My Question: Part 2

What am I doing? Isn't that where I left off? 
What I am doing is:

wasting time

feeling sorry for myself

being scared

of embarrassing myself

and of failure

of trying

giving

all of myself to this

the dumb act of photo making

which no one gives a fuck about

like me

the one who

always fails

is always broke

is always in need of a hand

because nothing works

and when

I bend over backward

for those who are supposed to care

I get pushed down

runover

forgotten

what I do does not matter

how dare I expect something in return

I am not giving up

why am I not giving up?

That is not the answer, though. I do all of those things and those thoughts are ever present; always bouncing around my mind. My days are a battle with negativity, doom, despair, the hopeless, torturous humiliation, and stabbing nagging feeling that not only do I not belong but a "how dare you walk this earth with us?" weight which gives me an ache in my gut to apologize for each sad step I take on their property. 

Who the Fuck are "They"?

You know, the nameless, mugging, masses who, when they think I am not looking, break me down using psychic weaponry. You know, "they"? What?

They are age defying. They have been following me, watching me, my entire life. They are the reason why I don't achieve. They poison every chance I get. They whisper rumors about me. They spread lies and even worse--they tell the truth. Their mission is, of course, to ensure my failure. Well, not just my failure; that wouldn't be good enough. They need me to experience the wrath of hell's most vicious demons here on this plane of existence. Fulfillment will not be felt if they do not witness me burning from the inside out, begging for mercy, finding none, losing my mind, finding it, then quickly losing it again only to spy it smashed between boulders, tossed into acid, devoured by rabid guinea pigs, digested then expressed and stomped by booted thugs who then beat me wildly for getting my mind shit on their shiny boots. There does exist a hero who can save me from "They". This hero is tiny. Some have never seen the hero. Some don't believe this hero exists but the hero does, I promise. So, who can defeat "They"? Only one can, only "HE" can Defeat "They"!

Yep, "HE". 

He is hard to find, kind of a wanderer, doesn't speak much, and stands about two inches tall. He, like They, has always been here with me. I remember He first appeared in dreams, or rather he appeared in nightmares but He made them dreams by acting all heroic and shit. He, some would say, is the opposite of me. He is all I am not, and much shorter. He has confidence, He is always honest, He never backs down and nobody pushes He around, down, or at all. He takes all of my good photos. He is the reason why I get paid sometimes. He is too small to carry me. He can't do everything. It is frustrating to watch me second guess myself, to watch me cower when I am afraid, to witness my voice cracking under the slightest bit of pressure, and the repetition with which this shit happens gets old fast. So, He leaves. He walks away without a warning. He does this a lot and every time it kills me a bit. He cares but its too much. I am too disappointing. Don't get me wrong, He always comes back. He promised my mother that he'd watch out for me. He does not want to disappoint her. He does his best and sadly that just isn't enough. Dolefully, He lowers the brim of his hat, gives a slight wag of his head following the horizon, left to right, turns on the heels of tattered shoes, and walks away. "C'mon, what do you want me to do? I'm two inches tall. 37 years of this bullshit is too much. Yer on your own, kid," and like He came into my life, without notice, He disappears.  
"Where are you...you can't just...dude...but...wait! Please!" I call out, but He only becomes smaller, smaller, smaller until he is gone.

Now, I Am The Only One Who Can Save Me

ME.

I don't consider that good news. This time I don't think He is coming back. I have to defeat They on my own. I don't want to but how much of my life is "me" doing shit I don't want to do? Most of it. So, what's the big deal? There isn't anything to be afraid of. If I fail I am like everyone else. That is what I forget. That is what I always forget--most people don't do a damn thing. Most people are ambitionless, lazy, and soul-satisfied with being mediocre, mundane, boring, vanilla, flat, toast for breakfast, pop music, light beer, couch potato, hum-drum, C student, and common. This life of mine is not about other people. My life is not "how do I compare to everyone else?", and it is not a competition. I don't feel like a failure owing to the fact that others are better than me. I feel like a failure by virtue of me not doing as much as I know I could if I were given a chance, if I were given the opportunity, or if this field of play were level. I know I could do great things, but I don't have the means to get to the right places or I don't have the equipment or by the design of this society, I am merely not allowed.

Excuses? Excuses. Excuses!

No, those are reasons. Yes, some people defy odds, but those are not necessarily people of overwhelming skill or talent. Those are people who, like others, got lucky. Um, you know how some people win the fucking lottery and most people don't? You know how unbelievably against you those odds are, right? Oh, but when someone comes from nothing and "makes it" it is by virtue of their skill and talent, and if you do not do the same, well, I guess you are not as skilled. You are not trying hard enough. He did it. He made it. What the fuck is wrong with you? Now, take that same tone with somebody who plays the lottery and does not win. 

Most of the artist who "make it" are from wealth and privilege. Do you want to argue with me? Are you going to throw out the names of some dead dudes? Posthumously doesn't count, okay. I don't want that. I also don't want fame or riches. 

All I want is to exist and do what makes me fulfilled for it would help others feel the same and could save lives but instead I have to do drudgery which brings elation to none and matters not. 

And there are simple ways to make this so

And the world around me will loudly say "NO"

"but with your abundance, I can show

hidden beauty of the status quo,

turn chaos, malaise, to flawless snow"

WE don't want that here now GO!

They yell as they watch their money grow.

People can do what they want with their money. Who am I to say that instead of driving a fancy car or going on a cruise or buying a huge house or any of those things I seem to think are unnecessary and meaningless, that instead of that, people should give to me so that I can make art that I think (key to it all is this I THINK) matters. Well, apparently no one else thinks that it matters. Oh, well, some think it matters enough to remain hobby, and to my face may encourage my quest. Behind it is a story which goes differently. There has never been a conversation about a joint effort to invest in me. There is positivity given in the form of polite action. Not wanting to hurt my feelings, or break my sobriety, maybe, but not a system of support where there could have been one. It's like giving a homeless man a buck every day for ten years when if the first fucking day you met him you would have given him $3,650 he may not have been homeless for ten years. That is the past. Who cares about "but if" and "if only"? I really don't. I only think about how I could blame others due to the fact that a lot of others have urged me to seek the counsel of mental health professionals and whenever I do all those professionals tell me is that (after hearing me tell of my past) it's not my fault and that this person is to blame for this and that person for that and on and on. I leave thinking,"fuck, I never looked at it that way. Maybe, they're right? It kind of makes sense, I mean if I think about it? They did fuck me up!" No way. Sure, people may have made some mistakes with me. I am a weird one. It's not their fault. Fuck that. It's not their fault. It's not. I've made my choices. I know where I am and I know how this works but I choose to fight instead of falling in line. 

That fact doesn't make me special, or better, or smarter, or more interesting. All it does is make me hurt. It disrupts my sleep, ruins my appetite, pushes people away, and leaves me generally alone and unhappy. 

Okay, do you understand what I am saying now? Now, do you get why I constantly ask myself

what am I doing?