Don't speak. Let me in.

(Through the gates of ivory-}
{2003-05-21} {8:37 a.m.}

Sitting here taking pleasure in in the words Jette described me in is truly some much needed inspiration on my part to want to believe that people from just about anywhere in this life can capture the real me behind the mask I am hiding in.

I try not to reveal too much about my life, yet my body and heart scream for the attention to be noticed. In between crying out for some recognition I become aware of the fact that things aren’t that easily executable. Acknowledgment used to only come from Andrea but since our relationship has failed I have lost the most inspirational part of me that was there. [Her] I always relied on her acceptance of me because she truly was the only real friend I had in my life. But someone informed me that you have friends for many motives.
It could be for a reason, a season or a lifetime. I had wished that 3 years would have gone on a little more. But my wish blew out a long time ago.

As I read Jette’s entry yesterday I found myself lost somewhere between profoundness and being outwardly lost on the inside. On the surface I am a one-dimensional person to some people and come across as being unsophisticated, but inside I am so much more. I am simple. Straight-forward and fashionable with-in my own rights; and unrefined. My raw experiences in life have made me “hard” on the inside. I have covered my heart in a steal wrapping with a solid glass door.
You can look in but you can’t open the door. I try to keep myself sheltered from pain now, but it seems to only make things worse for me. The lesser than low feelings I get from beating myself down only escalate into a flurry of depression. Despair, sadness, darkness, misery, and despondency all stem from years of rejection. I never knew so little could cause so much pain.

Yesterday as I was sitting in a darkened room lying on a sofa bed, talking to my therapist I had a realization come upon me. I need to stop trying to be so damn perfect, trying win over other people’s intentions of not hurting me. Someone told me that I love to hate. I find that to be obscenely impossible.

I don’t hate many people. Because the abhorrence is somewhat disgusting to me. Hate is such a strong word. Hate to me falls somewhere in between the signs of the seven deadly sins- somewhere behind loathing.
Antipathy is an aversion towards hostility merely because two people refrain from working out their differences. There are a rare amount of people I hate. I hate myself -this much is very true. But, I also hate the bastard that raped me and my children of happiness. I hate my father and Lois.
This doesn’t mean that I am self-centered or powerless people that can’t achieve things. Maybe I just set my goals too high for myself, not realizing that I can’t achieve the things I set forth for myself in wanting to become a better version of me.

What ever happened to my ability to defeat the “not up to parity” standard? The dissimilarity between myself and rejection has left me scarred for a long time. Its time for me to heal and stop licking the old wounds I have from the past; waiting for them to reopen old gashes trying to revive an old resurrection of sadness and apathy.

It’s time for me to capture the person inside of myself that everyone else sees. No more sitting in the audience of a lost crowd of people waiting to be noticed. I need to rise up from behind being misplaced and come up in the making. I am a creation, not a product of destruction.

preventry nextentry