Manchurian programmer's daughter

But I'm not a manchurian. I'm internally aware of how to hit and where to break. But not where not to. I draw others to me as an easy target. I don't know what I am doing-standing there? Minding my own business? A pretty face, uplifting free smile, beautiful green eyes-a rarity. I don't know why.

I just want to be left alone, or engaged by 'normal' people. I have nothing in common with anyone.

I live by partial sonar using my ears and nose to move forward, and the reflection in window shops and off crome to watch where I can't see. It's always been this way. Activity and raised voices bother me. People bother me. I go out to smell the lilacs-but they are always in the way.

I can't defend myself from danger-I'm too aware that I will end the threat. Because although I know I am not a manchurian-I am aware of where to hit but not of where not too-a miss on my part would mean the wheelchair for me. So instead I call the cops for their protection. It is the truth no one can see.

Why should I go to jail for someone else's instigation? Because I know the judge is going to say you should have known better. Or maybe I'll like it. Or maybe I'll mean it. Or maybe it will take hold of me.

I just don't want to find out unless I have no other options. There are always other options. There is always backing down, deflecting, standing up, and walking away. I never instigate. Trouble always finds me. Trouble I don't ask for.

I can't give the trouble what it deserves.

I have to act when I have to act. There is no wait for violence to call the police. At the point of violence the fight is on. There is no 'call home'. Only stop the threat. Kick the threat, beat the threat-and then call the police.

But when I can't see and there is a lot of movement and the voices are raised-I am watching the minute body languages and translating them from years upon years of catalouging and accuracy comparison slotted away and pulled out to carry me through each and every day. I don't have time to think about but the moment.

I just wish people would behave themselves so I don't have to call 911 for their protection.

I need to pick up some neat trick such as yelling very loudly.

I look to good to be the half blind autistic lady with spinal injuries raised by the Manchurian man. In fact it seems people label me as something entirely and completly other. I wish they knew.

Every perp that comes my way-I have to wonder who controls their thoughts. Every mental case. Every substance abuserer. Many gutter drunks.

More recently there has been an "I love you" fad. I am nervously nice to people. I truly mean well. But...three about absolute strangers who's names I know and I am seen around-and one completely total stranger, have turned on a dime and mouthed "I love you"-outside of context of any greeting or civil chatter.

One hit and misses between saying I love you and I'm going to kill you/I'm going to slit your throat.

They are all manageable.

The other night someone kicked the outer door for 3 hours. Today someone in my space attempting to overlay his last encounter onto me-rambling and yelling about god and judging him and b's and c's ...and all I wanted to do was knock him upside the ... or tackle him down.

But the community calls me foul for protecting the guy from the snap I was about really wanting to experience. The break from restraint. The justification of retaliation.

I know it would feel good-but, I know that I both don't know 'how' to fight as well as I do know how to likely end him in the process. My teachers would say I do to cover for their mistakes in training-and ego ignorances.

But-in the moment I only know that I am a very little person who has to move on twice as hard.

Everybody else gets to fight their problems. I don't get to. I am the manchurian man's untrainable daughter-it would only prove all those allud-sions-and my whole life fighting him would be for nothing.

I don't know what he needed me for, really.

I am ok with no responses. I soulfully need to write all of that out. I am actually hugely relieved I have no responses to respond to, as often they are pot shots at my grammer or meandering train of information presentation.

Not a cry for help but a sigh of exasperated frustration not up to the discouragement level of Rant, and definately very very Grey.

Thanks.

Is that Gray or Grey? Why did they change it and what is the difference between the two? Anyways,

Toda!

This spewing was spawned/inspired by a non involved altercation that occurred in the early evening hours last night, wherin an aging addict or mental patient or drunk-(too hard to tell), ranting and raving after a young teenaged girl who had failed to stop and listen to his loud and crazy babbling, decided to spot me and come my way as my roommate and I were in wait outside a soup kitchen. I had been trying to watch the canadian train which was running silently through town. I like to look at the grafitti. An artwork experience.

But so this man comes up hollering and hollering and overlaying whatever it was he had been spewing and responding at the girl-as if I were her. I didn't acknowledge him or enter into participating and kept trying to watch my train as if he were not there. He kept circling on my blind side and screaming at me as if I were actually a participant in this fantasy land conversation with him.

He kept saying don't you judge me! Only god judge me! Don't you judge me C (omitted)! Not you, I don't mean you. I mean her. B!

He came within 2 feet a few times at my back. So I looked at my partner realizing I hadn't my phone-and held out my hand.

A lock blade drops into it.

Geeeeeez.....

I finally manage to communicate that I need the phone-still having not 'made a connection' with the screaming crazy man, who was intermittantly behaving in I can only describe as a Golem hunchback. Truly possessed. Not at all entertaining.

The police who responded *knew* the man-which was good because I shure didn't. By the time he showed up however so did about 8 of crazy mans' friends. So it was there I learned a bit about the mentality of things as all of these people who hadn't been there to begin with said he hadn't just been terrorizing the neighborhood. As well crazy man was lying as if I had just came along and started to harass him!



So then came on the arguement with what can only be the homeless recovering crackhead association who appears to be coming to the NA around the corner to buy their dope while sucking up the system's 'clean and sober' programs.

It's taken me a few instances at that soup kitchen to realize it's proximity to it's neighborhood is probably more of a risk than the benifit of eating.

What does that have to do with my upbringing of out-thinking the operators attempts at hypnotism? Just that I've noticed my fuse is getting progressively shorter.

Luckily my block is more on the alcoholic side of town. Can't beat the rent.

Thanks again.

reply to post by HugmyRek


Thank you! I like your writing style. Stream of consciousness imagery always has a raw power not commonly found in scripted prose.