#they wouldnt be like. the chaotic yet fun and caring uncle

[saltycharacters]

Jassel gives big uncle energies. No one actually knows where the uncle came from but he just shows up to family events and gives kids fireworks and says "have fun"

MSAGASFHS See this is correct because you would not want Jassel to be the uncle to your kids unless you are ok with their fingers getting blown off

[harmonyresonant]

Limitations of wisdom and its affect on motivation.

The last time I fell in love I knew it was destined to fail, perhaps in one of the worst ways it could. I said to her it felt like two galaxies colliding, but galaxies can either group together or tear themselves apart and fly away.

Those moments come to me more than most I think, at least consciously, the thoughts that are so easy to let escape as trivialities, impulses to be excised with just as much fervour as their entrance, but yet if only accepted, could stop a mistake, or change your life.

What's the criteria for distinguishing these kinds of thoughts? Risk? Cost? Benefit? Joy? Importance? Substance? Love? I've spent years trying to find the real source of motivation, of my motivation, because at the end of fear is truth, and fear will only propel so far as your body and mind allow it.

Justifying motivation is not esoteric for the starved of food or hungry for love. Motivation and its reasons are intertwined with purpose, and with it - our sense of direction, and with that, our sense of growth or death.

Polony and tomato sauce with white bread, Bread on its own, Chips from the fish n chip shop, Nutri grain with no milk for dinner, no food brought to school, a home of bullying, dream killing, suppression. I'm just the tip of the iceberg. I empathise with the meth addict on the street, the Mum that boils her baby daughter, the husband that murders his family, each a victim of environment and circumstance left to play out its default option.

I know all about default. I know nearly everything that needs to be known about how it plays out. When I rejected it, I was commanded by every single person and circumstance around me to let go of the fight. I watched as my friends became the victims of it, drop outs, pregnant, jailed, drugged, abused, stiffled, angry, lost. Stop it. That's wrong. Are you sure? I can't believe you would do that. Take this, you owe me. Be more considerate. Let's have a talk. You just need to be a 16 year old. Your results are in. That's just how it is. It's time to move on. You seem chaotic. You just seem upset is all. I'm just trying to help. I think you need to see a psychologist. I think we should just be friends. If there were words to describe the amount of fury and anger I hold towards individuals of my past I would save you from them because I have shown each of these comments their due diligence and marvelled at my own self control. To entertain those people in my mind gives them an authority I refuse to allow, so I move on.

When global weather patterns are shifting and solutions are being found by quantum computer augmented AI systems as pornography fills every void that opens - spite, seemed like the most reasonable response to such as unreasonable world. At 11 through to 22 It worked to dissociate my want of meaning in my circumstances, a want of meaning in where I felt I should belong and where I am, people often pointing out I should be a drug addict and dead or in jail, adjunct simultaneously to those same individuals pressuring success with their own benchmarks. All three things only not the case because of a mixture of calculated precision and blind luck. They wouldn't know, because they are unable to know, they refuse to know, outright, in front of you, so I would achieve because fuck you. Anger and rage is bottomless, perfect for a mixed up misunderstood adolescent male. The nerve of family to attempt comparisons of their standards with my own makes me laugh with a deep seated sickness. They arent any better off knowing differently. I couldn't control myself if I indulged myself in their correction. I've done it to some, corrected them, but my capacity for flooding someone with sadness and tearing their soul from them isn't so much fun as violently calculated. It's what comes after, my mothers death a calculated suicide of neglect, the insidious idea to die and make everyone your victim to alleviate guilt for failing to be held punished for your sins ready like a conspiring death eater to leach its next victim through me. How she coughed up black tar of putrid rotted lung flesh and congealed blood as CPR accidentally flooded her airways, typical of wanton excess of disgust. These details are best left undisclosed until times like this. How they saw me as a victim when i spared them. Of course though, they were too cowardly to ask. Hugs as it were. For their embrace, but they soon realised I wasn't available for receiving empathy because when I look at people I see directly into their soul, and when they are ready, they tell me what they are afraid of, in their own way, and it was too much for my family to cope with, because they're afraid they were responsible for killing her and conspiring to create the circumstances albeit naively in arrogance which eroded my Mums mental health and therefore my sister and I's life. I looked directly at my Uncle Warren in the emergency department without a tear in my eye watching the circus unfolding in front of me and I saw it written over his face, laughing at her losing her job, her sadness, her divorce with the members of the Smith side, now she lay dead, then he looked away. The too hard basket became my home because that's what these people do to hard things, they are the lowest kinds of human, the ones that lie to themselves about their affect on children, and can't help but make it worse by leaving them there alone scared with no excuse other than fear. Besides, school was starting up in 4 weeks, there was ironing to do. Clothes to fold. Forms to sign. He'll be fine. He'll get over it. The young soldier boy. How if they demonstrated any strength to cry in front of me in regret i would explode, they don't deserve to cry. I hold onto this until they either die or reconcile it. I'm good at waiting.

