If you listen to somebody enough, your thought pattern takes on their speech pattern. And if that speech pattern is violent and harsh, then your thoughts become so.
I have witnessed this in myself.
I have seen since the beginning of working at the mill that I have been sinking into the thought pattern of those that i work with. And when those that I work with are always shit-talking, I begin shit-thinking.
You can fight it.
You can decide not to listen to it.
But eventually, because it is your own thought pattern now, you begin to act on it. I have become less loving and more harsh. I have taken upon myself an exoskeleton because this world dislikes the gooey people.
And I am gooey. Whatever you say will stick to me and take form around me. The innocence of what I was is buried 6 feet beneath this sludge. Then it dries and it cracks. And that has become my exoskeleton. That is what my identity as Drew Overmier has become.
I have to continually dig out of this muck, scraping away from the inside, and some days, when I’ve been away from people long enough to scrape and scratch and dig, I poke a hole through the surface and I see the sun. And it’s beautiful. And I can breathe. And then it is quickly covered by somebody else’s shit. Somebody else muck. Because we think that giving away our muck is how we get rid of it. We are like wildfire, thinking that if we spread we will go out.
Maybe if I could clear myself away from this muck once and for all, I could learn not to be so sticky. So gooey. And I could love freely and be innocent and whole.
But that will not happen at the rate I’m going.
I will mostly die in this exoskeleton made of other people’s speech-patterns. And nobody, nobody is going to let me out, no matter how much I try to imagine it. No matter how much I want somebody to come along. No matter how much I need for it to happen, it hasn’t yet so all evidence goes for me to say it won’t happen ever.
So I’ve become used to being a golem, an unformed creature. I’ve decided to view my innocence that is scraping its way out as a void instead of a thing. A black hole. A singularity.
And that gives me hope. This means, whatever you throw at me will, yes, stick, but it will also be consumed in the vast compression of a singularity, a black hole. And it is only a matter of time until you have no more shit to throw at me. No more muck.
There will come a day when my inner peace, my constant struggle to compress and digest, my singularity, my black hole will free you from your own exoskeleton. And then, on that day, we will both be free.