Madness Ticking … Ticking … Ticking …

I’ve walked into a hornet’s nest again. On the Internet, there are scads of them. They lay around in unsuspected corners, humming, thrumming with angry hot stingers and venom that pulses and burns through unready veins.

I find them on a regular basis. I’ve a knack for it. I’ve a way with them. They draw to me like abuse victims find abusers, over and over again, without fail.

I limped along trying to mind my own business and noticed the hook in my lip too late. I put it there myself. I never saw my hand work its magic. I only felt it when the tug tore my cheek. I did it myself, and no one’s to blame.

I’ve been tolerant and I’ve tried to be nice. In reality I am neither and grow weary of the charade. I have no heart to lie; I can’t pretend a stranger is a long awaited friend.

I won’t anymore. I can’t anymore.
I don’t anymore. I’m through with the clothes I’m supposed to wear and the “right” way to be and the “right” things to say.
I’m finished with it now. I’m too tired, too old, to play Internet games. I came here to appreciate art. I made friends along the way.
Or did I?
Did I only dream that? Was there some stain on the cloth I didn’t see? Some stench on the fabric I didn’t detect? Some smudge on the skin I didn’t notice before?

I slog through the mire and pretend I like the trip. I strain against the quicksand that threatens to suck me in, and I work to smile while my brow beads with sweat and my armpits drip with the effort and I start to stink, even to myself. I can smell my own odor, my own vile fragrance, and it makes me gag. I turn away to vomit but someone’s in the way and I don’t want to get any on them. I swallow it and it burns worse and tastes awful and I gag again, and hack, and on it goes.

Why do I care? What do I care? I want to vomit and have done with it, have it out of me, purge.

I want to scream and choke and rant and eviscerate.

Instead I go into my room and stare, seething with rage I’ve bottled and kept on a shelf. I see things, hear things, shadows and whispers, and no one sees them but me, no one hears them but me. No one believes me. I am dismissed and ignored and told lies and insulted.

It’s not my injury heralded. Why do I care? What do I care?

I thought I made friends, I thought I knew them. I don’t, I haven’t. I’m wrong. There’s a black spot on the whiteness of the purity of intentions. I reached out to scratch at it with my fingernail, but the distance deceived me. I can’t reach it. I don’t know if I want to. I don’t know if I can.

And why do I care? What do I care? It’s not my injury, is it? Is that my blood on my hands? Or someone else’s? Does it matter?

To anyone? To me?


All original content, copyright DarcKnyt, 2008

9 thoughts on “Madness Ticking … Ticking … Ticking …

  1. I sure don’t know what happened, but I’m still your friend. I’ve been feeling like a victim of the predatory anonymity of the Internet lately, too.

    Sorry whatever happened happened. Wanna talk about it?

    Aw, I’m sorry you’re feeling that way hon. I know things on the ‘Net get cold. It’s so easy to feel we’ve gone farther with someone than we have. Tell you what — if you want to talk about yours too, we can do that, and commiserate. Whattaya think? πŸ˜€

  2. I have to say that for once in a very long time I have nothing to share in this department. I count myself lucky because usually I’m pretty peeved at someone. Hope things resolve themselves in short order for both of you!

    Have a better day!

    Thanks, Ben. I think it’s resolved. Whether I still have a friend or not remains to be seen, but I think it’s resolved. It’s always tough to feel something like this, but they’re feelings. They pass.

  3. They do pass. It’s that tough part of life where we get your proverbial fish hook and we have to take the tear to continue on with life. It must not stop. When we stop life for something such as this it is worthless because somewhere on the horizon there is something better. For example one day when you are famous for Ghost Hunters I’m showing up at a book signing holding my newborn who will be wearing a ~OtF~ onesy!

    LOL! I can’t wait for that! I’ll sign both the book and the baby in the same indelible Sharpie pen. It’ll be worth something after I’m dead. πŸ˜€

    You’re right though. I’m not stopping anything, I think I’m just surprised at the reaction I got from posting this on my dA page. It was timing as much as wording, but I felt — and feel — like I wasn’t given room to have a reaction of my own. Ah, well. Life is a series of misunderstandings. We’ll have to wait and see how this one pans out.

  4. I’m sorry, darc. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long that I’m really an 83 year old grandmother of 12 that likes knitting, democrats, and movies with talking dogs. The time just never seemed right.

    I’m sorry it had to come out like this.

    I’m so ashamed.

    It’s all right, Bryce. It was a shock, for sure, but the cybersex is so good, I’m willing to overlook all those deceptions for one more romp through the ‘Net.

  5. I had to leave a community because of “stuff”. People being too thin-skinned or too cold or maybe just too themselves. At any rate, these things happen in person too. It’s one of the problems with humans – we can’t stand each other and yet we can’t stand not to be around each other.

    I am glad things settled down for you. Personally, I prefer to just agree to disagree when I can and quietly disappear when that isn’t possible.

    Well, I guess it’s settled. I haven’t heard from the one person I care to. The third party involved seems to feel it’s okay to continue on as if nothing’s wrong.

    Well, not exactly. I guess that person’s being more communicative than normal, actually.

    I can’t stand people. And yes, I CAN do without contact, unlike most. Invaders need no one — NO ONE!*

    *Invader Zim reference. Great show. πŸ™‚

  6. Okay, I feel like I just walked into a movie halfway through, or started reading a book at page 213.

    What am I missing here?

    Did you get flamed or something? Did somebody call you a bad name? Did somebody give you a bad review?

    Or are you just messing with us?

    Uh, let’s see — person one said something in a journal on another site I thought was a mistake. I said something and they didn’t like what I said — it came out snarky, I think. Person three snarked ME in response to my comment, which wasn’t to her at all, it was to person one. Person three is a “friend” of person one’s. I told person one to tell person three to back off and leave me alone, or person three would have their ass handed to them. Person one got VERY defensive of person three. In the midst of all of that, I posted this entry on that site in MY journal. Person one didn’t like what the entry says, and felt I targeted person one specifically, which I didn’t. So person three sent me a note in response to my journal entry (on that site) to tell me person three cared and apologizes for her remark and yadda yadda. I asked person one if they’d prompted person three’s note. I wasn’t going to let person three wiggle around her initial snark, which was an intrusion into someone else’s matter, but person one told me to “leave her [person three] alone”.

    Since person one called me on Sunday crying about how poorly person three treated person one, I was a bit stunned. And still am.

    Now it seems person three is going to proceed as if all is well, person one and I aren’t speaking, and I leave the day shy one friend.

    It’s been a heck of a day.

  7. It sounds like you and the wifey have had a rough week. I’m so sorry!! It makes me sad to think of someone hurting such sweet people. I’ve missed you guys. I hope you’re well.

    Thanks, hon. We’re not the only ones. Beside our ugly situation a few people we care about are going through stuff of their own. But we’re okay and we’re so glad you are too. We missed you.

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