So for a while I forgot what love even was. Then she stepped in. Blind luck reared its head, and she showed me a warmth, depth and love so beautiful, graceful and innocent I felt like if I touched her my fear and hatred would spread like a disease. There are certain decisions we make in life as people that we don't understand, and we wear the consequences. I am not blessed with that capacity, I was not afforded the resources needed to make the conscious skills we develop young, into the subconscious - everything became consciously calculated, what I wear, what order the day is in, what words I use, my tone, my posture, my timing, what people i need to manipulate, what are their current moods, their buttons, when the rain falls or the concrete cracks it has always been my fault or my responsibility - better me than my insane family. Of course you don't win by playing nicely. You don't learn by being comfortable. And of course, through the gauntlet, you don't feel good about it. Good or great, make your decision, and in poverty when you're broken, you are forced to choose great, usually for as long as it takes until your circumstances begin to sustain themselves, and there is only space for a few so you have to do what's necessary for as long as necessary. There were plenty of times I would punch my windows, the walls work cartons and scream, how pathetic, I got a hold of myself quickly. Got psychological problems? Bury them. Getting worse? Bury them. Life is not a documentary or a game, fail to achieve certain things in certain timelines while the cards are stacked against you and the consequences are extreme. Even more so without financial or social securities/networks. So after years of neglect she began to make me feel like I could rest. Like I deserved it. She helped me forgive myself for the stress I had caused myself and other people. She forgave me for being sorry that I couldn't be the guy she needed me to be, that I couldn't be Nathan because I was unsure who or what that even was.

Spite evaporated and then I was purposeless, my motivation gone, it disrupted my focus, my academic results, the routine of my fractured world. And she became my angel, she became the person that would forgive me for failing and tell me it would be alright and I would believe her because she understood me, I live in those moments just by remembering her, but as soon as she opened her arms she was gone. She was doing things my mother didn't and she coped a lot of difficulty from me for doing it and the legacy of failure in parenting, guardianship and neglect continued to haunt me, as it started to haunt then eventually remove those I loved. It wasn't the first time either, a pattern like many other. It was at that point that I made the decision to never allow it happen again. I would finish what she helped start, and with any luck, find a positive reason to endure the absolute crushing isolation of being the source of problems for those you deeply care about or die finding out, unable to be reached, usually impossible to help but this time different, now without the offensive weapons which I used to shield myself. I'm sure it would've been easier to approach me if I was outright hostile but people were watching, vultures waiting with their 'here to help check list' with step 1 as, 'Take a break'. Idiots.

The process is finished.

Now I am appreciating and beginning to give back in small ways to life.

I don't really remember what it feels like to love someone voluntarily. I guess that's how it's supposed to work, by accident, time, something like that, but I'm approaching a stage in my life where I'm too exhausted to care, maybe my Mum took it with her to her grave. Maybe I have had too many people come and go for good reasons to believe in holding onto someone. I finished the race first and early or last and everything's been packed up but for me it was always about finding a home in my heart, so I wouldnt look for it in someone else's, something that's as much given to you as much as fostered by yourself. It always felt like though I had reached the mountain peak, as soon as I got there I realised there's no way to go further up, so its time to look across and down at everything that's been done, take a break and look across to the next peak. I have no option but to hold onto the good things that've happened to me in my time, even if they're in totality a bit messy, as for the girl that saved me from myself, I'm no longer scared or fearful when I think of her now, like I might be dishonoring her, in a lot of ways she's still my angel. I hope we get to be friends one day once we've settled down so we can compare notes, we moved too fast to keep our both our feet on the ground long enough to be together but until then wherever she is I hope she is smiling and being taken care of because she is of such a rarity of courage and authenticity that it seems only she can reach people like me and that deserves happiness and real love.

Spread your wings.