I would make such a good boyfriend. Any guy would be so lucky to have me.
...Too bad I'm the only one that knows this.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
Diary of a Madman
copyright 2011
Have you ever lived through one of those moments where you felt as if there was/were something(s) so particularly indicative of you that you felt as though you bear a mark, a brand, a scar, a burden? And that no matter which way YOU look at it, it doesn't ever seem to lose significance?
Funny, because I feel like this almost every single day of my life. And I feel it from multiple angles, different sides, various aspects—some of which are so dissimilar to each other, yet, integrate to become this Goliath of insecurity each time I look in the mirror. Those of which I choose to open up to are shocked, among other reactions, to learn all the things I keep underneath the covers and come to observe just how adroit I am at concealing my innermost emotions and issues, all by smiling, be that as it may, most of which I fake to keep worried peers at bay. I've learned throughout the years that a smile doesn't always denote happiness; a smile doesn't typify a damn thing.
I am a master actor, and my charade only refines itself as the years pass. Very few have had a slight glimpse, if not a look, of all the derangement that I keep within the precinct of my mind. There is so much disorientation, confusion, anger, fear, despondency, hate. There is too much for one person to be able to contain and still maintain a decent amount of sanity.
This almost goes without saying: many times I'm almost positive I've lost myself entirely. The inability to distinguish between what I feel, what I can still feel, and what I no longer feel is beginning to metamorphose into something I cannot put into words. It saddens me, because when I look in the mirror, I cannot genuinely claim to "like" what I see on the other side. In fact, as soon as I look, immediately, I begin to specify all of which I not only think but know is so imperfect. I no longer look in the mirror and see someone who is confident, collected, and content. I see a child, so fearful that others will see those same defects.
I miss the old me. So much too. Days I wake I feel like a hollow cast of who I used to be, feigning assurance in myself physically, mentally, and emotionally, for the sake of retaining just an ounce of happiness I used to exhibit before the crumbling of my foundation. Battles I've been fighting for well over 20 years are finally beginning to drain my vitality undividedly; and I'm at a point in life where I don't think I can keep on. I just wanna give up sometimes. And although I have to regularly talk myself down from it, infrequently, I find that the thought of simply ending it all in a heap of blood would be the only alternative. Somehow, I abandon that intimation and judge that it's all worth it in the end. But goddamn it, it hurts so much. It all just hurts so much.
My soul has been wrenched a thousand times over, and when it comes to placing myself in the center of the battleground of "love," I find myself fleeing more times than ever being outgoing. I've come to expect that this new guy I'm talking to will end up dumping me to the side, walking away, and pretending that it never happened. I've come to conjecture that the other guy after him will not only do the same, but will be inundated by all that is my past that he simply cannot look/put me past it. In other words, I cede the possibility I know is there, before I can ever really run into the one that is supposed to love me for who I am, in spite of the lunacy, the massive inferiority complex, in spite of myself... In spite of the mark that I bear.
And that's just it: I don't know if I'll ever be as confident as I used to be, as happy as I used to be, as me as I used to be. I'm not comfortable looking at my own reflection—what makes anyone think I'd be complacent enough to reveal myself to someone else? I suppose only time will tell. But until then, the mark will not wash off. It's there, and whether or not I can really deal with it is something that I've yet to decide. Because let's face it, I can attempt to interpret what it is I mean; but you? You don't understand.
This... This is the diary of a madman...
Have you ever lived through one of those moments where you felt as if there was/were something(s) so particularly indicative of you that you felt as though you bear a mark, a brand, a scar, a burden? And that no matter which way YOU look at it, it doesn't ever seem to lose significance?
Funny, because I feel like this almost every single day of my life. And I feel it from multiple angles, different sides, various aspects—some of which are so dissimilar to each other, yet, integrate to become this Goliath of insecurity each time I look in the mirror. Those of which I choose to open up to are shocked, among other reactions, to learn all the things I keep underneath the covers and come to observe just how adroit I am at concealing my innermost emotions and issues, all by smiling, be that as it may, most of which I fake to keep worried peers at bay. I've learned throughout the years that a smile doesn't always denote happiness; a smile doesn't typify a damn thing.
I am a master actor, and my charade only refines itself as the years pass. Very few have had a slight glimpse, if not a look, of all the derangement that I keep within the precinct of my mind. There is so much disorientation, confusion, anger, fear, despondency, hate. There is too much for one person to be able to contain and still maintain a decent amount of sanity.
This almost goes without saying: many times I'm almost positive I've lost myself entirely. The inability to distinguish between what I feel, what I can still feel, and what I no longer feel is beginning to metamorphose into something I cannot put into words. It saddens me, because when I look in the mirror, I cannot genuinely claim to "like" what I see on the other side. In fact, as soon as I look, immediately, I begin to specify all of which I not only think but know is so imperfect. I no longer look in the mirror and see someone who is confident, collected, and content. I see a child, so fearful that others will see those same defects.
I miss the old me. So much too. Days I wake I feel like a hollow cast of who I used to be, feigning assurance in myself physically, mentally, and emotionally, for the sake of retaining just an ounce of happiness I used to exhibit before the crumbling of my foundation. Battles I've been fighting for well over 20 years are finally beginning to drain my vitality undividedly; and I'm at a point in life where I don't think I can keep on. I just wanna give up sometimes. And although I have to regularly talk myself down from it, infrequently, I find that the thought of simply ending it all in a heap of blood would be the only alternative. Somehow, I abandon that intimation and judge that it's all worth it in the end. But goddamn it, it hurts so much. It all just hurts so much.
My soul has been wrenched a thousand times over, and when it comes to placing myself in the center of the battleground of "love," I find myself fleeing more times than ever being outgoing. I've come to expect that this new guy I'm talking to will end up dumping me to the side, walking away, and pretending that it never happened. I've come to conjecture that the other guy after him will not only do the same, but will be inundated by all that is my past that he simply cannot look/put me past it. In other words, I cede the possibility I know is there, before I can ever really run into the one that is supposed to love me for who I am, in spite of the lunacy, the massive inferiority complex, in spite of myself... In spite of the mark that I bear.
And that's just it: I don't know if I'll ever be as confident as I used to be, as happy as I used to be, as me as I used to be. I'm not comfortable looking at my own reflection—what makes anyone think I'd be complacent enough to reveal myself to someone else? I suppose only time will tell. But until then, the mark will not wash off. It's there, and whether or not I can really deal with it is something that I've yet to decide. Because let's face it, I can attempt to interpret what it is I mean; but you? You don't understand.
This... This is the diary of a madman...
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