If the fear of being triggered is so intense, that I am a horrible person, then would somebody insist on holding the gun?

If the first thing that one does is bless their new home, then why would the second thing to do is invite in evil?

I’m not a trigger, I’m just the target. I’m always the target. The more I hold a hand, the larger the bull’s eye on my back is. The larger the bull’s eye, the greater the urge to pull the trigger. It is that simple, that simplistic.

Training is a beautiful thing. The earlier you are trained to be a man hater, the earlier you are trained to take the blame for being male, the better you are at taking the punches. I get it, I’ve been there time and time again. I know it isn’t me why I am attacked, but the battering just fucking hurts. I build walls, every day the wall gets higher, every day the mural gets prettier, and every day I can never forget my every action must be in support of me getting so far away that nobody can get to me, and I can never get to anybody unless the hearts and motives are absolutely pure. That is the only way for me and the world to be safe from me. ‘Til then, all I can do is power forward knowing the desperation I need someone to help counter-balance the hell of Oildale, the hell of people.

At least, I get enough of a human emotion to write.

Now excuse me, Cuutoo is demanding food.