The Rusty Combine

 

 

The steps of being a self-defeating person are similar to masochism. One psychological, another mental, as if no one is watching and yet, said person is always observing internally while projecting. A forcefield outward or an object inward. 

Little can deter their thought process. What was once objective consideration is now corrupted and unfair. Specifically, to themselves and how any situation needs to unevenly disperse weight to their disadvantage. 

This is not out of goodwill or great compassion. If any, such a ratio exists out of coincidence. Though it may seem as if they're shouldering a burden, this is consequential by design. Intended to overwhelm themselves. Not of generosity to anyone externally, but to mimic the internal pressure felt within. 

Intensification helps play out the manifestation of poor self-worth. Optimism is a fleeting charade they use. Dealing three-card Monty and keeping success out of the reach with dealer and player being one and the same.

Each hand fit with wins nullified by losses; Expanding the house of cards. Decreasing odds that smother and leave no room to breathe. Oxygen fleeting as proportions change with every breath. 

Just below the surface, systems are failing. An implosion with the slightest wind. The tower of thin skin, the outstretched deck will fall with any pressure. So fragile and vulnerable, yet a formation of its own pieces.

Slightest of notions can bring the system down. Ending the charade of any competitive drive. Inevitably losing to one's self; Intentionally throwing the game. Extinguishing all chances of amelioration. 

Often these conditions leave the mind creating false dilemmas about any point to be discussed. Any semblance of logic now undermined without confidence or sabotaged by the mirage of broken agendas. 

Each endeavor is viewed subjectively before and then after. As if every opportunity is a ticket to Paradise. Yet, scrutinized after a rewarding journey. Sometimes, failing to see a plan and other times picking apart a successful endeavor.

It's very tragic as these things unfold. Because there's immense anticipation and preparation which is juxtaposed after the conclusion with jaded interpretation. The freedom of thought is filtering reasonable, even preferable, outcomes through mental debris and then graded. 

Every battle registers as a loss. Finding negativity without illumination. There is no spark of hope. Only the smoky unbreathable atmosphere as if caught in a tomb running out of air. 

The paralyzing distortion of anything positive. Left immobile and euphoric as the environment shrinks. No external possibilities for harm exist when a psyche is fortified. Truth is lost without ventilation as the vacuum breeds confusion before a total shutdown.

Fresh perspective is refused. Filtered reality ironically prevails, drifting in a polluted brainstorm that drowns every sprout. Eroding every seed of organic conceivability and the garden of thought remains fruitless. 

Come harvest there is no crop to yield. Nothing freshly produced. The end result: empty handed. Left starving for knowledge. Any store crops are circling the drain. The acidic precipitation turning a once promising field stagnant. Enervating any prospects; continuously destroyed as each empty season is more probably the final one.