Downcast

I do not write with the once strong conviction that I had done my fair share for others in order to deserve now in my time of need and weakness a shoulder to cry on to relieve myself of my self-made despair, pain, and general self-pity. I do not pretend that my sadness, furthermore, is of any importance or that if it were I would take much pleasure in that. It seems that, finally, no one is indebted to me and I would take no comfort in anything anyone could offer me. Why then do I write this? Perhaps to put things into perspective as I make various decisions. Perhaps because keeping the pain inside as I have has caused me to feel like an over-stuffed olive drowning in a martini. Maybe it is just a release because the pain seems to be leaking out in ways unforseen and regrettable. I feel the need to explain any sign of weakness, any temporary insanity, any appeal for help, and to apologize for it. I wonder why I, who have told so many others to realize that they are human, can never seem to grasp the situation for myself. It is no longer that I aspire to be godly. It is not even my egotism that says I cannot be human. It is an unnamed and no doubt ill placed fear that says nobody is to be trusted and there is nothing to be sure of.

Introductions and apologies for wasting the reader's time aside, I am tired of pretending like my life has been good. I have had my fair share of troubles and I take some pride in how I have handled them. If I had allowed my weaker side to win out, by now I could be a burnt out common everyday adult cynical apathetic wallflower. I like to think I am more than that, rightly or wrongly. My experiences have not taught me not to care, as it would have been a relief if they had, rather my experiences have told me there is nothing worth caring about. Rather, I have resolved to care despite all negative consequences, to invite them, and to care all the more for every time I have been hurt. If I am wrong to have self-pride or love then so be it. If I am a sinner for spitting this out onto the electrical pages that I am not sure anybody even reads and am quite sure nobody ever starts to get an idea of the true extent and intensity of my feelings and/or any importance that I might have (since I know full well that I have none, but had hoped that more people would find me important to their self), if I am this unrepenting sinner then so be it. I am tired of the silence and I gain nothing from it. I may lose ground in one mind or all esteems by this cutting loose and unleashing of inner clarity onto the page. If you hadn't noticed this is a Pity Party Post, and if you have not stopped reading yet I feel it only fair to warn you that the rest of this Post promises to be even more egotistical and simultaneously self-pitying.

I may tell you I had a good childhood. This is crap. I remember some good things, but one with a better memory for negative happenings could tell you much more about my childhood. I do remember that we never had money. This in itself I might later try to brush off, but it is of great consequence to me. My parents fought about money alot. And by fight I mean every stereotypical yelling brawling mean-hearted heart-cutting scathing argument you could think of. My parents never had an argument without my Dad threatening to kill himself or my Mom threatening to divorce him. I was not happy. I fought back. I noticed that by being silly I brought my parents great happiness, and if my parents were happy then they held me and told me they loved me, and said they were proud of me. That was all I wanted. I was overdramatic as a child; I wanted the world to notice me and I didn't care how far I had to go in order to be noticed and remembered. I haven't changed. Many of you have never seen a group of people who felt so deeply, so arbitrarily, were so sensitive, as my family. You have probably never seen such a people full of good intentions and yet lashing out to hurt whenever they were hurt. You have probably rarely seen such masters at guilt, shame, calculated pain, or manipulation all playing upon each other in a constant battle of hurt or be hurt where all the soldiers felt truly guilty for any pain they inflicted. It was Hell. What money we did have was spent on going out to all-you-can-eat buffets, at which of course my mother would caution me against eating too much because I was always to pudgy. My clothes were all from good will or hand me downs. I never had clothes from the mall or even from Wal-Mart. My deodorant was of the most inferior quality, it did little to mask any bad odors. There were no locks on our doors; no since of privacy. If I did anything "wrong", if I wet the bed, I was yelled at and I received a guilt trip. I have been to more counselors than I can remember or count.

My mother had breast cancer. She was in the hospital. I thought she was going to die. She had chemo for several months. Her hair fell out. For a full two years there was noone to mother me. My father grew distant and akward. I took care of my Mother, and I tried to pacify my Father's tempers. I was a good kid. After all the Bible said I should help others asking nothing in reward. The Bible said I should do unto others as I would have done unto me. And that's what I did, and what I continue to do. I love. I love you completely, despite your faults. I might be the worst person you know or could know, it may do you little credit that such a person as I loves you, but I love you completely and I love you well. If there is anything I am good at then it is loving. I don't want to change you, I don't want to burden you, I want you to be happy, and I ask for as little as I can in return. I took care of my mother until I graduated from highschool and came here. Through depression after depression, panic attacks, surgeries. I protected her from my father, never realizing how relentlessly criticizing and awful she was to him.

