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The Real World Isn’t as Much Fun

I’m probably not the best person in the world to turn to for advice on any subject. I’m not good at looking at things in a rational, logical way. Oh, sure, I pretend to see things in a practical manner, and sometimes I can be very pragmatic, maybe even cheap, but that’s not the same as being functionally sane. You see, while some people are looking at what is before them and really seeing what lays there, I am thinking about zombies, demons, dragons, ghosts, and ninjas. Sometimes it might even be an undead, half-dragon, half-demon ninja with mystical powers. It might be fighting a holy shotgun wielding cowboy-priest. Possibly on a space station.

I would totally watch that movie.

Here’s the thing, though: I’m sick and broken.

We might all be in different ways, I suppose.

I keep telling myself that I’m making progress, that the things that would have broken me even a year ago, even six months ago, are just hurdles to me now. That means I’m growing and learning. I’m fighting my own demons, and that might not be with a space-shotgun, but I am doing it.  I tell myself that, over and over again, because I don’t actually believe it.

I don’t think I can ever really believe it. I don’t think we can ever really believe that we’ve grown and evolved, because if we let ourselves, we might stop growing.

The things in life that cause us pain and suffering define who we are as much, or more, than the things that make us happy. They say that a sociopath is someone that is incapable of feeling pain and suffering. A person with no negative emotions isn’t a real person at all.

How much, then, does it say about our culture that we work so hard to idolize and render heroic those that suffer along with nothing but negative emotions…

I read somewhere once that talent and suffering go hand in hand. The truly gifted are always tortured.

Maybe I cling to that thought a little too much, subconsciously. I think some part of myself is self sabotaging because it believes that if I allow myself to be happy and enjoy something that it will ruin me.

That’s a hard thought to face, a hard lie to force down.

Once you’ve taken something like that to heart, it can be almost impossible to get it back out of you.

We all have demons to face. Some of us suffer from depression, some from addiction, and some from a completely involuntary need to imagine that his rubber finger tip for flipping through pages is actually a tiny dalek sent to infiltrate his cubicle.

Some of us suffer from all three.

We’re all broken in some ways. We’re all sick. We all need help.

It’s out there. We’ll all find what we’re looking for one day.

Published by M.A. Brotherton

M.A. Brotherton is a writer, blogger, artist, and fat-kid from the suburbs of Kansas City, Missouri. He’s tasted a little bit of everything the Midwest has to offer, ranging from meth-tweaking rednecks in massive underground cave complexes to those legendary amber waves of grain. When he’s not writing, he spends most of his time screwing around on the internet.

2 thoughts on “The Real World Isn’t as Much Fun”

  1. Stereo.* says:

    This sounded so melancholy (but I love your dark humour) and I find myself a little concerned about you now, buddy. You DO know that I (and a whole host of others) are here for you to vent to, talk to, cry to etc, don’t you? I believe that’s how friendship works. I do completely empathise though and much as I try to deny it, I find I write/create better when I am fuelled by a little turmoil.

    1. M.A. Brotherton says:

      You are very gracious to use melancholy in place of melodramatic, I appreciate that.

      I think, though, that there might be some truth to the idea that the talented are tortured. When we create, we draw on all of our experiences, and if those were all happy and bland, then there would be no conflict in the art.

      Besides, what better way to fight metaphoric demons can we find than through art? 

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