On being Anti Social, wishful thinking?

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Now I woke up today with the realisation that I am, indeed, antisocial. I had to give myself a Hurrah, for I’d FINALLY found my tag in society.
It explained my mood swings, depression bouts and why I can be in the midst of the most sympathetic, emotional human beings (supposedly) and still feel like a lost phantom, even with my not so intimidating LARGE FRAME and my barely audible LOUD VOICE.
It was also a kick in the gut, granted, but a no brainer. It wasn’t the kind of sickening revelation to get teary eyed about.
Being antisocial to me only meant I was not necessarily comfortable with almost everyone around me and though it always hurt to acknowledge it’s been manageable. To cap it off I’m a guy, no plus points in flirting chances there if I’m definitely crossed out of having alpha male tendencies, right?
I mean its not that bad, its never been good but its not that bad…yet today, exactly like couple a couple of months back, there was this feeling of dread floating around in my conspiracy theory imagination from that revelation.
It couldn’t be that bad right?
Wrong.
I went ahead and did some research and immediately felt a need to just kick my eagerness in the gut.
Apparently just by being antisocial, not only am I the sort of person no one can interact with, I am the sort of person you should avoid period. The sort of person who can’t focus or plan ahead, who’ll drive you insane with negativity and abuse.
Hell, being antisocial is a disorder from what I gathered.
Whoops.
Now excuse my ignorance but my preference, although flirting with psychology at the moment, lies in the arts so l should be forgiven for throwing jabs at the hard work of our clinical experts. I just have to look into this.
Now where was I ? Oh yeah.
A quick Google search on the word “antisocial” will bombard you with SOO many guides and tips on spotting antisocial individuals, with interesting quirks.
Antisocial people, or people with Antisocial Behaviour are stuck in their own imagination, true. They’re always nervous, double check.
They’re prone to bouts of paranoia, barely pay attention to other people, have low self esteem and very rarely express their thoughts. Check, check, pat yourself on the back with gold stars and pass an Oscar over in appreciation. Nothing here doesn’t not fit, fine.
We Are Insecure introverts (if I’m allowed to say that) in an extroverted world that is ruled by the bright lights of social media and the pressure to be outgoing ALL THE TIME. Its not old news, and many people have tried to define it as one of those complicated human imperfections on our part (blame game) but that’s not the part that got to me though. It was that read on Wiki how I read on a list of ways to recognise people with “ANTISOCIAL PERSONALITY DISORDER” that riled me up.
As implied we’re sick and that bit was strike one.
In its “four part series” (thank you TNA) aimed at classifying “the ASPD condition” it summed up individuals with antisocial behaviour as having the tell tale signs of druggies, con men, fibbers and nut job meat heads with a death wish. I do not wish to go into detail, lest we go into a four part series of my own, so read from the link at your leisure. I will call that bit strike two.
m.wikihow.com/Recognize-Someone-With-Antisocial-Personality-Disorder

Strike three was in fact strike one, as the amount of sites and links insisting that antisocial people seek counseling and psychiatric help would drive anyone suspecting they were Anti Social into the deepest, darkest fits of depression. I felt like i was reading a movement against having issues relating with normal people, as if George Orwell hasn’t already convinced me to fear my fellow man.
Whether it’s called being introverted or antisocial its as if the mere fact of being such a person is a negative defect of some kind. I probably need help, I mean who doesn’t, but reading that I’m less of a functioning social being who should just wake up and make nice with everyone to fit in doesn’t help me AT ALL. Feigning blissful ignorance doesn’t work on those who take the time to observe and be critical of everyone around them, including themselves.
I won’t go into some deep speech about how people are complex beings or talk about the influence of my thoughts, feelings and past experiences having lead me down this path of abnormality.
I won’t say it’s not my fault I’m this way either, that’s just tiresome and such a lie (I enjoyed it sometimes).
Lord knows I’m not a clinical psychologist so I’m just letting off some steam and he is my witness when I say I do not condone those who go about with profile pictures and post statuses about how “they’re not antisocial but selectively social” (bleh) or any of that nonsense that everyone is using to pat themselves on the back to feign strength and be regular.
All the above traits belonging to those who’re truly antisocial over to the “am insecure and pretending to be strong for all to see” bunch just prancing around only add up to a desire for attention.
Doing drugs, making scams, starting cults and cracking skulls isn’t the way I roll (not yet maybe) neither is it limited to people who are Anti Social.
I haven’t decided to be Charles Manson’s copy cat yet (although the female fellowship wouldn’t be a bad idea) nor have I decided to be the next great serial killer. I know good research was don’t to bring up these findings but give us some slack.
We want to live, to learn, to write and enjoy creativity, lust, sexuality and spirituality like every normal person, only in a way we know how. How the heck does that make my stand alone ego evil?
I for one have a natural scowl that’s sown onto my face and the chances of me approaching someone of my own accord can be very slim, but hey, for the person who isn’t afraid to approach me and the one whom my insides won’t scream at when I do approach, don’t be scared. And throw conventionalism out the window while you’re at it (keep the psychology guides just in case you know…).
I just hope you’re not scared of being around a bipolar, baggage carrying psychopath walking around like the next big killing sensation because then you’ve got yourself a very fragile yet interesting friend in me.
Its difficult for us to cope outside the protection of our minds, and really taxing for you to relate to us but hey, doesn’t mean we’re to be avoided at all cost and packed into Arkham asap.
I mean Sherlock and Watson do make a good pair.

