on war

the instagram post simply said “make love, not war.”

i’ve been learning on the fly since i was a kid how to do such a thing. i’ve been trying. i’ve put such effort into being a compatible human being, with, well, anyone. i’ve tried. i have failed, i have fallen, but i have dusted myself off. i have gotten up.

i am not a sociable person by nature. no, i am a combatant. my every synapse connection screams at me to make war. it’s actually not something i was born with, but mental illness will do that to you. i’m not talking about mental variation. mental variation is the victory over mental illness. i am talking about raw, ill constituted illness trying to beat down an innocent bystander each and every day.

i’m talking about mental illness.

i’ve done my best. i think if you ask the lovely lady, she will tell you that i’m pretty laid back and congenial in general. she did marry me, after all. but i still have trouble with that phrase as a battle cry. part of the reason is that i think of it as a battle cry. as if everything is a battle, everything is war that must be prepared for and motivated by.

but…it is.

i’ve been meta boxing since i was 9. i figured out a few things, whooped some demons. i managed. the fear drove me inside, but i fought it. i wanted to be social, i wanted to be normal, or whatever my conception of normal was. most importantly, however, i fought. every day. every damn day. i was not alone. we never are. but no one ever says a damn word about their struggle until the struggle is all encompassing and they are about to or have failed completely, utterly.

spectacularly.

this blog is my new war. the book is my endgame tactic. i fist fight fear every time i post something close to my heart or soul or mind. i take vicious swings at it. i have to. i cannot just sit on my rear end and pretend that i have never known fear. that i have never known straight up insanity. i have been, and will probably continue to be so, in some shape or form, forever. i am no longer mentally ill. tho i may falter, i fight, and i lose. i fight, and i win.

i will always make war.

it’s just how i am made. i have little choice. this blog is a way to show my scars. i have always been afraid of them, of the ugliness. i am, at my core, a wholly ugly being. i have fought so hard for so long, that my skin has taken on a rawhide component. i fear rejection, so i must spit the truth. i have to present it the only way i know how, as a recollection of my fisticuff combinations and the patterns of my footwork. the truth scares me, so i must release it. it’s the only way i know how to fight these days.

it’s an elevated form of boxing. the truth. i’m going to be honest with you. that’s it. that’s the tactic. such violence there is in silence. such skill lies in its release.

i have worked hard to domesticate myself for proper societal consumption. i don’t mind, really. it has its benefits. i did marry the lovely lady. i fear not fitting in with society, for i know there will always be space for a retired warrior. if nothing else, i can serve as a human rebuttal for simplistic instagram posts