Precipice

To live is to stand on the edge of a precipice. All it takes is one slip, and down into eternal darkness we fall. So we cling to the ledge with all our might. But the longer we hold on, the weaker we get. And eventually, inevitably, our strength gives out.

Faced with this stark reality, it's no wonder that man invented a loving God. "I give to you life, as a gift and a test. Struggle, and thrive, and then join me when it is done. What you see as eternal darkness is merely the veil that obscures paradise from your vision. For if you were to see it in its full glory now, you would not commit yourself fully to the life I have given you."

But this is a child's fantasy. No argument in favor of its psychological utility (no matter how alluring) can change that fact. And some of us are incapable of such profound self-delusion. What of them? Poor, wretched souls are they? Or do their stars shine brighter for knowing the true limits of their existence?

It's true that religion can offer man acceptance of the inevitable. And even draw comfort from fear. But these things are not out of grasp for the irreligious. One must accept the inevitable regardless of whether it be light, or dark. And an end to joy is also an end to suffering.

But fear can be a great motivator, too. And who is to say what is truly inevitable? For someday, we may discover an end to death, and learn to light a candle in the eternal darkness ourselves. No delusion of acceptance will ever accomplish this for us.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die."

Cat Demons

I'm glad I'm not superstitious, because there's nothing quite like waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of cats in heat to convince you that demons are real and they stalk the earth looking for victims to torment and devour while most people are asleep.

They sound like children screaming in pain, yet... wrong, like a Cronenberg'ed facsimile. I swear one of them was repeatedly making a noise that sounded like a subhuman bastardization of the words "I love you", almost like it was using it as a lure - although who in their right mind would fall for that?

I'm pretty sure I wasn't dreaming or hallucinating, because I remember deliberately kicking the wall next to my bed, hoping the sound would cause them to disburse. And I think it worked, because the sound got further away before it stopped altogether. Or, maybe they were just pulled back to Hell.

Sometimes, religious people think others are tortured by demons because they're not religious. But what if the reason they're not religious is because they're tortured by demons? Nobody is born damned. But how many times do your prayers have to go unanswered before you give up? The truth is, there is no God, and those who are able to believe in one are privileged (which is not to say that they don't know suffering) - and it makes it impossible for them to understand somebody in a different position.

Ironically, the existence of demons doesn't make me believe in God. It only convinces me that there is no God. Because here are the demons, but where is God? That's why people who believe are privileged. They're loved by God. But they're also deluded, because they think everyone is loved the same as they are. But they're not. (In reality, it's just the luck of the draw).

"Happy people are incorrigible. Destiny does not punish them for their sins, and they consequently think themselves innocent."

Self-Worth

Pride has thus far prevented me from internalizing my own self-identity as a person who is mentally handicapped. But I wonder if I wouldn't feel so much better about what I have, and less worse about what I don't, if I started thinking of myself as a high-functioning handicapped person, instead of a failure of a human being. I didn't fail at life - in fact I've done pretty well within my limitations, even if it's not up to the standards I've set for myself - I just came out broken, that's all.

And every point I have in my favor - my intelligence, my appearance, my upbringing - undermines my ability to visualize myself as disadvantaged. Yet, the fact that I've had so much going for me, and yet still struggle to perform some of the most basic tasks - even when I want desperately to perform them (which is to say that I am not simply lazy) - is more evidence that there is truly something seriously broken within me.

I've admitted that fact, to myself and to others - which was itself a long process. But I think that I still need to come to terms with it, to truly accept it. I lament that I didn't get help when I was younger, and I realize that that's a way for me to displace my fear of getting help even now. Because the only thing more terrifying to me than the thought of living the rest of my life the way I am, is the thought of what I'll have to do to get better. Especially doubtful as I am that the effort would even bear fruit. Why torture myself for a shot in the dark? But that rationalization is part of my illness, too.