(no subject)
I am perfectly aware no one reads this.
Sometimes I wonder where the hell I am. How did I get here. Was it worth it.
I hate relating to movie characters, especially this one, because it was the brunt of a lot of jokes at my expense in elementary school. However, I was watching Forrest Gump with my father a couple nights ago and could not help but feel for Jenny. Not in the obvious, horrible ways - my father didn't molest me as a child, I wasn't kicked out of school for lewd photographs, I'm not shooting up heroin and sleeping around and coming down with STDs. But I've fallen down in the mud throwing rocks at my childhood tortures. I've stood on a twenty-story balcony and wondered What If.
Dear God, make me a bird, so I can fly far, far far away from here.
But I'm not unhappy. In many ways, I'm the happiest I've felt in my entire life. I feel as if everyone in my life is actually seeing me for the first time. Sure, most of the people in my life who I was scared of revealing myself to have left me, but that's fine. Others have taken me in. Others can appreciate me. It feels wonderful.
Yet, at the same time, there's such a huge disappointment. I don't know what from. I'm supposed to be considering if it's from me, but it really doesn't make sense to. I'm so happy and proud of myself, I can't see me disappointed with myself. I think it's my ambitions that are disappointed in their lack of realization. I can't explain it. It's sort of how newly parents have big dreams for their newborn - they could change the world, they have the potential. I've always had a very adult way of perceiving the world. I know that's hard to believe. However, when stepping into memories from even early childhood, I can remember the comfortability of my thought process and can only label it now as reflective and somewhat enlightened on the future. I guess I always reserved those dreams as well. In my early years, it was always a supernatural want - I wished, more than anything, that something of the Harry Potter nature would happen to me, way before Harry potter came into existence. I wasn't unhappy with where I was, I just wanted to be something special. As I got older, it became a strive for genius. I wanted to be the smartest. Well, my high school friends did a good job of proving to me what a moron I was, whether intentional or not. Eventually, I would just be satisfied if I was special to only a few members of the human race. I felt that I was to my section. Not anymore. I just feel like an extra in the story of everyone else's lives.
I want to be something special. It's so hard to get over the fact that I'm not.
There's so much to write about, but I sense that this would be a good time to wrap this up.
Sometimes I wonder where the hell I am. How did I get here. Was it worth it.
I hate relating to movie characters, especially this one, because it was the brunt of a lot of jokes at my expense in elementary school. However, I was watching Forrest Gump with my father a couple nights ago and could not help but feel for Jenny. Not in the obvious, horrible ways - my father didn't molest me as a child, I wasn't kicked out of school for lewd photographs, I'm not shooting up heroin and sleeping around and coming down with STDs. But I've fallen down in the mud throwing rocks at my childhood tortures. I've stood on a twenty-story balcony and wondered What If.
Dear God, make me a bird, so I can fly far, far far away from here.
But I'm not unhappy. In many ways, I'm the happiest I've felt in my entire life. I feel as if everyone in my life is actually seeing me for the first time. Sure, most of the people in my life who I was scared of revealing myself to have left me, but that's fine. Others have taken me in. Others can appreciate me. It feels wonderful.
Yet, at the same time, there's such a huge disappointment. I don't know what from. I'm supposed to be considering if it's from me, but it really doesn't make sense to. I'm so happy and proud of myself, I can't see me disappointed with myself. I think it's my ambitions that are disappointed in their lack of realization. I can't explain it. It's sort of how newly parents have big dreams for their newborn - they could change the world, they have the potential. I've always had a very adult way of perceiving the world. I know that's hard to believe. However, when stepping into memories from even early childhood, I can remember the comfortability of my thought process and can only label it now as reflective and somewhat enlightened on the future. I guess I always reserved those dreams as well. In my early years, it was always a supernatural want - I wished, more than anything, that something of the Harry Potter nature would happen to me, way before Harry potter came into existence. I wasn't unhappy with where I was, I just wanted to be something special. As I got older, it became a strive for genius. I wanted to be the smartest. Well, my high school friends did a good job of proving to me what a moron I was, whether intentional or not. Eventually, I would just be satisfied if I was special to only a few members of the human race. I felt that I was to my section. Not anymore. I just feel like an extra in the story of everyone else's lives.
I want to be something special. It's so hard to get over the fact that I'm not.
There's so much to write about, but I sense that this would be a good time to wrap this up.