a reply...
I wanted to write something profound. I tried for hours. All that came out was the one lousy paragraph. I guess when you try to respond in a certain style, one that is not your own, you end up with something as shitty as the aforementioned paragraph.
I haven't written in so long, I don't know what my style is anymore. I don't know what nuances I usually use. I don't know where I usually draw my inspiration from. I have no idea where to start.
And that is what I am faced with in my life. I'm trying to write the story of my life. I'm trying to write my personality, to dictate the way in which I'll live. But it's been so long since I've tried. I don't know my own strengths. I have no idea what used to inspire me. I have no idea where to start.
Over the past 6 months, I have become an alien to myself. I wake up and see a stranger staring back at me in the mirror. My features have changed, I've grown outwardly more mature. They are my own, for I cannot dictate with my mind how I will look externally.
But I have not been true to my inner self. I have changed my personality depending upon situation, upon the company I keep, upon the current mood of a particular environment.
Around certain people I am cool and confident, cursing, smoking, doing whatever it takes to fit in.
Around others I am whatever they need: an object of familiarity to hold on to, a pretty face to show off to the world, a mound of clay they can mold and call their own. I do so willingly, knowing that I am not me, so that they will feel better. So that they will like what I am to them, whether or not I am myself or not.
Around some I find my morals still intact. I find my faith renewed, my spirit soaring. I realize my own faults.
But all these characters are temporary. Only induced by a certain environment. I've not relied on my own nature, only the external situation I find myself in.
I've become a woman of a thousand faces. I am constantly shifting, from one day to the next, from one party to the next, from one minute to the next.
I don't want this life anymore. I don't want to be there for everyone. I don't want to have to put on a show, to hide who I am behind a colorful mask that pleases the eye. I don't want to have to prove my worth to people by saying and doing what I know will make them feel better about themselves and accept the mirror image of myself.
I'm not a toy, I'm not a doll, I'm not a neat little package, I'm not even an open book. I am complicated, I am high maintenance, I am disorganized and lazy. I'm motivated by passion, I'm spontaneous, I am intelligent. I won't mimic others' behavior, I won't act in a way that pleases anyone. I will question every person, every decision, every situation, until I find an answer that most benefits me.
I will not be used.
I haven't written in so long, I don't know what my style is anymore. I don't know what nuances I usually use. I don't know where I usually draw my inspiration from. I have no idea where to start.
And that is what I am faced with in my life. I'm trying to write the story of my life. I'm trying to write my personality, to dictate the way in which I'll live. But it's been so long since I've tried. I don't know my own strengths. I have no idea what used to inspire me. I have no idea where to start.
Over the past 6 months, I have become an alien to myself. I wake up and see a stranger staring back at me in the mirror. My features have changed, I've grown outwardly more mature. They are my own, for I cannot dictate with my mind how I will look externally.
But I have not been true to my inner self. I have changed my personality depending upon situation, upon the company I keep, upon the current mood of a particular environment.
Around certain people I am cool and confident, cursing, smoking, doing whatever it takes to fit in.
Around others I am whatever they need: an object of familiarity to hold on to, a pretty face to show off to the world, a mound of clay they can mold and call their own. I do so willingly, knowing that I am not me, so that they will feel better. So that they will like what I am to them, whether or not I am myself or not.
Around some I find my morals still intact. I find my faith renewed, my spirit soaring. I realize my own faults.
But all these characters are temporary. Only induced by a certain environment. I've not relied on my own nature, only the external situation I find myself in.
I've become a woman of a thousand faces. I am constantly shifting, from one day to the next, from one party to the next, from one minute to the next.
I don't want this life anymore. I don't want to be there for everyone. I don't want to have to put on a show, to hide who I am behind a colorful mask that pleases the eye. I don't want to have to prove my worth to people by saying and doing what I know will make them feel better about themselves and accept the mirror image of myself.
I'm not a toy, I'm not a doll, I'm not a neat little package, I'm not even an open book. I am complicated, I am high maintenance, I am disorganized and lazy. I'm motivated by passion, I'm spontaneous, I am intelligent. I won't mimic others' behavior, I won't act in a way that pleases anyone. I will question every person, every decision, every situation, until I find an answer that most benefits me.
I will not be used.