An Insight Into How Pain Feels
I don’t want to leave here. I just can’t abide the monotony of it all on occasions. But it is more than that. It has evolved into a complete intolerance and hatred for everything.
I have embarked on a quest to design the shittest possible life for myself; full of self-imposed rules and compliance. Shackled to my childhood. Shackled to a town where I have few friends; and my Son.
We are told to be grateful; told to terminate displeasure. But, high on green tea and sugar my brain cannot compute its daily obligations to stay ‘on track’ — to stay happy. I crash. I burn down any remnants of pleasantries between my Son’s mother and I. As she throws a stone at me I respond with an anvil. The communication severed until the next dutiful parent-bound oral necessity.
I am wandering this planet alone, even when I’m surrounded by others. There are fucking 8 billion people — and I can’t fucking get on with any of them. My son. He fucking loves me. Thank God for this.
The trauma I carry from 39 years ago. It haunts me as much today as it did then. Now, however, the difference is that I am conscious. And now, the only addictions left are green tea, sugar and masturbation. Once I have dropped my Son back at his mothers’ and covered up the anguish, I retreat home and indulge in my vices until I am left empty and void.
Only then can I start to feel the loneliness and shame that was drilled into me as a kid.
But I am conscious of what is happening and paralysed by its power. It’s like I drug myself and watch my own paralysis. Inside my own brain — just fucking at my own suffering.
The weed, the cigarettes, the cocaine, the alcohol, the gambling, the amphetamines, the sex. These used to be the only remedy to forget the feeling. It could last for hours, for days. But now, I just crash from the sugar. I nap for 15 minutes and I awaken again to it all.
I sit perilously in my own existence awaiting the minute I get my Son again. I don’t just wait. I distract myself with every fucking thing I can. Picking up no friends along the way. I have no one to report to. Two years I remained celibate in a desperate attempt to sort myself out. In a desperate attempt not to injure another fowl. But, man was not designed to live alone.
I am on an urgent march to get this sorted as I can’t stay alone much longer.
Originally published at https://deanohewitts.com on January 26, 2022.
