impossible to have a conversation with her, a brother who’s dying of brain cancer, and a father who’s silence and “there but passive non participation” allowed an abusive mother to physically and emotionally abuse a couple of her kids, (one being me, the other my batshit crazy sister).
My daughter uses my grandkids as a weapon allowing access to them, then taking it away if anyone (mostly me) tries to get her to come clean (literally and figuratively). My son in law is a self righteous loser who’s mother taught him the most important things in life; how to be a basement dweller and take advantage of every situation, then manipulate it to his advantage. The entire side of the in-laws have formed a freakish kind of cult (enter Deliverance banjo music) which only allows certain people in, that they alone make the call on whether or not they are acceptable. My daughter’s husband has insisted she dump all her long time friends because he doesn’t approve of them. (But his junkie habitual criminal sister is perfectly o.k. for her to hang with.)
It should then come as no surprise that I sequestered myself from all of it and have made some decisions which will change the course of my future.
The first decision I made was to jump off the highest bridge into the traffic flying by below. I was ready. I was seriously considering 12/25/15 as being the very last day of my life. I was in my car, driving around, found the bridge, then parked off to the side for a while until I got up the nerve to do it. I figured I’d check my email one last time. No one but dumbshits and spam there. Check! Deleted my Facebook account. Check! Checked Twitter and told all those who deserved it to fuck off one last time, then deleted it. Check! Lit one last cigarette. Check! Then visited a few of my favorite websites one last time. This may be hard to believe, but every fucking word of it is true.
I tried it once before with pills and alcohol but I’m not much of a drinker and threw up all the pills before they had the chance to do their deed. I woke up with a bad hangover that lasted for days, but recovered. Since then, the thought of suicide comes as naturally to me as taking a shit does to most people. It happens every day, and sometimes more than once. Sometimes I’m shooting myself. Other times I’m driving 100 mph into a tree trunk. I’m an authentically depressed person. I’ve taken meds for it but they really only make me have enough energy to actually carry it out. So instead I do a lot of reading, and a lot of bitching and moaning (mainly to myself), and just keep going. I stay busy. I’d gotten it to the point where the thought of offing myself could be quickly dispensed with as an irrational thought (which is exactly what it is), so quickly it would go by almost without notice.
The dysfunction in my life reached critical mass on Christmas Eve. No method I’ve tried has been able to help my daughter. The pain I feel at not being able to have a normal family, and spend as much time as I’d like around my grand kids is so profound that I can’t sleep. I can’t calm myself. Nothing I’ve done or not done has earned the support of my parental units. I hate where I live. I hate my job. I hate the debased condition our global society is in. There doesn’t seem to be any hope that anything will get better.
So there I was, sitting by a high bridge, phablet in hand, thumbing through the websites I read regularly and happened upon Stares at the World written by Davis Aurini. I hadn’t read him in a while because of my disappointment over his not protecting his brand by getting hooked up with that cock muncher Jordan Owen. Dude, seriously, never get in bed with a pasty liberal. Your project, which could have been a real earth shaker, and had the potential to force monumental changes within gaming journalism and beyond, was a complete disaster.
But being an ex Star Wars fan I couldn’t resist reading his article “Star Wars: The Force Awakens: The Pre-Sexual Fantasies of a Broken Boy.” It took me about 20 minutes to read. I read it again. And doubled back on a couple of points that really stayed with me. I copied and pasted a few things to my cloud storage, then scratched my head and chuckled. Why the fuck am I saving shit to the cloud when all I’m going to do in a minute or two is jump off the fucking bridge right in front of me?
In an instant the urge to die left me, and all it took was a fucking article on the internet.
Now Aurini, if you’re reading this, which is unlikely because no one knows about this shitty little website yet, don’t get all faggoty on me. I ain’t after your dick. I’m into the ladies which are few and far between these days. Never the less, I thought it important to say this shit because credit given where credit is due. Or however that saying goes.
I will try to explain why a relatively benign article (not meaning not important, but meaning not flagrantly inflammatory – which is the type of article that usually stirs me), prevented me from jumping off that bridge.
It was elegant.
I’m a white guy. I’m not privileged. Quite the contrary as my upbringing was a harsh one. I don’t make a lot of money. I get passed over by less qualified minorities and women. All I see getting the attention of our racially divisive President is all those poor black thugs getting treated like any white man would if they had committed a crime or were acting in a suspicious manner. A friend of mine’s girlfriend got the shit beat out of her by a pack of wild female niggers. They shouted racial slurs at her as they stomped her head. She spent 2 months in a coma, and had to learn to walk again. Local news didn’t even fucking cover it!
