Still rambling on Thursday while listening to the rainstorm

Trying to get out of being “stuck on stupid” this week, which is to say to direct my mind away from circling around the same loop of thoughts again and again. Very tough for someone like me who can get quite obsessive with thoughts and feelings, though I realize it’s a road to nowhere. All I’ve been writing on here recently about my past and personal life has all been thought about and rehashed again and again and again over the years, with no real and lasting change brought about even where I uncovered new insights. Because I’m stuck rather than moving forward.

Neurotic? Probably. That’s what happens if you can’t or don’t find a creative outlet for emotions and energy.

I feel trapped by a sense of alienation from most others and by feelings of not measuring up to some mystical standards I’m not even sure of. I’ve watched others’ lives unfold and listened to their happier stories about growing up, and sometimes I feel jealous and saddened, which then makes me feel guilty because I want to be happy for them and do recognize what they had was a good thing that more people really should experience (nurturing, loving family environments, I mean, not reckless spoiling). It’s not their fault that the cards were dealt as they were, just as I suppose it isn’t my fault either for the situation I was born into. Could always be worse, could also have been better. But it’s water under the bridge by this point. I wish this envy would leave me so that the comparisons could fade from my mind and I could just enjoy people’s company without seeing us as being from different walks of life.

But that’s difficult when people judge so harshly, as they are prone to do. It’s embarrassing when they’ve looked down on me and my situation when I was younger, or when as an adult I’ve been judged as worthy for sexual involvement but not love. That made me angry with people. Especially toward women who are so quick to cut others down due to what they perceive as sexual promiscuity or “ungodliness” or otherwise not seeming lady-like enough to want to affiliate with. Most especially when I learn of those same people doing their own dirt covertly, while so loudly denouncing others for nearly the same thing. I have found far too many women to be disingenuous in that way, which is probably part of the reason why I aim to leave them alone nowadays or attract toward older women who aren’t afraid to admit their faults and past experiences and choices.

My own choices have humbled me a bit in terms of recognizing how easy it can be to navigate down the wrong path, pursuing ends that won’t ever satisfy. And I guess I don’t mind speaking about some of that, admitting my wrongdoing or choices I was responsible for making that led to places I wasn’t prepared to go. And yet so few others seem comfortable conversing on that level, preferring instead to elevate themselves at another’s expense by drawing distinctions and forming quick judgments. I don’t like that. But perhaps we’re all prone to thinking like that at times. Good to take notice of it though, so as to correct my thinking and to be open to other people’s humanity despite our differences.

For example, I’ve met several drug users over time. A few lived right here in this building I reside in now. Watched a neighbor struggle with disabilities and drug use only to eventually wind up in jail for allegedly trying to burglarize people’s homes. That was sad since he was such a nice person day to day. We talked on many occasions, or at least the best we could in spite of his quite serious speech impediment. Is he nothing but a criminal and a miscreant? I don’t personally think so. He was just an aging man who’s girlfriend died due to health problems who was trying to figure out how to make ends meet. Not saying what he did was okay or justifiable necessarily, but I did recognize his humanity and found him to be a pretty sweet person. Can’t say the same thing about the meth addicts who used to live downstairs though, or the crackhead who used to live across the hall who banged on my door one time at 3am while all fucked up. Can’t claim all the people I met while living in what I refer to as the “quasi-ghetto” in another big city were all upstanding individuals, but some of them really surprised me and a few turned into friends, a couple of whom I still talk to occasionally. One went to prison before I met him for meth amphetamines, came out and flew straight for a while before the system picked him up again on something that wouldn’t have been such a big deal had he not been registered already as a felon. He’s had a really tough go in this life overall, and yet he’s a sweet human being who’s hard-working, loves his mom, and is a loyal friend to those he trusts.

Good people are everywhere if we’re open to them and can see beyond their pasts or their lack of education or their crazy ways. I am glad at least that life has prepared me to understand that much. Unfortunately my bias tends to run the other way toward those raised up with money and seeming like they have it all. It tends to be very hard for me to relate on a deep level with people like that, because I come at them with automatic distrust and assumptions partly, I assume, because it feels like they come at me and others in the same spirit.

My companion said last night that I have a problem with humanity, and I think that’s partially true. He’s open to a wider array of folks, but then again, he tends to be very judgmental at times himself, especially toward those deemed low-class. He doesn’t see me in that light and therefore didn’t judge me that way, but he has admitted that had I lived on the other side of town when he first met me, he would have. Funny how biases divvy up as they do.

I never minded living in a trailer when I was with my Grandparents. Never minded those in my family who worked in blue-collar professions or drove trucks or sold items roadside for a living. Some others did, and of course Mississippians do love to share their opinions. Didn’t bother me too much back then though since I had pride. But moving up North and living in the suburbs was a trip, and the people I met there seemed so incredibly disconnected from the reality I had known before. Even my stepdad seemed so totally disconnected himself once he relocated to the Midwest.

It bothers me when people try moving up the “ladder of success” only to lose touch with where their own people once came from.

Seems like Papa’s death left all kinds of voids. Right before and after, several people went away. Likely better off without them, I know, but it still seemed awfully harsh.

And I’ve become stuck in a loop in my mind since. Nervous about getting back out there to meet new people until I’ve formulated stronger boundaries and regained more emotional control over myself.

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