God Knows I Deserve It

I watched a movie titled Wrath of Man Wednesday night.

Typical type of movie that I always go to and always will go to. Violent. Insane. A revenge movie. I love revenge. 

Especially when it is vicious and violent. I don't care how over-the-top insane and unbelievable the movie is, I eat it up like ice cream.

The main character of Wrath was avenging the death of his son. And avenge he did.

Liver, lungs, spleen, heart. That was the title of the final "chapter" of the movie. Sound like Sound of Music to you? I won't go into detail, but that should give you a pretty good feel for the tone of the movie.

As I was watching it I wondered to myself why I love this type of movie so much. I mean, I really get into this shit. I've never really thought about it. Beyond assuming that these movies provide a satisfying release for the anger that seethes inside of me.

I always assumed my anger is directed at the world, that the nasty violence of the movie is a way for me to strike back at life and really fuck it up.

It occurred to me Wednesday night that maybe what I really want to do is strike back at myself. Kind of an uncomfortable thought, but not wholly without merit.

Think about it. Who do I need revenge against? Who should I kill? Who do I fucking hate? Nobody has fucked up my life, nobody has stolen anything from me or ruined my chance at happiness. I did that all by myself.

I have floated through life on a bowl of vanilla ice cream. And I do mean vanilla.

Maybe what I am visualizing is me getting the shit kicked out of me. Maybe I feel I deserve it. Maybe I believe that's what it will take for me to learn a lesson. Maybe that is my brain saying "You stupid fucking motherfucker, you deserve broken ribs, a knife to the belly, a baseball bat to the side of the head, broken teeth, a bullet to the brain."

I enjoy those scenes so much that the enjoyment has to come from a place of intense anger. And I really have no one to hate except myself.

You gotta hit rock bottom before you can admit to yourself..........and make a change. I have been sitting in comfortable recliners, earning just enough money to keep on earning just enough money, working a lot of cushy jobs, suffering only enough but not unbearably.

If someone left me bloody and groaning on the sidewalk, half an inch from death, and I somehow survived, would I then place a premium on being alive and live life accordingly? Or would I still look at it all as a fucking joke and keep skating away on the thin ice of each new day?

I cannot believe I am still alive. There have been times in my life when I consumed so much whiskey on a regular basis that Crown Royal set up daily deliveries to my house. With an intravenous hook-up in case I was too tired to raise a glass. They appreciated my business.

I took stupid chances with drugs, inhaling powders given to me by people with the integrity of a fucking serial killer.

I drove drunk and high all the time.

I'm still here.

Maybe I'm waiting for the beating.

god knows I deserve it.