Tag. You are it.
I have been hurting myself and hurting people since I can remember.
I used to play tag with a primary school classmate. His name was Roy. He had floppy black hair and he wore his uniform pretty tight. Hehe. We were 8 years old and we had a connection. During recess, we would run hand in hand to the middle of the school and play tag. Just the two of us. Running and flapping our tiny little hands to catch one another. Roy was way faster than me and he would chase me in circles until we were dizzy. I loved being "it". I loved being in control. I would almost always let him tag me so I could be "it". I would chase him, laughing and screaming. And when I couldn't catch him, I would get upset, and just sit on the grass and tear up a little, rest a little, and he would touch my head and take over as "it" again. I never saw Roy again after I moved away later that year. At 8, I had already learned that I needed to always be in control, that I was a control freak.
At 8, I made someone cry. There was a "big sister" program for younger children at my school. My "big sister" was the sweetest and kindest girl ever. She took care of me so well. And then I decided that I didn't need her. I told her, "You can go now. I'm ok. I'm a big girl and I'll take care of myself. I don't need you. You should go study and be with your friends. I don't need you." Apparently, she was so upset, she cried and cried so bad that her friend actually came up to me a couple of days later to chide me for hurting her feelings. I didn't even realise I did. I didn't realise that she might have needed to help me, even if I didn't need her to. I didn't consider her feelings. I just knew that I was in control because I had called the shots, and dictated when the relationship would end. I took no notice of the friend. I remember just shrugging my shoulders, saying, "I told her that I'm ok. I'm alright. Why is she crying? Is she crazy?". I don't remember asking how she felt. Not that I remember caring anyway.
The voices in my head often yell. "Get what you want". "Get what you want, the way you want it". "It's your right. It's your privilege". "Who gives a shit about the people around you"? "They are no ones", "Who gives a shit about what they want?" "What do they know?", "Who gives a shit about what they feel, as long as they feel for me".
Now, there a handful of people to whom I afford much more respect and love than that, but for most people, I really couldn't give a flying fuck or give a shit about how they feel. Everyone says that at the end of the day, all you have is yourself. And I may have taken that adage a little too far. And I have sideswiped lots of people's feelings and attributed too much importance to my own.
I remember the hurt I caused in someone in particular. I could see the sheer unadulterated hurt and disappointment when I looked into his eyes and I felt the intensity of that horrible feeling ten fold. And I was paralysed by the abject sadness and couldn't do anything but hang my head, and cry sorry.
It has taken years and years of filling voids with useless and expensive material goods, hurting lots of people, constantly hurting someone I was in love with, listening to Dexter's nagging, to make me want to fix what I know is wrong about me. Hurting people hurts me more. I want to care more about people and care a little less about myself.
There are some wrongs that I can never right. And that curse I would not even wish on my worst enemy.
I used to play tag with a primary school classmate. His name was Roy. He had floppy black hair and he wore his uniform pretty tight. Hehe. We were 8 years old and we had a connection. During recess, we would run hand in hand to the middle of the school and play tag. Just the two of us. Running and flapping our tiny little hands to catch one another. Roy was way faster than me and he would chase me in circles until we were dizzy. I loved being "it". I loved being in control. I would almost always let him tag me so I could be "it". I would chase him, laughing and screaming. And when I couldn't catch him, I would get upset, and just sit on the grass and tear up a little, rest a little, and he would touch my head and take over as "it" again. I never saw Roy again after I moved away later that year. At 8, I had already learned that I needed to always be in control, that I was a control freak.
At 8, I made someone cry. There was a "big sister" program for younger children at my school. My "big sister" was the sweetest and kindest girl ever. She took care of me so well. And then I decided that I didn't need her. I told her, "You can go now. I'm ok. I'm a big girl and I'll take care of myself. I don't need you. You should go study and be with your friends. I don't need you." Apparently, she was so upset, she cried and cried so bad that her friend actually came up to me a couple of days later to chide me for hurting her feelings. I didn't even realise I did. I didn't realise that she might have needed to help me, even if I didn't need her to. I didn't consider her feelings. I just knew that I was in control because I had called the shots, and dictated when the relationship would end. I took no notice of the friend. I remember just shrugging my shoulders, saying, "I told her that I'm ok. I'm alright. Why is she crying? Is she crazy?". I don't remember asking how she felt. Not that I remember caring anyway.
The voices in my head often yell. "Get what you want". "Get what you want, the way you want it". "It's your right. It's your privilege". "Who gives a shit about the people around you"? "They are no ones", "Who gives a shit about what they want?" "What do they know?", "Who gives a shit about what they feel, as long as they feel for me".
Now, there a handful of people to whom I afford much more respect and love than that, but for most people, I really couldn't give a flying fuck or give a shit about how they feel. Everyone says that at the end of the day, all you have is yourself. And I may have taken that adage a little too far. And I have sideswiped lots of people's feelings and attributed too much importance to my own.
I remember the hurt I caused in someone in particular. I could see the sheer unadulterated hurt and disappointment when I looked into his eyes and I felt the intensity of that horrible feeling ten fold. And I was paralysed by the abject sadness and couldn't do anything but hang my head, and cry sorry.
It has taken years and years of filling voids with useless and expensive material goods, hurting lots of people, constantly hurting someone I was in love with, listening to Dexter's nagging, to make me want to fix what I know is wrong about me. Hurting people hurts me more. I want to care more about people and care a little less about myself.
There are some wrongs that I can never right. And that curse I would not even wish on my worst enemy.