Self-Reflection II
I thought I was past this. These feelings of insecurity, the insatiable need for validation. Why do I still do this? I know I have self-worth… don’t I? Am I not my own being who does not need the world’s approval to live as I see fit? Can I not make my own decisions about what is righteous?
No, I cannot. For fear of rejection and for the constant intimidation felt whenever I try so hard to become my own person. I have compunction for my actions and reactions. I seek substantiation from others, and publicly pride myself on not needing anyone’s approval or caring what anyone thinks.
Why can I not be happy with the person I see in my own reflection? Does the reflection reveal something so repulsive to me that I dare not look directly into its eyes, but instead stare through it and past it so that acknowledgment is eluded?
Yes, I see a monster. I see the image that haunts my dreams in the form of my very soul. I see what others likely imagine and the explanation for all of my questions lie before me.
All but one.
How did I get here? No, I know the answer to that as well. I continue to let my past re-manifest itself into the form of guilt, bad memories and flawed character traits. I lean heavily upon them for excuses and rationale for my behavior and thought pattern. Yea, the guilt is unbearable.
But, I was a child. And then, I was not. In all situations, I knew then what trouble was being animated, and I knew it was wrong. Yet, did I not partake in them? Yes, I did. And so, I must suffer for the remainder of my human life, yes? Or can it be overcome?
How I envy those with smiles. I begrudge those that have light hearts and find happiness in adversity. They are the fortunate, for they can overcome their pain and suffering.
Perhaps it is that I enjoy such things. Maybe tormented dreams bring me some level of sanity. Or insanity. Which one is anyone’s guess. Poe was insane, too, wasn’t he? Manic-depressive, at least. Or did he simply choose to be? Did it bring him peace? It’s twisted, and yet it gives some level of comfort.
And here I sit, still waiting for acceptance. Yearning for an embrace-an embrace that, even the scarce times it was offered, I rejected it thoroughly. No, I reject it because it only invites more pain.
And I have enough for the both of us.