A Wolf Without Claws

This will not be cheerful

You may have noticed a lot of personal posts and that funny posts are far and few between up here. I told you all I was self-medicating for possible depression and that initially it was working out for me, aside from the fact the effects were short bursts of joy that melted into apathy, but still it was progress. I saw my GP and he sent me away with a questionnaire to fill in about how depressed I am; whether or not I sleep well, eat well, hurt myself, think about ending my own life, enjoy what I do, and unsurprisingly I scored in the twenties on a scale of twenty seven for depression so I now have to return this form and see what he will do with me. I scare myself at times because I don’t feel like myself and though I’m cynical by nature, sometimes I lose the plot entirely and freak out at anyone who I think will take it. I feel safe to explode and be emotional around loved ones, but now my girlfriend weeps for me and I’ve lost friends due to it. I know some of you will say that I deserve it, and you’ll smile like a smug little shit that my world is falling apart around me because I’m an arse but I come to you humbly to say that this is just how things are, you needn’t make comment at all.

I want to rant more, to make you all laugh and smile. I encourage people to laugh at my expense because even then, they are smiling and I am the reason for it. This blog has given me so much pride in my ability as a writer because just two days ago, I got 100 views in one night and I was ecstatic about it. Writing is my passion because, though I sound the arrogant twat in written form, in reality I barely speak a word to anyone about anything – my own family and girlfriend included. I’m a reserved man and save all emotions for those I think I can trust enough to witness them, but otherwise I am playing as myself through smoked glass for social reasons. I’ve hurt many friends, and made many enemies either through being a pigheaded fool or through trying to defend something, and my life is full of people who will never speak to me again. I never gave it much thought but recently, it’s started to hurt and all the scars of my past ache as one inside my head, laughing at me for my failures in life. I used to just power my way through anything and everything and thought myself the greatest man alive when I was younger, and even now the arrogance I display is that of self-assured superiority of intellect and complexity than my peers but ultimately it is all just a bluff, a safeguard to hide the shame I feel in being me.

Friends and lovers, you are exceptional creatures if you truly value me as something more than a destructive and unsocial monstrosity that you manage to cope with because there are times when I really don’t like myself. My enemies, and there are many, love to look down upon me as this scheming and filthy little cretin that plagues their existence and should be snuffed out and though I loathe being patronised and looked down upon, especially by those whom I do not consider greater beings, I cannot do much more than bark. I’m weak, physically and mentally, and have been for some time. I used to fight off all enemies with ease and would crush anyone who dared speak against me but now I can’t find the strength to swat a fly. I’m falling apart and my whole world is crashing and burning but I don’t write to you to beg for the mercy of my fellow men but to tell them that if this is what they sought, they have won. I am a broken man, a wolf without claws. Look at me now, revealing the weakness in my heart to an anonymous sea of glaring screens and scrutinising eyes that look to me and expect to see something. A hero, a comedian, a fool, a monster – I am all these things and none, for I fear I cannot remember who I truly am or who I truly wanted to be. I wanted only to live for love and honour, to make my mother proud of the son who hesitated and cowered in fear, and to show the world that I am a man to be recognised through the words of my soul.

This was inevitable and now I am lost inside of myself, fighting a war in my own head as to who I should be? Does this chaos justify anger? Fear? Should I weep and beg for salvation? Should I shift the blame for what went wrong in my life to my situation or onto others? Was I ever justified in anything I did in my life, or does justice count for nothing in this age? I must seek answers within myself and my past if I am to have a future where I can call myself a man of the people and ever hope to mend the broken bridges between myself and this world we live in.


Muse and Madness (Originally Published – 28th January 2013)

You know it seems that everytime you are determined to get up on your feet, Lady Fate grows steel fangs out of her vagina and rips your dick off before clubbing you round the head with it until you’re spitting blood and semen then proceeds to shove cold hard realities up your nose with an ice pick. I realise I’m a man who spends all day beating his head against a concrete wall and hoping it’ll fall over, and granted if it does, I will have a huge sense of acheivement in lieu of no other senses whatsoever. Determination and patience are two great virtues to have in life, but aside from becoming a fisherman or a surgeon, it can often seems that these virtues get you nowhere in a world that revolves around the principal ‘I’m alright, thanks for asking, now roll over and die so I can steal the clothes on your back’

I’m not entirely cynical, but give it a few weeks and I’ll probably get there at this rate. Life isn’t all bad, recently managed to convince the staff at college that my attendance isn’t dropping because of a bad case of skiveritus, but simply exhaustion from being me, which is fair enough apparently and warrants emotional support from a councillor if needs be. I thought I was deserving of a medal for putting up with myself for 18 years; I can be awful to live with and I hate my habit of overdoing it today, then paying for it tomorrow, or that terrible ‘Pick it up, put it down inside of a temporal wormhole so it won’t be where I left it’ habit I go about sticking to with every piece of coursework I write, and about four different memory sticks. I do have a number of good friends and family members I can count on and in all fairness, I’m not dead, nor dying, so I’m sticking around for a good while yet and compared to some, my issues are little more than a spec of dust.

So what am I ranting about these days? I notice the subjects are becoming increasingly arbitrary due to a distinct inability to focus on one topic and just vent a vile stream of angry shit at it until my lungs give in and my fingers combust from typing so furious, the laptop will develop consciousness only to scream in pain as I mash its buttons into a plastic pulp on a silicon slab like some bizarre pizza. Well I’m kind of ranting at myself for this concrete induced head trauma I have called life, and not realising sooner some things aren’t worth sticking to. Being a carer is worth sticking to, especially out of love (Yes, I have emotions. Deal with it), and having a social life and an education is also worth sticking to because they’re generally seen as useful things to have in life but my habit of playing the polite butler to every ingrate under the sun who I called a friend in the long forgotten days of yesteryear probably isn’t a good idea. I often find myself pandering to the needs of people who, when the day comes, offer little more thanks than a paragraph of twoddle then vanishing off the radar. Thanks a bloody bunch. Inevitably, I’ll say this then go back to my ‘Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir’ approach to these people but maybe if I come back and read this note once in a while, I’ll break out of that habit. Hear that future Jacob, you spineless prick? You have balls, use them for more than just an air flap between your furry thighs!

I would encourage everyone here today to do the same, leave a note to yourself that you can easily access that says ‘Oi twatface, stop doing that thing you wish you didn’t do!’ and maybe we’ll grow as people or just tear up said note and insult our past selves to no avail. I look back at my old self and laugh at a reckless, arrogant twat who thought he was god incarnate, did everything he wanted to do without a care in the world for who it hurt and so got himself fucked up royal by Karma. Moron. Now I’m just the arrogant bit, but it comes with a side order of experience and some consideration for things beyond the end of my nose and or penis. Ultimately, do what you want to do but learn to stop doing the things you know you’re still doing wrong, and I’ll try to do the same (Except the being a prick bit, I find arrogance is great for deflecting insults)