Ohright. I remember now. That is, I remember why I am rarely OK/happy. I binge when I feel OK. I binge when life seems optomistic. I'm a freaking masochist.This is how it goes: "Oh, wait, no. You can't be happy becuase you're a messed, worthless piece of crap. Let me show you how I know that's true."
And, I mean, yes, the majority of the time, I feel that way. No matter how many times a day I comfort someone, or get congradulated or complimented, I can't help but internally scoff. Really? Really? You wouldn't say that if I wasn't a lying, deceitful douchebag.
When I'm not on here - writing these posts as I do - I feel like a puppet. "Today, I will feel like this, move your hand here...up to your mouth... now, feel bad! Ok, move to your class. Get up! Wake up! Ask a question! Good. Now, time to write. Get a pencil. Etc." Because, honestly, I don't want to do it. I mean, in saying that it implies I even sense or recognize the emotion of "desire" (which I don't), but I digress. I'd semi-"happily" lay in bed all day.
But, then, I start looking at my actions. Hindsight is 20/20, right? I am the puppet-master, yet, undeniably, I am also the puppet of my own idiotic mindset. I am not helping myself here. I'm not helping or impressing or doing this for anyone. ridiculously So why must I be so obsessed with... not even just myself, but my world.
Everyone's reasons for this... for having, at the very least, this form of unneeded distortion of our reflections are different. But... I truely, wholely, unequivocably believe that everyone is beautiful. Every. Single. Person. I believe I can be beautiful, but I know a secret about myself. I'm not beautiful on the inside, therefore I can not be apart of this idealized beautiful humanity.
But, even that doesn't make any logical sense. Q.E.D.
So, when I sit and I eat 4 pieces of pizza, candy, soup, bread... and I'm thinking, Jesus lord I'm fat... at a volunteer session to share my passion for global humanitarian work with Jr. High students... and I spend my night talking to concerned parents, pushing my concerns for my body and for my own worth out of my head... I become someone else. It's not me.
Because... at this point... I don't know how to exist without having these hateful thoughts. I honestly, honestly believe it now. It's like how you hate your job, but you know you aren't going to quit because, lets face it, why bother? It's not like you have anywhere else to go. So, you go to work knowing that the face your boss sees, the face your coworkers see, is a facade; this mask attachs to your core, your very being and becomes a part of your costume. A costume that your puppet-master deems correct, the one He deems suitable.
But, you're your own puppet-master.
So, where the fuck does that leave you?
2 comments:
love that post. wow
... with a scissor in your hands. You may not be able to use it now, maybe not next week, month or whatever, but you are the one with the fucking scissor. And when you cut your own strings, you'll fall down and it'll be painful as hell. I can't tell you if it'll be worth the pain. It's your pain after all.
This post reminded me probably 50 % of the memories I have from school since Kindergarten.
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