No one wants to be defeated

I have this emptiness in me, this void deep down that i have tried to fill with anything i could, but nothing seems to last. I've filled it, first, with the love of The Beatles, which seemed to work, but eventually faded with new distractions. I've filled it with the friendship, love and lust I've felt for hundreds of people, but in the end everyone leaves and takes the feelings with them. I tried to fill it with the arts, with painting and poetry, but always my standards were too high and I was filled with a seering feeling of failure when I couldn't reach them. Through time everything helped momentarily but everything would fade. Now I know why. The gap, the void in me, was a space reserved for self-love. Time and time again people have told me they loved me, they admired me, they thought I was incredible, selfless, sacrificing. I was so selfless and sacrificing, always putting others before me, that I disregarded myself. I hardly knew myself, and I could not love what I did not know. It didn't seem important, to think about myself, but because I didn't, I couln't understand it when other people thought of me. When they cared about me, when they loved me. I couldn't comprehend what they saw in me, what made me so incredible. I couldn't see it, so I couldn't believe it. So the lack of love flourished, and in its place left and empty hole that i tried fruitlessly to fill, not knowing how. But now I'm on my way to changing that.

Comments

neighborhood nights

I feel like somewhere along my life there was a shift. Suddenly nothing was for fun any more, it was all necessary. Suddenly I'm bothering with what others think, afraid to link any connotations I deem negative to my being. Why do I care what people I've never met, who'll forget they ever saw me, think of me; this obscure stranger in their peripherals. It's a warped sense of mind and place, seeing the space around me in my mind's made up ways. So I stray away from everyone, isolating myself unwittingly, turning them against me. Self fulfilling prophecies, I succeed in creating this reality. I need to break free from my mind's mentalities, with which negativity has propelled me. So I've started a new sport. I call it neighborhood night dancing. Donning headphones and heading out alone to the empty streets as the city sleeps, and moving to the beat. Letting it compel me towards a freedom long gone missing. Letting go is an art. Complete release is a tough ...

zip.

I dread human contact. I absolutely hate it. I hate having to think of something to say, hate having to feign interest and sympathy. It's a stressful situation and I don't even know why. I guess it's the culmination of all my antisocial tendencies over the years. Once you get into a habit it gets harder and harder to change as time goes by. I've always been the shy one, the quiet one. The exception is my friends. I'm talkative and at ease with the people I like. I love my friends and I love having friends, but I dread making them. It's like it's too much effort to be worth it. All the awkward getting to know eachothers and stuff, I'd rather just avoid it completely. But it's getting me into trouble. People think I'm arrogant, too good to talk to them. Or that I hate them. Such is the case with my mother. She's been living at her parent's house, and so I rarely see her. That suited me fine, because less interactions the better. So whenever...

Home

I looked back at blog entries, and even though the subject matter was less than pleasant to be reminded of, it was still good, I'm glad I have written reminders so I have points of reference to gauge my growth. And I've come far. I often feel like I've had three stages in my life. The first was with Brent, and though I was a newborn in love's eyes, I soon grew to an extremely old age. My heart was always cracked and my spirit became dulled. I became clogged with darkness, became tired and dragged myself through the days. But I never stopped. I stubbornly sacrificed myself each day for someone whom I thought it was going to help. I was wrong. The first day of my second stage was the day I stopped caring about him and finally focused on myself. I was free, and I was drunk with it. Too drunk. I dove into something that made me happy, too quick. I soon realized there were other ways to get hurt. this stage wasn't that defining, though I began to learn to take things as ...

rude awakenings

Search This Blog