The destruction of a deeply held worldview is painful. It is, in many ways, far more painful than any simple physical wound. Flesh and bone heal on their own, leaving scars to remind and teach lessons. Wounds to the heart and soul bleed longer and heal far more slowly. The scars they leave are invisible but are felt no less.
Two weeks ago I died and was born again. I was betrayed by people that I loved (and goddam me, STILL love). People that I had given my all for, drawn a line in the sand and went to war against other people I loved. I made my choice and took my stand and let the fucking chips fall where they fell.
I was a fool.
I refuse to be a fool for a moment longer.
I was stolen from. The people who stole from me could have simply asked me for the money. I would have given them every penny I could have done without. I had already spent many hundreds of dollars on their behalf and would not have hesitated to spend more.
Instead, they chose to steal from me. Then, to add insult to injury, they treated me as if I were stupid, spending the stolen money right in front of me, blatantly and obviously.
I was in denial for several days. I hoped against hope that I’d simply lost my wallet in a drunken stupor. I tried to blame it on every other possible suspect. But the evidence mounted and mounted. I said nothing. I sat in a depressed haze and stayed drunk with the alcohol being bought with my stolen money. I was too heartbroken to even have the energy to make a scene. I lost my appetite. I was unable to sleep.
I considered ditching all my deeply held beliefs and flirted with the concept of nihilism. I considered burning houses and whole fucking cities. I considered rampaging.
In the end, I simply left. Broke, depressed, lacking even a way to get back to the last place I called home.
My family robbed me.
I’m an anarchist. An individualist. My conception of both anarchy and individualism differs from the accepted definition. To me, anarchy is the default state of the world — governments being un-natural systems imposed upon peaceful, moral individuals. Individualism, in my view, does not denote selfishness, greed or ‘fuck-you-pal-I-got-mine.’ It’s simply an admission that we are indeed individuals and that we, and we alone, are responsible for our actions and the repercussions that follow. I have a circle of those I love, whose happiness I count as equal to my own. Those people that I will defend, and help, and fight the cold hard world to protect.
A painful thing, to discover that some of them don’t give a flying fuck about you. That they only give a shit about what you can give them. That loyalty and fealty do not flow in both directions.
I seriously considered ditching these long held philosophies. Considered becoming just another cynical user. I’m a smart guy. I can charm with the best of them. I can lie better than most people. I could leave a swath of force and fraud and pain and broken hearts.
But, finally, thankfully, I slept. For fourteen hours. I emerged from that almost coma calm and hungry. With returned appetite came the return of my principles.
I am an individualist. I am responsible for my own actions. The actions of others cannot change me — I will not allow that.
I’m still hurt and angry. But I’m still myself. I will heal, and I will not compromise the basic facts of what I know to be true, just and right.
But I am a different person. I’ll remain wary.
Pain teaches lessons. Scars are reminders.
Lesson learned.
And I will remember.
