I feel a deep disdain for myself. Granted, I’m two beers down, and I wasn’t the biggest fan of the people around me. Yet this self-loathing persists. Perhaps, it’s because I have a dreadful fear of commitment or recognizing that which is toxic for me. Or maybe it’s because I actively self-sabotage and go out of my way to make my life more difficult. And I know what you’re thinking, “Boohoo motherfucker. We’ve all got it rough.” You’re right. I’m currently in a state of self-pity. However, a voice is also fighting to speak to me right now. It’s a warmer presence – one filled with light and kindness. You know the voice. It says, “Live in the present. Don’t be so harsh on yourself. You deserve happiness and love.” And so, you see my predicament. A constant show between Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. They are so co-dependent. I know this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. And I don’t want these things to define me. I don’t want to be my mental illness. I don’t want to be my mistakes. Internally, I know I am not defined by these fleeting difficulties. They will come and go. I just wish those around me felt the same.
At any point, a thousand thoughts are racing through my head. I may be smiling and laughing and joking, but I, too, struggle to keep up the façade. I did a particularly poor job of it today. “Why do you look so depressed?”, a friend remarked. Gee, I wonder why. It’s not as if I enjoy being this way. There you go again. Do you see it? Can you hear it? The coarseness of my inner demons. Just yelling at me. They’ve gotten pretty good at disguising their ways that they’ve become so subtle. Almost imperceptible. But no matter how much I thrash against the waves, I can see them clear as day. At times, I embrace them like a thirsty traveler welcomes an oasis in a desert. But things are never as they seem in desolation. Reality distorts. Sleep gets harder to come by. Peace is all but illusory. The past comes back to haunt you, and you’re left rewinding your failures, one by one.
What’s the point of living in your past? What’s the purpose of living ducking in fear?
People ask questions I don’t want to answer.
“What happened?”
I’m fucking complex, don’t you get it yet? I am unhappy. Is that enough? When I say it though, you’ll look at me with concern and worried eyes. But when I was sobbing in a hotel room on the eve of my birthday, you didn’t care. None of you did.
I know I sound like a victim. But tonight I just want to wallow.
It’s a rollercoaster of emotions. We’re stuck in this loop de loop. What we thought and did, one day as if on impulse, slowly becomes all we do. Slowly becomes all we are.
I’ll leave it at that. I’ve sufficiently satisfied my need to impress a reader that may never even look upon this. I told you, I’m complex. Don’t you get it yet?
Melan-jolly 