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February blues I

My sweet Veronica

I call to thee in chants and dark noise, my evil voice reborn by your rapture.
Let me hail you my sweet Veronica.
You freed my Gothic thoughts and took your Time to convert me.
So now,
let’s escape towards the deafening  moans of love’s reality.
Let’s sail the greatest brainwaves to my windy hometown, where lust will cloud our judgement while the crickets whistle Jimminy sweet tunes.
My Sweet Veronica
I’ll let your beauty take me in the sweet breeze and undress my soul with holy hymnals.
We’ll stain my red sheets in a mad frenzy with our darkened words that speak our mind and scream sex with intensity.
Lets force a beat that’s loud and quiet to rival the crashing waves,
imagine the birth of that sinful dark one winged angel,
and call him all sorts till we come with his name.
We’ll sigh high for my tone deaf brethren to hear us,
and leave the rocky chimes and bed side rhymes to the expert tune tinkers.

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Empty Diary

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With no past behind me to marvel at I look only towards the future.
Usually I forget about the present and what I lack to build a pipe dream.
My fits come too many at a time and my diary’s always by my side yet always empty.
I count the seconds of the day like a clock obsessed maniac,
increasingly taking note of nothing, yet creating thoughts
that fill the empty vacuum my seconds leave behind.
It’s not that there’s nothing there for me to look back or forward to write on.
I’ve always taken everything in and hoarded them wrongly.
Locked them in my heart and thrown away the key.
In all my days,
all the words I could have written.
I’ve looked away and always forgotten to look back.
So how can I?
How can I ever look down and write in this empty diary.

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Deep Musing II…. Along the right path of insanest madness

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If someone has a cape and spare time to wreck his castle in no time,
before I join the geeks in line to see red on vals before pool- dead arrives,
while Shakespeare loomed said thou doest like this?
I say I will do like that!
Whether by Elizabethan or UK version or by my own African dialect or insane submission,
true coaster proclaimed wanna bl33 but I sayeth nay! No. Ahh kakai and so and such.
If dark clouds caught up to me Bentham or Arkham helpest me.
For poetry and philosophy caused my fractured psychology…
reading them like bed time stories wroth wormholes in my dreams and released the words that you see jumbled here.
Save me from 10%, dead cell isn’t like red cells but it has the power to place me in cells while not white or green.
If maybe downward to hades was sickly I wouldn’t seem perky with madly deeply and deepest darkest maddest Musing.

I shan’t say Amen just Blessed be.

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Me against the world

I’ve grown tired and weary of this endless tussle.
This madness over traded notes, titles and roles.
I’ve shrunk from the expectations you heaved on top of me,
blocking your senses to all but the reals you wish to hear.
You are the world stage guised as heaven and I expect too much so you plunder at will.
While I demand goals just to feel satisfied,
you expect a cut of dreamy wonders in return.
I’m your circus master and you are my weekend acts,
yet I leave my quarters open to you and wallow in your cage for life.
My heart and a troubled mind are my weaknesses and your slave.
You are Gaia and I am man,
You can judge and I will act.
You will watch me become my own executioner,
live away the pain of my empty existence,
never numb of my nostalgia.