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Old Yellering or The Plight of Good Intentions

Aww man... I can't help it you guys, I'm a big softy. But I'm also a pretty big bitch nowadays too, because I'm sick of being a Debbie Doormat, Doormat for Dicks and Weirdos.

Anyway, after years of making this mistake and having it cause me needless anxiety, I feel confident enough to tell you that you should not indulge your pity or altruism when crazy people need your help.


And I don't mean fun crazy or sad crazy. I mean batshit. I mean clinically, legitimately and totally insane people. You are not a trained health professional- this will not end up pretty.


I tried to help this guy, not really help, but just give him someone to talk to.  Every time I would agree to listen or read his insanity, I would become frustrated and angry and eventually just give up.  There's only so much I can take of Jesus claims. And it's a treat to be called the girl of someone's dreams but its a nightmare when that someone could end up on the news, covered in dynamite and screaming my name.


Well my birthday came around and this guy wrote to me about his terrible loneliness. In the haze of a good time, I told him that if he ever felt suicidal he could shoot me a note. Crazy as you can be, its no reason to feel like you need to die. It broke my heart you guys, and I forgot about how he used to harass me and a friend of mine non-stop. I forgot all the crazy this guy blasted me with and saw him as a misunderstood man who was unjustly chastised by douchebags and skanks. I was riding my horse high, guys.

Now a few years ago, I would have tried to perpetuate whatever stupid analysis I was offeringin order to help him out. That's because a few years ago, I was stupid enough to think that I could manage someone else's very serious illness. It's that selfish kind of feeling, you know, where you do good so you can feel good. I thought I was a righteous bitch, taking the time out of my day to give this guy a bit of conversation.

Well I'm not a righteous bitch. I just wanted to distract myself from how bitterly disappointed I was that one of my ex-fuck pieces forgot my birthday. So I indulged in "helping" him. I quickly realized that our previously dormant cycle of futile therapy would awaken if I did not revoke my invitation to conversation.

I shot that rabid dog right in the back of his yellow head. I blew his fucking brains out- I told him that we couldn't talk everyday, that there was only so much I could do and recommended seeing a therapist.

He was, of course, very upset. Offended that I offered help, which he insisted he had no use for. Of course, he can't be helped. You see, the world is fucked and he is the only one who is doing right. Ergo, I am part of the fucked up world and would only help to ruin him, if I haven't already maimed him with good intentions.


Well I had to kick the dog guys, I had to cut him off. He's a computer genius, so I'm pretty sure he could destroy this blog and my Facebook if he wanted to. He hasn't yet and I am truly grateful. I am also somewhat worried that he'll hop on a plane from the West Coast and shoot me in the face with a double-barrel shotgun, but I'd hope he would do me the courtesy of giving me a day's warning.

So I tried and I failed to help somebody. I probably left them off worse because I wanted to be a 'good' person.

Fuck that- I'm awful.


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