Not Qualified To Continue
The Spartans were a hardy bunch. So hardy, in fact, that even their babies needed to meet Spartan specs else the tykes would wind up on a Spartan hill, exposed to the blazing Greek sun until they breathed no more.
I have decided that I am a Spartan baby who somehow escaped the execution of that harsh, but necessary, judgment.
It takes a certain fortitude to survive society as you know it. Not as I know it, since I can see and feel it, but I clearly don’t understand it nor do I connect with it. Oh, I do my best, but if I haven’t figured it out by now, I accept that I probably never will.
At the outset of this blog, my concept was to track my thoughts and feelings as I climbed the hill of change to full personhood, as a recovering misanthrope. In looking back, I see a lot of ping-ponging back and forth, but not enough “progress” to be meaningful. I think I’m just not exactly fit to exist in the world and I’m not content to be a drone, simply earning a few bucks to take care of obligations and hangers-on, so, why not end it? The Spartans had the right idea after all.
It’s all too difficult and too painful. Change is slow if at all and each step forward creates a debt for at least one step backward at some point in the future. There are humans that are simply waiting to prey on the weak, just waiting for someone like me, if not exactly me, to pass by their lair so that they can ground, disembowel and slowly feast on the entrails of my soul. I know at least one such person that’s doing that to me right now. But this isn’t about singling anyone else out except me.
It’s my failing that I have little contact with my daughter, that my brother wants to kill me and that my ex-wife wants to help. I could have and should have recognised the warning signs and made changes before things got too far. I should have negotited my way out of the way before it was too late. It doesn’t matter that I’m right or wrong. As long as the strong have positioned themselves for maximum killing force, the weaker must negotiate or be eaten, slowly and while still alive.
So, I’m going to put a stop to it all, once and for all. This is my suicide note. Goodbye cruel world. I gave you a chance and I’m sorry I couldn’t do a better job. For your pleasure and entertainment, I will, of course, take my insipid time knocking myself off so that you can observe and be sated by my slow, painful and certain demise. To those who think they love me, you can’t stop me. My mind is made up. Oh, I will lie to you and tell you that this is really fiction so that you can’t have me locked up. And you’ll never really be certain if it was intentional. But I’ll be and that will be what counts.
Well, gotta go. Sparta’s waiting.