You may, or may not, be aware that I, Jacob Wolfe, occasionally suffer with mood disorders, the most prominent of which at the moment being apathy. Apathy, simply put, is a severe case of who gives a fuck and includes symptoms such as unusually slow conversational speed, sighing more often than Severus Snape post break-up and the overwhelming urge to do impressions of a boulder at any given moment someone attempts to make you do something. Can I empty the bins? No I can’t, I’m a fucking rock and I’m gonna sit here and do rock things like not emptying bins. Apathy in itself wouldn’t be too much of a problem if it weren’t so spontaneous and didn’t come with the option to switch over to being an unbearably explosive nutcase when the whole catatonic gargoyle thing wore thin and my brain didn’t decide to play my emotions on shuffle like I’m a bloody i-Pod.
This is a personal rant, in case you hadn’t guessed, so don’t feel obliged to read on unless you want to see into the heart and mind of the man behind the rant, and if so please leave your coats, knives and unnecessary comments at the door where my non-existent fuck-giving attendant will hold onto them for you until such a time I decide to give a damn. Arrogance is possibly what I’m best known for, but I mostly use said arrogance to give me a means of self-defence against criticism, a lack of popularity and the disapproval of others with the idea being ‘So what if he thinks I’m a prat, I think I’m awesome’ and this is a great idea in theory until even you are calling yourself a prat then you fall at every hurdle like a donkey with four broken kneecaps. However, there is more to me than this arrogance and macho character I like to think I am and that is this overwhelming desire to be remembered as a lover and a man of honour, which can often lead to difficult decisions where one forsakes the other and so on. I want to die knowing that when I’m gone, someone will cry at the funeral and someone will say the words
“We mourn the loss of Jacob George Wolfe, a man who lived and died by his beliefs and would sooner die with honour intact, than live on a thief and a coward”
Dramatic, maybe, but the world is a stage after all so call me a full on variety show with masked dancers, monologues and the like. I’ve put apathy aside for now and tried to enter a sincere frame of mind to tell you all that what worries most is that as I am right now, a temperamental and exceedingly impatient old man, that I may just burn down every bridge around me and leave myself on lonely island with just my conscience for company.
“Cocked that up eh? Man of honour eh? You’re full of shit and then you wonder why people complain about the smell when you insist on unloading said shit onto everyone else’s heads?”
I’ve got a good circle of friends and my girlfriend, Alice, is the most supportive woman I’ve ever met and could possibly ever ask for and bless her heart, she’s seen me change from the happy-go-lucky cowboy who never says die to a greyhound with a limp and no nose. I talk about this like it happened over years, but I was the kind of guy who reckoned he could punch through brick no less than two years ago. I hear my former self sneer at me at times and demand of me that I get up on my feet and stop being such a pussy but having no ground to stand on makes getting up a damn site harder. Literally feels like a lifetime ago I was the king but it was only just yesterday in the grand scale of things so I know I can undo the damage I’ve done to myself as swiftly as I’ve done it.
You hear that world? I’m down but not out, and I might be weak at this moment in time but I want you to think that so you get cocky and put your foot down on my back, because then it’ll make getting up and kicking your arse all the more satisfying. Rest assured, I was kicking the shit out of you once upon a time, with a smirk on my face as I did so, and I will do so once again if it means I die straight afterwards. I’m not the only one coming back up from the depths of hell though; you know you can do the same if it means that much to you. You, the anxious, the unloved, the sick, the poor, should all rise up and fight your battles once again because there is no defeat as long as there is blood in your veins to lose.
Give me my victory or give me my death.