F.Y.M.

There's a wonderful movie called Fear Of A Black Hat. It's a Spinal Tap style mock-umentary of an imaginary rap band called NWH. If you can find it, watch it. It's hilarious. I mention it here only because one of the characters had titled his autobiography FYM. He said it stands for "Fuck Y'all Motherfuckers". So I'm borrowing it for this rant. This rant is FYM.

Fuck Y'all Motherfuckers.

This is a great big "fuck you" to everyone who thinks that I am a petulant whiner, and that I'm merely feeling sorry for myself. Fuck you. Walk a mile in my shoes, and then tell me it's easy.

People I know often mistake my angry rants and depression for unhappiness about my situation. I could give a rat's ass about my situation. I don't care about my crappy job, my car with the blown-up motor, my debts, my ex-wife, or the fact I haven't had a date in more than a year. What makes me alternately angry and morbidly depressed is that none of it is ever going to change, because the heart of all that darkness is me. I can't improve my situation, because I'm far too good at fucking everything up. I am where I am now - working a monkey's job for bum pay, divorced and scorned by my family - because I screwed everything up. Whenever I'm faced with a choice, I almost always make the wrong one. I apparently have a deep-seated subconscious need to fail, at least according to my shrink. So everyone that thinks I'm whining about my life is wrong. I'm whining about the fact that I suck, that I am the heart of the darkness I live in.

I am FUBAR, fucked up beyond all recognition. I don't even know where to begin to fix what's wrong with me. I don't do anything positive because I'm paralyzed with fear, because I can't trust my own judgement. I know deep down that whatever path I choose in life, it will be the wrong one. You want evidence? Look at my history, look at all the things I did in the past. My whole life history is the fucking evidence! Bad choice after bad choice has led me to where I am now; broke, divorced, alone, and wasting my talents cleaning cars. So fuck you, if you think I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Try being me for one fucking week, and then come to me with your bullshit about how I'm a self-indulgent whiner. Fuck off.

I don't want a better life. I want to BE SOMEONE ELSE. I could win the lottery tomorrow, and I'd be just as miserable, except in more luxurious surroundings. I could meet a wonderful woman tomorrow, but I'd find a way to fuck things up. But if I were someone else, someone a lot less messed up, I could find a way to be happy where I am, or make up some sort of plan to improve my lot. But I am trapped, trapped within myself, imprisoned in a vast darkness of which I am the heart. Take your platitudes and your easy answers and go fuck yourself. FYM.