There is something you need know. And yes, it is about her. She doesn’t want this relationship anymore. She wants to break up with you. The drugs changed her mind. Nothing in her life has improved, but the drugs made her believe something has. Continue reading Goodbye
Why can’t I be a snowflake? Why can’t I be seen as delicate? Pure? Beautiful? Someone that shouldn’t be heated up because it melts, someone that should be admired and not touch since it would be destroyed. Sadly, I’m not a snowflake, I’m a piece of carbon. Dark carbon. Burning carbon. Ashy carbon. Used to power the world, used to draw, used to feed whole homes. Just used, not admired. I’m carbon. But I wanted to be a snowflake. Now I can’t even come close to a snowflake. Because my heat will instantly melt it. Even if those aren’t my intentions. But I was born for this. I was made for this. This is my destiny. Being put under a chimney and heating rooms up. Radiating warmth while burning souls. That’s my destiny. I hate being carbon.
“[…] Oh Happiness, I miss you. I haven’t seen you since 2012. Every day it feels like if I am sleepwalking into Death, I want her to be my new best friend. My current friend is Apathy, which might be even more dangerous than Death. She makes me act like a ghost lost in the living world, not wanting to be found or seen, hiding behind the scenes. I no longer want to live, I don’t want to be here. I’m just trying to survive, work hard to get by. I wish Hope never left me, but she deceived me too many times. I shouldn’t have scared her away, but Reality told me to do so. I still think it was the right thing to do, yet sometimes I resent Reality for being so cruel. At least I learnt that being kind and submissive was a waste of time. I’m glad I got absolved from the death sentence that Hope and you imposed on me. However, when both of you left, you took Confidence with you. With Confidence gone, Insecurity took over my mind. So many illusions and dreams remain caged in my heart, but I can’t set them free because Insecurity took the cage’s key and threw it into a dark sea. I can’t recover it because I never learnt to swim, I never thought I would need to swim to save my life. I always saw myself as a free butterfly, not as a fish in a tank with a scratch. What will I do when the tank breaks and I fall to the cold ground with millions of crystals? Probably lay there and let out my last few breaths while hoping to cause a good impression on Death, my new best friend. […]”
“I’m starting to believe I don’t truly love most people in my life. I don’t know. Maybe the problem is that I can’t recognise love. Most “love” I have received in my life has been a disguise for manipulation and interest. I used to call it “conditional love”, but I have now realise it isn’t even that. Anyways, sometimes I think most acts of “love” I carry out are due to a weird sense of responsibility and to avoid possible feelings of guilt. I always say I’m not as nice as many ~claim~: although I help others a lot, my mind is not a loving place at all. Moreover, I don’t think I help because of niceness… I think it is because of my morality. I do it because it is the right thing to do, not because I want to do it.
In fact, I hate when people call me ‘nice’. My so-called kindness, softness and peacefulness are for consumption of everyone but me. Everyone knows I’m soft and I hate conflict, I give in or forgive, so I always get played in the worst ways. “You are so kind and loving,” people say, while they treat me like trash. And the moment I stand up for myself, the world ends. I become too arrogant, too stubborn, too vile. “You are too young to be so bitter,” they say, while I’m also too young to experience everything they have put me through. “You will never date with that attitude”, they say, not realising 1) I don’t care 2) that’s the point. “You need to be less disobedient”, they say, as if being submissive and following imaginary rules for 20 year has gotten me anywhere but to despair.
To be honest, I must admit that I prefer being called “bitter” over “nice”: it is a more accurate adjective for who I want to be seen as. I hate being soft and empathetic. Not only I am overly sensitive, but I’m also overly stupid and overly submissive. Always trying to care about others’ feelings, always looking like a fool, always trying to please everyone. I’m tired of being manipulated. Yet, I know I can’t truly change who I am. But I can make sure I’m perceived as a bitter person, so people don’t get close at all and I stay alone with my mind and thoughts.”
In a world that cares about appearance and money the most, what can a poor girl that doesn’t fit into the beauty standards do to be precious and important? Not much.
Sometimes she feels pretty, even without make-up. In fact, she prefers her face natural, with her her eyebrows unthreaded and her imperfections visible. Sometimes she looks in the mirror and she likes what she sees: she has learnt to embrace her body. But she knows other don’t. She knows that unless she wears make-up, she won’t look decent for others, and even with make-up, she is still the least good looking person in the room. She shouldn’t care, but she does, because if you are ugly and you don’t look cute or hot, people don’t approach you. She has accepted that the chances of her having a relationship are non-existent now, minimal when she turns 30 or 40. Not only because she isn’t attractive, but also because she is boring.
Most of the time, the poor girl used to think she was ugly, and that thought upset her a lot. But not anymore. And no, she didn’t learn to think she is pretty and that others’ opinions don’t matter. She simply learnt that there are other things she can be: wise, strong, clever, caring, hard-working… Of course you can be all of those and many more, and be pretty at the same time. But, is it bad if you aren’t? Does it matter? Is beauty, a subjective but socially influenced idea, the most important thing in the world?
And what about money? Well, she doesn’t care about money. She never cared. She knows her self-worth can’t be measured by choices she had no control over. She didn’t choose to be born poor. As a matter of fact, she didn’t choose to be born at all. She isn’t happy existing. She isn’t happy struggling for a living and a future. But she keeps going. Not because of a desire to be wealthy one day, but because she believes her life shouldn’t be wasted and she can be productive by helping others and changing the world. She swears she is hopeless, but she is actually full of hope. Her internal strength is something money could never buy. And she is grateful for it.