You look at some people, at their outward appearances and you judge them to some length. It think it’s instinctive but I also think it’s important to treat it as a hastily scrawled sticky note. One can’t fully ever know a person, no matter how long you’ve known someone, heck, they don’t even know who they are half of the time. I can attest. I want to kick the habit of insta-judge but that doesn’t mean I’ll make friends with any and all. I believe it’s instinctive, this measuring up, for the purpose of self preservation for at some level whilst meeting for the first time (for however briefly) you try to pick up vibes, peaceable, proceed-with-caution or run-the-frak-away. That said, everyone fights invisible wars. Ugh, what I’m getting at is … how to put it?
Here I am. Great things are expected of me and such, you know how family can be (if yours is like mine), supportive with bright eyes and two thumbs aggressively up. Here I am, a chronic-insomniac who is slowly gaining ground in the battle of accepting myself, my fat lazy ass self. I subject myself to self-hate sporadically for various reasons. Sometimes I am so mad at me to the point that I am afraid of what I transform into.
I’m too lucky to have been born in this beautiful family. They deserve better. I don’t know what to do with myself. I know what I want to do but I am scared to voice it in fear my parents won’t agree, because their thoughts mean a lot to me. But that is bull. I can’t get what I don’t ask for, right? But you see, I forget that most times. My gosh, to be a let down to so many people who are keeping tabs on me … just damn. I’m not the only one with these pressures, sure, but that shouldn’t lessen my situation, because it’s real and individual.
My dad hates when I pout. I am told that I do that often. I gather that it’s a sign that I am unsatisfied with what he’s worked hard to provide. Dammit, it’s the other way around, man. I consciously try to plaster a convincing smile when I catch myself frowning at my own uselessness. I am chatty girl, generally. I attempt to be more serious, in the hope that I will take my life as such. It’s like trying to whether rock drop by drop expecting results overnight.
On the surface to people who don’t come in regular close-ish contact with me, and if I’m too high due to lack of sleep (or in most cases cranky as a bear) or if I’m channeling too much happy emotion I can be mean without the intention of being so and so I am careless with my mouth. I grow to regret the words by increasingly alarming degrees throughout the day that by the end of it I … do things that hurt as much as the humiliation I feel.
To a someone who isn’t privy to who I am I may seem to be a bitch, sometimes a kind helpful and slightly insane, but okay, kind of girl. I would like to trust you and yours but I like to think I am not stupid so I will not smile with you if you seem suspicious and if you don’t meet me with a smile first. It depends on the day I’m having. Those who do know me, probably feel I’m way better than that.
Truth: I am kind. I don’t mind holding your baby when you need both hands fishing change at the cashier. I’ll laugh at your bad jokes and stuff.
Truth: I am incrementally getting better at being me. Books, tumblr and movies help. I have not told any of this to my family or any of my friends, so this will come as a shock. If they know they would talk me out of this nonsense or at least awkwardly attempting to approach me.
Don’t hastily judge others alone on their actions and gestures (well probably except the blatantly hostile ones), just ask yourself why does s/he act like a total jerk? I’ve learned this from reading, most people behave the way they do for a reason. Those of you acquainted with Zadist from the Black Dagger Brotherhood series, in his book you finally understand why he is so cold, withdrawn and hateful of women.
Why did Lord Voldemort become such a blight on humanity? He suffered from the lack of love, affection and care as he grew up. He was a smart lad from since he was very young, he knew he was scorned by his father who never saw him, who had been enchanted by his mother with a love potion. What is love if not conjured? False? A weakness? What sort of wizard would he have been if his mother had lived? Was his darkness fully inherent? We can only speculate inconclusively.
Tim and/or Theresa if you happen to be reading this, and whoever who knows me in real life: I don’t want to talk about it. Now now. If you read this, just say ‘Bazinga’ and I’ll know, okay? To you people with bad intent, who have heard of me or have the chance to come in contact with me: I’m not wounded prey material, so strangle those evil thoughts in the womb. I am not that weak, as much as you would hope. You know who I am talking to: every guilty humanoid rupturing zit who thinks to use me as a pawn, that’s who.
You see dear readers, it’s been risky, living in a dangerous world and all, opening up even a little like this but I do this in order to face my problems head on. I do this to raise awareness that everyone hurts inside at the hands of a tailored demon(s). You know yours, your fears and insecurities and maybe most of the time you are preoccupied with them that you are rendered unaware of the demons those around you are battling with too. We screw up sometimes and no one wants to be remembered as ‘that guy’.
What is my potential, my limit? What I believe them to be, that’s how much. And I’ll be damned if I allow myself to soak in despair, to be smoked to tasty tenderness for the fiery pit that would surely await me if I give in to inertia.
I haven’t slept, as per usual, so if you spot any inaccuracies about please do drop me a line. Why are your thoughts on this? Do you feel the same, too? You can’t imagine the amount of typos in this line alone.
“Where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure.”