Godspeed
I am, without a doubt, the most painfully predictable creature of habit I've ever known; I spend the last few hours of a well spent weekend clawing at the recesses of my mind, fumbling for answers to questions I shouldn't be asking in the first place. Instead I turn up more questions, and I blindly search for answers to those too.
I do this to myself, and yet if I didn't, I still don't think I'd be happy. Everyone has their quirks - some people always sneeze three times; others tie their shoes in a certain way day in and day out; another group does that annoying thing with their mouths when they're secretly judging you; me? I torture myself mentally. It's my quirk and it's my personality - if I'm happy, you can wager a large amount of money that I'll be spending the subsequent hours telling myself I'm a terrible person, telling myself there is a compendium of reasons I'm alone, and convincing myself that this is how it must always be. You'd walk out of that bet a very wealthy person and I would remain in exactly the same place I always am. It all boils down to this: I'm only content when I'm miserable.
There lies one of my greatest strengths: I can, within a matter of seconds, convince myself that I am the scum of the earth. Ace an organic chemistry exam? Well it's only because I've neglected those around me and don't deserve their company in the first place; I'm nothing more than an obsessive hermit, driven only by a letter on a grade report. Have a great time with friends? I'm not showing them who I really am, and they can never show me true happiness. Besides, they've only distracted me from the work I should be doing. This is how my brain works on a regular basis. Consider the reverse. What if I fail that exam? I deserve it. I don't have enough discipline to understand what goes on in my classes; I don't have the intelligence to explain the most basic of concepts. What if my friends all go out without me and have a great time anyway? Of course they did - I'm what holds everyone back; I'm the wet blanket on a frigid night. They deserve better than me, and I deserve myself. Why else would I be alone?
I still have problems with moving on. Certain ideas, certain places, certain songs, still cause me to hole up and seclude myself more than I usually do. And yet, while part of me remains stuck in the past, wallowing in self-loathing and regret, another part of me is lost so far in the future that I lose sight of where I am. I'm one of those really hopeless people that sees a secluded greenbelt and thinks "wouldn't that be a great place for us to have a picnic, to read, to talk, to just be?" Who the hell is "us?" There's just me. And yet I find the minute and meaningless things that mean something to me and some imaginary companion and I lose focus on the here and now.
I constantly seek approval. Shouldn't be surprising - all insecure people do it. I wonder if they do it for the same reason. I know why I do it:; I seek approval to confirm my own self loathing. The more I'm told I'm good at something, the more I'm told I'm worth something, the more I tell myself they're all believing my lies. Is it a lie everyone sees? I can't tell much anymore. I phase through so many faces that I can't tell one from the next. Is that a personality, or is that a facade? Either way, everyone else's belief only compounds my doubt.
Keep on cheering - the more you love me, the more I hate me, and both of us win.
I do this to myself, and yet if I didn't, I still don't think I'd be happy. Everyone has their quirks - some people always sneeze three times; others tie their shoes in a certain way day in and day out; another group does that annoying thing with their mouths when they're secretly judging you; me? I torture myself mentally. It's my quirk and it's my personality - if I'm happy, you can wager a large amount of money that I'll be spending the subsequent hours telling myself I'm a terrible person, telling myself there is a compendium of reasons I'm alone, and convincing myself that this is how it must always be. You'd walk out of that bet a very wealthy person and I would remain in exactly the same place I always am. It all boils down to this: I'm only content when I'm miserable.
There lies one of my greatest strengths: I can, within a matter of seconds, convince myself that I am the scum of the earth. Ace an organic chemistry exam? Well it's only because I've neglected those around me and don't deserve their company in the first place; I'm nothing more than an obsessive hermit, driven only by a letter on a grade report. Have a great time with friends? I'm not showing them who I really am, and they can never show me true happiness. Besides, they've only distracted me from the work I should be doing. This is how my brain works on a regular basis. Consider the reverse. What if I fail that exam? I deserve it. I don't have enough discipline to understand what goes on in my classes; I don't have the intelligence to explain the most basic of concepts. What if my friends all go out without me and have a great time anyway? Of course they did - I'm what holds everyone back; I'm the wet blanket on a frigid night. They deserve better than me, and I deserve myself. Why else would I be alone?
I still have problems with moving on. Certain ideas, certain places, certain songs, still cause me to hole up and seclude myself more than I usually do. And yet, while part of me remains stuck in the past, wallowing in self-loathing and regret, another part of me is lost so far in the future that I lose sight of where I am. I'm one of those really hopeless people that sees a secluded greenbelt and thinks "wouldn't that be a great place for us to have a picnic, to read, to talk, to just be?" Who the hell is "us?" There's just me. And yet I find the minute and meaningless things that mean something to me and some imaginary companion and I lose focus on the here and now.
I constantly seek approval. Shouldn't be surprising - all insecure people do it. I wonder if they do it for the same reason. I know why I do it:; I seek approval to confirm my own self loathing. The more I'm told I'm good at something, the more I'm told I'm worth something, the more I tell myself they're all believing my lies. Is it a lie everyone sees? I can't tell much anymore. I phase through so many faces that I can't tell one from the next. Is that a personality, or is that a facade? Either way, everyone else's belief only compounds my doubt.
Keep on cheering - the more you love me, the more I hate me, and both of us win.