I was advised to censor these sentiments from my website
Dad always said that when you give something, anything, to a someone to help them, never ever expect anything in return. The nature of giving, obviously, is to not want anything back. But to give because it’s good, it’s humane, it’s what makes us compassionate creatures. It’s the only salvageable trait we have as animals.
Giving is selfish. It makes one feel good. But that’s how proponents of giving sell it. With me, I think, it’s just a way to feel liked by others. It’s a desperate attempt to make friends, to be noticed. All it does is make me stupid, a laughing stock to people who know my pathetic ways.
Since high school and college through to now, I can think of so many times I’ve been there for people who couldn’t inconvenience themselves to help me out when I needed it. As though it’s not a blow to my pride to ask for something; when I do, it’s to no avail. The very people for whom I bend over backwards fuck me over.
Some may say I’m demanding. I know I am, but I would never ask anyone to do something for me I wouldn’t do for them without hesitation. I know instead of being the things I want to be, I get taken advantage of so onlookers can sigh and think I’m an idiot for the traits I think are right as I’m wronged. This won’t change in me either. I’ll suffer forever because I can’t say no. I can’t believe in someone, care about them, and not facilitate their success in every way I can. My mistake is when I am weak, when I need help… I’m so sad, angry, and hurt when the very people I believe in let me down. They’re not there for me like I’m there for them.
I can’t possibly blame anyone else for what I bring onto myself. I know that as I’m paying someone’s way, giving somebody a place to live, making an introduction, spending time on somebody else’s project—there’s no way I’ll be afforded the same consideration when I need it.
The mistake I make is that despite my own father’s advice, I do expect the same sense of humanity I maintain for others. So in the end, what do I really expect out of people?
I live in New York City. I’ve written about this before, where I believe it’s the beast that resides within every desperate soul making a living here, that even the most sensible considerate people will ditch on you out of necessity to survive.
As humans, we’re really just a part of a larger social organism. In science class, we’d filter a sea sponge to separate the cells. And even though each cell is physically capable of living on its own, independent of the others, it never does. That’s how we are.
My inherent need to contribute to the larger organism of my social group overwhelms my senses. I put myself out for others and am stepped on when their instinct to advance overwhelms them. So not only do I know not to expect anything, I know they can’t help but dick me over. Yet I still wallow in my mediocrity and self-pity; even worse, my wonderment when someone’s going to ever believe in me for once.
For being someone raised in a loving middle class home, I don’t live a charmed life. I’m “so determined” to become something I’ll never be because I’m not as ruthless as others have been to me. Instead of learning from these people, I get over the bought of depression fueling this entry and do it to myself again.
It’s like contributing to society, like I really want to, is a mere delusion. My true purpose is to make a difference on the local level by being taken advantage of, it seems is all I’m cut out for. Leading a life as a jack of all trades instead of being good at anything real is all I’m going to amount to. Which should be okay, but it’s not. I have a nagging feeling I should be doing more. Then when I’m not doing it, I am sad.
I’m almost thirty years old and all I have going for me is a bad credit rating and a miserable time at what I am doing. I want to tell stories that people enjoy and even learn from, yet I’m destined to be hurt, angry, disappointed, and laughed at for being such a gullible idiot. And that’s it.
Granted, all I’m doing here is feeling sorry for me. But, to me, my life merits reflection when I’m in a desperate spot. Others, too, I’m sure ask themselves where they went wrong in these times of strife. I just happen to type it out and you happen to be the unfortunate soul who has read this far.
What makes this so bad is that my life’s work, the stories I want to tell the world, are totally moot when I think about it. The more I read, the more I learn that we’re wired for war. There’s no solution for ever getting along.
In general, individuals may prove intelligent, but the masses—the larger social organism—can be quite retarded. The struggle for being on top of the pecking order is intense, it’s real, and it’s undeniable. It’s in our chemical make up. If that’s the case, then why help the underdog get on top so they can reign? And we start all over again, back to one.
These changes happen over the course of time, over generations, millenniums, whatever. That’s how history repeats itself and that’s why we never learn. It’s a mere change in the pecking order and starting over again.
It’s why debeer’s can have a monopoly over the diamond industry, then fall from grace. It’s why super powers that were on top centuries ago have given it to the United States. That’s why the US will soon have to give it up. That’s why the ones on top violently resist changes because they know it means eventually being on the bottom.
So not only do I agonize over my mediocrity, others taking a break from thinking of only themselves after all I’ve done for them, and trying to actually accomplish worth something worth while… is pointless.
All I should care about is my own offspring and making a future for them. A task most people do without thinking, but I must scrutinize the ways to influence masses to care for the future as well. I’m so compelled, paranoid, and anxiety-ridden about it, it’s crippling. I lack the sense to just do what it takes and instead stew over ways to fix it, and cry when no body wants to help me.