The Social Deep Blog"Life is so much more than the white-washed perspective of some ID-driven ape." |
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Maybe I’m self-absorbed. Maybe I’m overly sensitive, bordering on neurotic, and completely off base. Perhaps, I’m jaded by being handed shit packaged as chocolate and being told to swallow it without reproach.
I read—a lot—though, admittedly, not as much as I’d like to. That’s only a half truth, I suppose, as in the whole truth I never stop reading. Articles, textbooks, studies, prose, comment sections, subtitles…but I don’t read as many books as I’d like. Suffice it to say, if I could, I’d probably waste my days away lost in book after book written a hundred years ago and undoubtedly find all of the dots that still connect in society today. I’m often told that I think too much into things, but the truth of it is that I never have to put much thought into making such connections. They glare at me in the face and scream for recognition. How, then, am I supposed to say nothing of it? And for what? To save face, to play politics? Silly me for expecting words to mean as they are defined, and for actions to align with proclamations. For a while, I considered that maybe it was the genres I favour or that I’d gotten myself into a centuries old echo chamber, but that seems more illogical still. My bookcase and shelves are tightly packed with everything from personal development and social commentary to contemporary literature and historical fiction to horror and crime…nevermind the occasional romance, the textbooks, and the dozens of meta-analyses I have on my external hard drive. It wasn’t all too long ago that my personal library alone could have gotten me committed to an asylum, when female independence was seen as madness. Nonbinary identity not withheld, the world sees me as female—and there are considerably worse things to be. The point still stands, I wasn’t born in a body that permits the power knowledge holds. My attempts to understand and engage with the world around me, here, are frequently met with dismissal and hostility, an air of superiority and contempt. Discretion Advised:
This short story contains depictions that may be disturbing to some readers. It may not be appropriate for readers under 18 years. | Horror | Thriller | Many people have their theories and opinions of me. I’m not unaware of some of the less than desirable qualities I am said to possess, but I also know many of them to be untrue. Truth be told I am a great many things, good and bad, and those many things are often mistaken one way or another. It is never my intention to hurt others, though I am well acquainted with the potential, unintended impact of things I have said and done. I am not free from the burden of the consequences of my mistakes, and I still make them. Mistakes. Everyone makes them, seemingly few take legitimate accountability. Too many, in wheeler shame and fear, make accusations that make them more comfortable in the aftermath of those mistakes. They give room for resentment and anger that they then cling to as means of protection against their own reflection, against…the truth.
This is an apology of sorts, for my unannounced absence last week. I worked tirelessly on a post in between trip preparation s and overtime at work, with the intention of scheduling the post Monday morning to be posted on Tuesday as planned. However, the universe had other plans for me and I have to say, I’m not all too upset about my impromptu hiatus. As luck would have it, I found myself essentially out of cellular service from early Monday morning until late Friday night; a full thirty-six hours without a cell tower in sight, with spotty, single-bar reception the rest of the trip. The disconnect was quite nice, to be perfectly frank.
While I am not sorry for the recent time I’ve spent outside of any service area, I am sorry I wasn’t better prepared prior to my departure. To any loyal reader, yes, but also to myself. I think sometimes I get so caught up in my emotions that I shut them put, so I can function, if for no other reason. It’s easy to give in to the numbness of apathy when emotions stand only to complicate the path from where one stands and where they strive to be, and its easy to get lost there. This is why self-care and the occasional hiatus is so crucial, even if it means ghosting everyone who knows you for a little while. This is a unique social experiment: writing to individuals behind bars. This journey isn't about judgment or condemnation; it's about forging exploring dark complexities of the human experience.
There will be real-time updates on this project as it unfolds (which may take time), and I welcome your suggestions and feedback along the way. |
Sheena MonsterShe/They/Theirs 
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