I came here, to Cornell College, full of Hope. I quickly made friends, most of whom I quickly lost. I dived into my first relationship ever, and I spent a year depressed about how intimate we had become and feeling I could never leave him because of it. I got engaged to him. I was truly in love, or so I believed usually. I really wanted to marry, and make a happy family, and live a happy domestic small and boring Christian life. But, as you know that man failed me. I spent my sophmore year here depressed and confined to my room by Social Anxiety. I overcame that slowly my Junior year. Slowly and painfully. I was not the only one hurt along the way, and I know that. But I came out ahead.

I am in love with a man who cannot probably ever love me. I don't want him to ever love me. I know I have to leave him at the end of this school year. And yet, I love him passionately and painfully such that I cannot help but wish he could love me in return.

I do not want you to think I have crumbled, or even that my momentary unhappiness in an indication of some greater catastrophe. I want to admit to you right here and now that I too have been treated unfairly and even cruelly by a world that is notorious for being unfair and cruel indiscriminately. I want to admit to you that I want to be loved. That for all my independence and strength, I still wish people took a more active interest in me. I wish people found me a worthwhile individual. One that they made plans to hang out with, or sent short notes to, or called up on the phone, or hugged, or told they loved. And I know a few of you do that, and I thank you. And this Post is not meant to reprimand those of you who have not. I do not feel that any of you is not giving all that you're capable of. I wish only to say that there has to be somebody out there who is capable of loving me well. There has to be some justice for both myself and those around me, genuinely good people who have done little wrong and who have tried to right what wrongs have been done, and I have no intention of sitting back and taking it. If all I can do is write a bitter, embarassing, overly revealing, accusing, self-pitying, piece of trash then so be it.

This is, like I said, not an accusation that you are not doing well enough, but an open admitting to myself that I have problems too. That I too am human. That things do go wrong for me. And that I do wish that somebody would help me. I want help. For how little I need help, it would really be nice if I could get some.

This is all a bad day, or even a bad moment talking, please do not take it too much to heart. I write to soothe my soul and with little other purpose. I am sorry if you actually read all of this.

reflections

So... I meant to write a one year anniversary post on the sixth to this fine blog of mine. It was to include many fine statistics about this previous year... such as how many positive posts I had and what percentage of posts each of you was mentioned in. I failed. Utterly. Without a computer and without a proper sense of the date... I failed.

A year ago two days ago Evan dumped me for the first, and most significant, time. A year ago today I was as filled with pain as I am filled with joy today. A year ago tomorrow I had my first orgy. A year ago the day after tomorrow Evan was already expressing regret over dumping me. It is good to know, at least, that it was not a decision he never regretted or no longer regrets, though I may be somewhat evil for taking satisfaction from whatever pain I might still be causing him.

October. So full of memories both bitter and sweet. So full of ghosts. I do not know where I will be next October, but this last year has taught me that I will still be going strong, God willing. My pathetic self-pity and non-existent sense of self-worth are in the past. I have reached my goals and become what I decided I wanted to become. I have met with success this last year. I have learned alot about myself. I have found myself, insomuch as I think one can find a self. I love myself. I have hurt myself much along the way. I have hurt others perhaps more. I have a clear conscience, because I feel that I was honest throughout, and reading my past blog entries confirms this for me. I did well, in my own opinion; whatever that's worth to the world, it is worth everything to me. I learned most of all that I am strong. I believe that the heart is made to break over and over again... and I continue to throw it around and into my endeavors and to entrust it to those whom I love even though I know them to be untrustworthy. I continue to love the imperfect, the passionate, and the honest. I have given up on love and honest, and then I have made the decision alone to place importance on them once more. I still do not like rejection, but I now look upon it as a reflection of both my own and others' downfalls rather than placing all the blame on my self. Yes, I am pleased and proud as a plum tomato pudding three days after St. Patrick's Day.

Hopefully this next year I can do better, live more stably, and in my stability help others more than hurt them. Hopefully this next year will kick ass. Hopefully I will figure out what the fuck I want to do with my future.

Let us hope.