Now, as far as Spooky Scary Skeletons go I do not chance to deem myself in anyway the inferior in looks to the average Spooky Scary Skeleton yet eternally I am beset with a result so recurrent it is almost enough to bring tears to my eyes…if I had eyes ~Yo ho ho, SKULL JOKE!
But as time and experience endured, I found insecurity and paranoia to be omnipresent companions and beyond the grave, I tell ya, you do not have that many.As a result, I became quite to bitter bag of bones to the point where I refused to even consider the possibility that I might be the subject of amorous affections of any such variety. Alas, the heart I once had was destined to be a lone one until the day I died…again…
Such was this ignorance, I even wound up hurting people who I would later find out all too late from the wrong people truly did care. In retrospect, there never was a bigger numbskull, nor a greater bonehead than I once paranoia and a pitiful self esteem ruined my young skeletal self and I am thankful beyond all measure of thanks to those few friends that remained at my side.
But to the point of this post.
Change is not something that can be done on a whim or by force of will. There has to be a fundamental trigger to prompt personal change and this comes about in the form of either a point of desperation or a point of inspiration. While presumably self-explanatory, allow me to quickly elaborate.
Point of Inspiration
Life is consisted almost entirely of chances and coincidences. From the lucky pound coin you found winning you £10 in the lottery to that missed bus that sat you side by side with your future partner at a bus shelter in the rain or that one rotten plum you chanced eating. How could you have known it would have been that bad? How were you to know it would wind up killing you? How w
as I supposed to know that witchdoctors went around cursing random plums to feed innocent bystanders and resurrect them as some monstrous abomination of existance, eternally separated from all mankind and those I once knew and forced to scrape by a living performing like an animal. I cannot even cry for my lack of tears to shed, all I am is a shell unable to-
A Point of Inspiration comes when one of these chances is so benevolent as to bless the individual with an idea and that idea works its way to imagination. As my good man Blaise Pascal (better known for his triangular related shenanigans) once so neatly put it, “Imagination decides everything.” If a thought never occurs then it is impossible for action to occur as a result and that is where a Point of Inspiration comes in. Sparking off the thought and prompting imagination and leading to change.
Perhaps this is the less effective of the two methods in the sole similarity it has to a whimsical change.
It remains, most of the time, a choice over whether or not change occurs.
Man, as an animal, tends to opt for the best route for itself and itself alone with few (albeit noble and wholly congratulated) exceptions. In this, change often presents itself as the more difficult route, the route that requires the most effort and stress and effort and stress are legitimately intimidating prospects. Nobody wishes suffering upon themselves outside of kinks I have no wish to know more than necessary of and therefore instinct tells us to avoid such routes.
As you may recall, however, I spoke of another method of change. One that I feel to be infinitely more effective and the one that personally forced, not prompted, forced me to change for the infinitely better.
Point of Desperation.
As much as life is full of cute and quirky chances, it is always saturated with struggle. Life is a monster we all need to fight and it is a fight that never ceases until the day life finally gets the better of us and we are forcibly pried apart by Death playing referee in the bout. Nobody wins the fight against life, it is the equivalent of watching the first half of Rocky III on loop, up until Rocky gets his salad well and truly tossed by Mr T. There is no training montage to Survivor that lets us win. No training with Apollo Creed gives us any tricks and the death of Mickey doesn’t fire us up to victory.
It fires us up to go back and fight.
We will never win the fight against life, but by hell, human tenacity will not let us be knocked out easily. I mean, hell, look at me still kicking without muscles or brains tissue or anything to speak of aside from these rattling set of bones.
How do I even function..?
I am most alert somewhere between 10pm- 1am in an ironic kick in the shin by fate which means I think and reflect a lot when I lay back in my sarcophagus in those unholy hours of the night. Similarly, back then, I had worked into a point where I was convinced that the world hated me as much as I hated it in return. I shall not turn this into an angst blog (I’m a freaking animated skeleton/plum hybrid) but I shall say that I held a lot of violent thoughts up in my head.
I hit my rock bottom.
That is where the Point of Desperation becomes so effective. When deprived of choice, we inadvertently create a choice that is no choice at all; take the only route available or drive until the rocky road becomes a road of broken glass. The Point of Desperation flips the Point of Inspiration on its head and converts the difficult option into the comparatively simpler one. We recognize that carrying on as we are is impractical or in some cases lethal. We say to ourselves, as I am certain we all have at some point,
“I cannot live like this.”
Leading to two outcomes, one of which being the change we all want and some of us need.
So following my tangle with the despair event horizon, I forced myself to change. I forced myself to detach myself from the world and view it objectively through a third person viewpoint seeing as my own was corrupted and thoroughly twisted by paranoia to be of use.
And I will not say ‘and just like that’ but very soon I saw the world as what it was. It did not hate me, it simply did not understand me for I was refusing to allow it that luxury.
That person did not invite me that place because I had shown no signs of interest.
That person did not speak to me that time because I had been glaring so much.
That person did not show feelings for me because she was waiting for me to do it.
Or it might have been because I’m a fucking Spooky Scary Skeleton.