4/30/2007
Inflatable

I want to go back to school. Right here I'm bored to wits, and I can feel some pair of claws - hooves, even - scratch through me. It's sore, trust me. I gotta have your trust on that one.

And besides, school's the only place where I can prove myself. For some reason, most of the things I get my hands on becomes magical - becomes some inspired piece of me that makes people go wow. It becomes something I'm proud of. It becomes something I'd probably cherish for most of my life, if anything's even left of it. For a third of my day I'll get all of my accolades along with everything else I dread to get, but nevertheless do.

The people back there, they're the most supportive. None at home - nobody cares, to be honest - and only here do I feel the freedom I've actually long wanted to have. For once, I control at least part of my life. Failing a class becomes my decision, and mine alone. Falling in love becomes mine. Making sure I get back home becomes mine. And even though I have stumbled many times, I know the people back there would surely accept me, nevertheless. Surely, a far cry from what I thought of them before - monsters who eat the clueless all day.

The outside world has rejected me. And sure, it hurts a lot more. All of a sudden I actually begin to doubt whether I can actually do anything I wish to do - at least within the boundaries of my principles, my abilities and my doubts. If I failed on one thing, surely I cannot be that good in everything else, right? Shattered egg shells, I can imagine. Or purport, maybe.

And then people like me - maybe the exact same people who "support" me - they're just achieving, miles ahead, pretending to be humble while at the same time subtly positioning themselves for the price. Who knows - they could be laughing at me this very moment, and merely comforting me for the sake of playing the game, for the sake of surviving, for the sake of making themselves look all the more compassionate. Everything I've done, it seems, will be pounced on by somebody who does it so much better, and I fail.

And I refuse to listen to this reality, because the only reality that matters - that must matter - is my reality. Mine, and mine alone.

My reality states that nobody cares. And if anybody does care, it's only because they have to. Oh, I'll need his support. Oh, I'll need his able arms to get me up that crane. I must act as director, after all. I desperately need that 4.0. I think everybody is out of shove down my throat that they're all better than me, in everything that they do - besides, clueless people get eaten up. Maybe I got spit out the first time and everybody decided to make me the ultimate poster boy. And everybody else with me - all the other clueless people - they also refuse to cooperate. Damn, I'm hopeless, indeed!

I don't know why they all have the prove they're better than me. I already know that. All that I aspire to be, they already are, and despite all the implied "hard work and effort" they actually accumulated everything and nothing else matters. They deprive me of growth, and then they blame me for not growing. Oh, but you've grown up - your voice is deeper and you've grown taller! You can now do websites? Oooh, I wish I could do that. Oh, but wait - you can also draw? Such a boy, you are. But ditch the maturity - I think I've never been more suicidal than ever before.

Everything is positioned in a trajectory that means they all end up proving that they're better. That I must be grateful to them. That I have nothing to prove. That I must go back to bed and maybe play with myself before I realize I've been living a doomed life. And they don't really have to prove that. I already know that I've nothing to offer, that I've everything to be grateful for, that I've got nothing to offer still - and thus, with their constant reminders, subtle or otherwise, I have refused to listen. I've got my fantasy to live with - people are friendly, and helpful - precisely as pre-school as it can get.

Last night I dreamt that I slashed my wrists. I saw myself die, with my eyes open. I saw myself fall from the sky with my eyes open. I saw myself jump off the building to everybody's cheers. And I realized that I die, and nobody would care. Couldn't that be a better thing to do? Besides, nobody really cares around me. And I've rendered myself as, simply, useless.

Lashing out. I'm "hiding insecurities with [my] ingenuity". Like it wasn't obvious enough.

And your responses...

your sentiments sound frighteningly similar to a friend's. but i can understand (even just a little) what you're trying to say. i know it might not be what you want to hear right now, and it may sound patronizing, but i am sincere in saying that although there will always be people better than us, there's nothing wrong with reaching for the stars, and in the end it is only us who can ultimately benefit from our efforts.

Anonymous stef4/30/2007     

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