I Dare You


___

No, you can tell ’em all now
I don’t back up, I don’t back down
I don’t fold up, and I don’t bow
I don’t roll over, don’t know how
I don’t care where the enemies are
Can’t be stopped, all I know; go hard
Won’t forget how I got this far

___

There’s a whole world out there that tells you you aren’t good enough.

It tells you that who you are is wrong. A moral stain on the goodness of a thousand bloody empires stacked on each other, bleeding down to the thirsty, meandering zombies asking for one more chance.

The voice of these priests of chivalry come in many costumes. They walk among you, pointing fingers, digging nails deep into you from the furthest stranger to current lover. You can feel it. The shadows crawl into your skin, under your muscles and into your very spirit. The smile you give is false. Beneath the teeth is shaking anxiety.

Am I good? Am I good enough? Why are these people looking at me? Did I say something wrong?

Who are these voices?

They are the universe showing you what not to do. Paths of folly, quantum physics made physical and given consciousness.

I had my voice. Ariel was that voice. A screeching, pathetic, ill speaker broken on delusion. Aside from the holidays and being sick, my last month has been wrought with dealing with what this stalker was saying to me. I let it in and it dug deep.

And it failed.

She called me names. Rapist. Abuser. Unwanted. Harassed me with text messages. Attacked my self-image and self-worth. The things I told her when I thought she was worthy of my life’s story were bullets in her manic depressive volley. Tired and weak, she struck, and I felt so angry, so lost, that this busted cunt was in my head. And she could get away with it. Already arrested and released. Already put away, let go and given no help by the grand mental health apparatus of Ontario. If I walked into a police station and show them text messages, what would they do they hadn’t already done?

“Change your number,” someone said to me when I told them the story. “Ignore her and she’ll go away.”

don’t come to Taps or youll get beat up lol, she sent to me last night.

Ignorance is not bliss, at least not to those still stuck in reality. The delusional ill… well…

The only thing left was to give up.

Give up caring. Give up doubting. Give up the very last vestiges of every stupid, childish, weak thought that stopped me from doing what I want. What is left after rock bottom? Nothing, but up. Every step until you see yourself in the oasis’s pond, drinking up sun.

This lost female soul in the crack of a modern nation dared me to change.

Much to her chagrin, I changed. And when her obsessive eyes reads this… who cares? Fuck her. Fuck any woman who thinks she can “make you better”, to put it simply

I dare you to change. I waited for a manic depressive stalker to force me in to the corner. Bad idea. I let myself destroy my gains. Don’t let that happen to you.

Don’t wait. Don’t stop. Aim for perfection. There isn’t any other choice.

___

On a side note, I’ll be making several improvements to the blog over the next few weeks. Look out for them.

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3 responses to “I Dare You

  1. I’ve been reading you for a while now and I’ve read through your site pretty quickly when I initially discovered it, so I would definitely call myself a fan of your writing. Some constructive criticism: I like the way the old site looked.

    Keep it up though, your words have always been inspiring.

  2. This is you back at your best. Hallelujah.

    I can’t believe she called you a rapist. And I own a pussy, and have known you for 15 years, and can assure the world you’re quite safe. People who don’t get it will always call out what they don’t understand.

    Bitches be crazy.
    Remember – take no shit. Ever.

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