So when I read Davis saying things like:
“Listen up, White Man: J.J. Abrams hates you. He relishes the thought of your extinction as he looks forward to a multi-culti matriarchy where instead of studying math and sciences, everyone sits around discussing their feelings. As for you, Black Man, he doesn’t want your extinction – you get to prance about doing monkey shine, so long as you obey your white, feminist overlords.”
I’m like, holy fucking shit, someone said it! Someone is actually fucking saying it! And then:
“The underlying message of the movie is that men – and White men in particular – are useless, destructive, failures, who need to get out of the way so that society can finally progress
First we have the character of Rey – aka Feminist Skywalker. In the originals, Luke Skywalker was a callow youth (Episode 4), who grew into a hot-tempered fool (Episode 5), before eventually becoming a seasoned warrior (Episode 6), through the tutelage of his elders (Obi Wan and Yoda), and the supportive friendship of his peers (Han Solo and Wedge Antilles). Feminist Skywalker, on the other hand, came out of the womb, already an expert on everything. Despite growing up as an orphan with no finances or support structure, she taught herself to be an expert at motorcycling, scrapping old tech, surviving independently, and fixing starships (in one scene, Han Solo relies upon her to fix the Millenium Falcon when he can’t figure it out), then – when she finds out that she’s a Jedi – she immediately “levels up” to the point where she can fight Not Darth Vader, despite never having held a lightsaber before.“
He gets it. Other guys writing out there get it too, but something about the way he worded it stayed with me. It simultaneously flipped one switch off while switching another on. He succinctly points out what all of us have known about feminism at large, while using a common interest in pop culture to express a truth. I saw the movie, and he is dead fucking on in his analysis.
“The blame for this star war can be assigned entirely to his dick.”
I laughed out loud in my car at that. Oh how I can relate to that one sentence.
“Finally we have Mace Dindu, the Black Stormtrooper…
the only reason he finally nuts up and fights Not Darth Vader is because he got the scent Feminist Skywalker’s White Pussy into his nose-
-and the first rule for being a Black Bull is that shemakes the rules. Grunt for her, monkey boy: the Cuck’s all Ego, and you’re nothing but Id. The female Superego is your true master.
Bwwaahahahahaha! O.k., I really didn’t want to kill myself anymore. As I read further I realized that all my problems are totally doable; I just need to find a way to cope.
” The delusions of broken boys like Abrams can’t change that – they can only pervert it. “
And there I was, thinking I was the broken boy. I’m somewhat damaged, but not broken. I’ve got my flaws, but they aren’t fatal. Reading on, I began to feel embarrassed that I was even where I was at that moment; sitting in my car in front of a bridge which I planned on hurling myself off of. There are others out there way more fucked up than me and they’re making fucking millions shitting out sub standard movies.
When a few of us were watching a stupid movie a few months ago, and in that movie one of the actors mentioned a website called bloodyfissures.com, we decided that would be a fucking awesome name for a website. We checked to see if it was really taken, and lo and behold it wasn’t. We bought it, then started making plans for what we wanted to put on it. A couple of days ago I didn’t think I was going to make good on my part of the commitment, but now I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to get bloody rich writing shit for a website, but at least I’ve got something to keep me busy until the next time I’m sitting in front of a bridge ready to jump.
I guess the point I’m trying to make is that totally normal seeming people may be at the end of their rope and ready to let go. Words do matter. It doesn’t matter what side of the argument you’re writing for, you have the ability to impact someone’s life. In my case, through reading Aurini’s piece I was able to keep the demons at bay long enough to become rational again. The things he said resonated with me. I understood and agreed with his perspectives. People are beginning to openly talk about race, and aren’t running scared. So don’t think I’m getting all gooey and shit over Aurini by writing this. It was really a simple process for me: I was at my end, was ready to jump, went through a ritual that I’m sure many other depressed people go through right before they do themselves in, (getting things in order – in my case searching for last minute life lines then rage quitting everything), stumbled upon a weird quirk of fate, then somehow forgot why I wanted to die.
I put the keys in the ignition, drove away from that bridge, went home, watched the entire series of Terra Nova, then called my mom to make sure my brother made it through brain surgery o.k. (He did.) I decided, despite it making me look like an pathetic psycho loser, I would put what had just happened to me in writing. So here you go. I doubt it will have as profound as an effect on others as did Aurini’s piece on me, but maybe it will at least help other guys out there who may feel they are as pathetic a loser as me know that they aren’t alone in feeling shitty over the holidays.
P.s. Davis, seriously dude, protect your brand. Don’t get in bed with cunty liberals ever again. We all need to believe in you.
P.p.s I don’t care much for Christmas either.