I really don't know why I let comments get to me. Maybe because it was late at night. Here goes round 2. Now that I'm more awake.
Authors Note: I don’t know how to respond to the criticism I received last time. Needless to say, rereading this, it wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be. If you think this reads odd, and rambling, don’t comment, I don’t care. This isn't meant for anyone but me.
All of life, they told me, was a struggle. I know how difficult it might seem to believe my words. They’re floating here, dictated by my fingers, although I don’t know why they type what they do. I suppose, I need to begin with an introduction.
I’m Damien, and no, that isn’t my given name. However, it was the name my mother almost gave me. To me, that means it was and is my name. I live in a small town, surrounded by people with a lack of communicatory skills. It scares me. I can analyze them in seconds. I’m sitting in a computer lab right now, struggling to put words to paper. It’s hard, to admit to myself that I must write my autobiography. Then again, my life isn’t so special, is it? Is my life that vital to anyone?
For twelve years, I lived believing that lie. My life was a random sequence of events, lost within the stream of consciousness. It is very tough, to sit here and swallow my pride. I’ve been directed to write this, you see. He directed it out of me, so I give this to Him.
I don’t like analyzing people, because, well no bragging meant here, but I pick up on too much. I’ve told people their deepest secrets just by analyzing every movement. I’ve lost friends to this gift of mine. Perhaps I was meant to.
“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13, New King James Version.
What a beautiful verse. It speaks to me in a way. I don’t think I’m that smart, or that intelligent. It’s hard to be a Christian in a world of analytics. It is always, and has always been a straight line world since we’ve existed. God vs Devil, Good vs Evil. The oddest thing is, I’m not the most vocal person, preferring to stay in shadows. But as Isaiah stated:
“For Zion’s sake will I not hold my peace, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest, until the righteousness thereof go forth as brightness, and the salvation thereof as a lamp that burneth.” Isaiah 62 verse 1
It’s the way the words sound, that make me grin. I always was a rebel.
You surprised me with your resemblance to my best friend’s sister. Perhaps I see a bit of her in you Maybe it’s just my thoughts and lustful desires but then again maybe, it’s because you remind me of myself, yet only in a small way
I have a passionate heart that drives me in so many directions and thus my writing is based entirely on women who don’t know me. Men however, terrify me with their words. There’s something about the egotism of their personalities that makes me stare at them blankly. Even in small talk.
“Gonna be drinking Mimosas and chasing women eh Damien!”
How am I to respond to that? Am I supposed to? Do the words have meaning if they are simply small talk? I had to look up what a Mimosa was. Apparently it’s Champaign and orange juice. Do you drink? If so, what kind? I’m not a heavy drinker, but I do enjoy the occasional drink, when the moment is special. Alcohol is something I’ve never gotten used to, and, my parents seem to use the drink to excess when they do celebrate. I’ll have maybe two, but that’s about all.
Does that make me antisocial? That I hate most forms of alcohol when drank quickly, as though it was water? Does it make me odd that I can’t converse as easily with men?
All my friends, except for our mutual friends, hate each other, but they won’t say it. They all mock each other in secret. I can’t blame them. It’s hard to like people who, well, ironically, all hate people. Isn’t that insane?
One of my best friends, we’ll call him Tex, is from the South. He can’t stand people who, let’s say, aren’t politically or religiously like him. He calls it faith, but encounters others as though his “faith” is better, thus creating his religion. If they seem dead, they are to him. If they can’t keep up conversations or are too funny, he refuses to see them again.
I was going to invite Julian to eat with Tex and I. You know better than I how crazy his conversations can get. “I walked to Canada cus I was bored.” I never knew there was a bridge to get there. Gee I need to get out more. Maybe there are bridges I need to cross (or burn).
Tex said to me “Damien, we need to vet him!” “Vet? What you mean vet?”
I looked at him surprised. “Tex, we’re just going to a restaurant, not some political debate or rally or, secret meeting!”
“Yea well I gotta know what he believes so I don’t say something wrong!”
“Just don’t talk politics and you’ll be fine!” “I CANT DO IT DAMIEN! I’d rather we not risk it!”
“What exactly are we risking here?”
He didn’t have an answer for me, but his silence implied the answer was “The whole future of our nation!” So, I went alone with him to the restaurant, and completely forgot the rest of our lunch conversations.
I’ll get back to Tex later. There are a lot of stories I’d love to share with you, and there’s no limit to what I’m going to share. Now, we’ll examine my friend Gideon.
Gideon is unique. His personality is much like his beat down car. His car is messy, and distorted and Gideon’s mind can be altered in seconds. His voice is pretty much like that of a 1930s gangster except with the accent of a Irish man. He has mild autism. It means he needs meds to keep his mind in order. I can tell you a story that explains this problem but trust me. Without Gideon’s medicine for his autism, he’s pretty much a Irish Beavis.
We met at the college. He was wearing a tux and holding a Bible in one hand. I found it mildly hysterical so I decided to sit next to him.
“Ya look like a preacher’s son man.” He did too. His eyes stared at me. Most people do, as you can see by the crutch I hold in my hand. I can do everything you can do, trust me., nothing is broken, I just need it for balance. Those stories (my personal stories, this is a autobiography after all) will come soon but back to Gideon’s story.
Eventually we began talking and were best friends soon after. It’s odd how friendships evolve to that degree. You never expect the best friends you gain. One time, in History class, I saw Gideon. Something didn’t seem right.
Gideon always laughed. You could say it was a vital part of his body. His laugh always brings a smile to my face. This was different though. He was staring at our teacher, and pointing at his head.
“Hehehehehe he’s bald! HAHAHA!” The voice, now that I’ve had time to reexamine it in my mind’s eye, is like The Dark Knight’s Joker when Gideon doesn’t have his meds. He often says the lines just like Heath Ledger “WHY SO SERIOUS!”
I was staring at him, and then back at our teacher. Nothing was different. Sure his nickname Crotchrocket, didn’t betray him (more on that later), he thrusts his hips back and forth in the front row. Then I realized, that Gideon didn’t have his meds.
“Relax dude” I said, whispering “He’s gonna yell at ya!”
“Haha Crotchrocket is gonna yell at me! I CAN FUCKING TAKE HIM!”
There are few days I’m thankful that people are deaf. This was one of those days.
Now finally my other friend. We’ll call her Simone. I struggle to make connections with her. She isn’t much of a conversationalist, and that’s comparing her to Tex and Gideon. Simone will believe anything you tell her. “My best friend is a werewolf.” You name it, she’ll believe it. This is why it’s sort of ironic that her height is what it is.
She can’t go in bars without being carded. She looks like a little girl and sounds like one. Except with a lot of cursing. “I’m FUCKING 26! SO SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Are you seeing a pattern here? I do wish I met calmer people.
I don’t want to get into their stories, although they are interconnected with mine but I promise you this. All the stories in this autobiography are true. The dialogue is almost exact but I’m sure there are some things I may have missed. Names have obviously been changed but trust me, enjoy this ride.
It’s going to be fun.