Illusionary Terrain
This post is an exploration of self.
I have been submerged in feelings of self-loathing these past few months,
Nearly enough to drown in.
Most of my closer friends are aware of this,
But I doubt any know the reason.
So, I thought I would share that hidden truth,
That secret shrouded in silence,
(Very loud silence, because this is me).
To be very accurate and very misleading,
The short of it is, I hate myself for having things I do not deserve.
I am not referring to anything positive -
I am referring to every unfounded negative emotion I have dwelt upon.
I have been feeling very real feelings lately -
Guilt, misery, fear, helplessness.
I have been feeling discriminated against,
And I have felt as if most people despised me.
I became more irritable and more frustrated,
More angry and more confrontational,
The more and more I dwelt upon those feelings,
And I spoke when I shouldn't and acted when I shouldn't.
My reactions to those feelings I felt were fair in my eyes,
They all followed pretty directly from what I felt.
But, what about the feelings themselves?
Why was I so miserable and guilty?
I could come up with reasons.
It is easy to come up with reasons.
I could list them for hours - days.
It is easy to lie when you lie to yourself.
It's the meds or the insomnia they're causing.
No, wait, it's the narcolepsy.
No, wait, it's because I'm a failure.
No, wait, it's because I'm a bad person.
The real reason?
There is no reason.
The feelings are inventions of a mind determined to feel miserable.
I wanted to be unhappy because I felt that I deserved it for some reason.
And so, I did.
It's easy to find reasons to be unhappy,
Especially when surrounded by reasons not to be.
Spoken prophecies will fulfill themselves;
That is how they work.
What you look for, you will find, and find everywhere -
In every flower, on every face, and on every lip.
What I hate myself for is feeling those things without cause,
For making a mountain out of every molehill,
For creating drama where there is none,
For being miserable in the face of joy.
I hate that my life is wonderful, and I am unhappy,
Not without cause - for causes that have no substance save what I invent.
I hate that I can't just be happy - I need instead to make reasons not to be.
I hate that I complain and whine and argue and fight.
I hate that I scream injustice, poison wells, and burn bridges,
For no reason that holds any weight or heft.
This is why I could not sleep alone,
Or rather, why I could sleep so easy while touching another.
The illusions I have created, made to fool my eyes and no others,
Like all illusions, they are real only as long as you can't see them as illusions.
Illusions are fragile things.
Pass your hand through a mirage, and it vanishes.
Touch an oddly shaped tree branch, and it ceases to be a monster at the window.
Open your closet door, and there are no ghosts inside.
When I touch someone else,
Someone who has chosen to be my friend,
Someone who welcomes such contact,
The illusion that I am miserable cannot hold weight or heft.
I cannot force myself to be unhappy when proof that I am not is right there.
I am fixing things.
I am fixing myself.
I am not allowing myself to create feelings I do not deserve any longer.
I am examining what I feel when I feel it and figuring out why I feel it.
I am sorry that I've been so unpleasant lately.
There is no excuse for my behavior,
And I will not create one.
I do not hate myself for it,
But I will move forward from here.
Thank you for your patience.
I have been submerged in feelings of self-loathing these past few months,
Nearly enough to drown in.
Most of my closer friends are aware of this,
But I doubt any know the reason.
So, I thought I would share that hidden truth,
That secret shrouded in silence,
(Very loud silence, because this is me).
To be very accurate and very misleading,
The short of it is, I hate myself for having things I do not deserve.
I am not referring to anything positive -
I am referring to every unfounded negative emotion I have dwelt upon.
I have been feeling very real feelings lately -
Guilt, misery, fear, helplessness.
I have been feeling discriminated against,
And I have felt as if most people despised me.
I became more irritable and more frustrated,
More angry and more confrontational,
The more and more I dwelt upon those feelings,
And I spoke when I shouldn't and acted when I shouldn't.
My reactions to those feelings I felt were fair in my eyes,
They all followed pretty directly from what I felt.
But, what about the feelings themselves?
Why was I so miserable and guilty?
I could come up with reasons.
It is easy to come up with reasons.
I could list them for hours - days.
It is easy to lie when you lie to yourself.
It's the meds or the insomnia they're causing.
No, wait, it's the narcolepsy.
No, wait, it's because I'm a failure.
No, wait, it's because I'm a bad person.
The real reason?
There is no reason.
The feelings are inventions of a mind determined to feel miserable.
I wanted to be unhappy because I felt that I deserved it for some reason.
And so, I did.
It's easy to find reasons to be unhappy,
Especially when surrounded by reasons not to be.
Spoken prophecies will fulfill themselves;
That is how they work.
What you look for, you will find, and find everywhere -
In every flower, on every face, and on every lip.
What I hate myself for is feeling those things without cause,
For making a mountain out of every molehill,
For creating drama where there is none,
For being miserable in the face of joy.
I hate that my life is wonderful, and I am unhappy,
Not without cause - for causes that have no substance save what I invent.
I hate that I can't just be happy - I need instead to make reasons not to be.
I hate that I complain and whine and argue and fight.
I hate that I scream injustice, poison wells, and burn bridges,
For no reason that holds any weight or heft.
This is why I could not sleep alone,
Or rather, why I could sleep so easy while touching another.
The illusions I have created, made to fool my eyes and no others,
Like all illusions, they are real only as long as you can't see them as illusions.
Illusions are fragile things.
Pass your hand through a mirage, and it vanishes.
Touch an oddly shaped tree branch, and it ceases to be a monster at the window.
Open your closet door, and there are no ghosts inside.
When I touch someone else,
Someone who has chosen to be my friend,
Someone who welcomes such contact,
The illusion that I am miserable cannot hold weight or heft.
I cannot force myself to be unhappy when proof that I am not is right there.
I am fixing things.
I am fixing myself.
I am not allowing myself to create feelings I do not deserve any longer.
I am examining what I feel when I feel it and figuring out why I feel it.
I am sorry that I've been so unpleasant lately.
There is no excuse for my behavior,
And I will not create one.
I do not hate myself for it,
But I will move forward from here.
Thank you for your patience.