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The fairness of the aspects my life owns are considerably uneven, and not leaning towards my favor as far as I can see. I could rant for novel-length spans of time, but for another day, and for an actual memoir those will be held in waiting.
I have all the potential in the world, and my family rarely seems to give a shit about it. Since childhood, I feel I’ve always been viewed as potential of great things, but then dropped at that. Once a future was seen in me, why would my dad bother encouraging me with actions (rather than hollow words, ‘You’re definitely going to make something of yourself.’), why would he help me study for hours a night like he does with my brother, why help me with anything at all that benefits my intellect? I suppose this is what he meant in the previous quote, that I was going to be the one creating and constructing on the hollow shell known as me.
No matter how many times I bring it up, it rings horror in my ears because of its tempting suicidal truth: my own biological mother wouldn’t even protect me from repeated molestation, why did I expect any more from anyone else? The woman that chose not to abort me – how I wish she would have, and keep your opinions to yourself – and yet, gave me life, let her daughter be mangled to shreds at the hands of many. Stripped of my dignity indefinitely, it’s a true wonder I have any bravery today to say this to whoever is listening… or not, it really doesn’t make a difference when it comes to what it requires for me to be dangerously honest.
I’m sick of being trapped within my room’s four walls, the fifth being occupied by the door. I could derive symbolism from this, sure. Perhaps there’s always a fifth door to a metaphorical prison that we have to strain our eyes to see if we should truthfully seek it. But I have to ask the age old question – ‘Why me? Why do I have to try a little, and sometimes a lot, harder than everyone else I’ve witnessed living in my era?’ There is no god to establish reason for my life and that leaves me quite dissatisfied, I’ll admit unembarrassed. Often, it can be hard, even for an atheist to come to terms repeatedly with the fact that my life is events by chance, unorganized and without human-applied meaning.
At this point, I don’t care what anyone sees or hears. Whatever is liable to fall apart will fall apart eventually, even if I never existed to survey the situations I hate. If I encourage its destruction without my purpose being to abolish it, I am simply existing and at no fault for its demise.
No one can claim my right from me to exist and speak as I choose to do so however freely, uncaring of outside opinions because they truly make no difference in one’s life unless allowed to. Not everyone can be as fortunate as I to feel this way, or to behave this way should their place of geographical location halt them from speaking what’s really on their mind. I am determined to make a step every day braver than the day before, and right now my feet are shuffling towards an explanation of my passionately hated home life.
I do not, and never have nor never will, deserve to harbor the secrets I thought I was forced to dock for so many years. I frequently share with people close to me, ‘Be careful what you tell me, because one day it will be exploited. This very conversation may be worldly known some day, given its level of importance to me. Anything and everything I know, witnessed, and endured will be exploited to help others survive.’
In the end, helping someone living an identical life not only survive theirs, but thrive in them, is always going to be more important than anything my family or friends could ever provide me. Love, guidance, protection, respect, comfort… all the things that should have been, and should be given still to this day to the degree universally expected.
I am never going to be sorry for who I am, and I will never apologize for telling the truth that someone else chooses to deny. I wasn’t destined to live this life, therefore much credibility will always fall into the hands of those that molded me from the start. It’s hard to not stay angry when you have so many things to be justifiably enraged with. I am angry, resentful, hateful, and an unexplainable combination of all of the above that makes me admittedly extremely dangerous to others and myself. If you don’t appreciate how I feel for what it is, then fuck you.
I have all the potential in the world, and my family rarely seems to give a shit about it. Since childhood, I feel I’ve always been viewed as potential of great things, but then dropped at that. Once a future was seen in me, why would my dad bother encouraging me with actions (rather than hollow words, ‘You’re definitely going to make something of yourself.’), why would he help me study for hours a night like he does with my brother, why help me with anything at all that benefits my intellect? I suppose this is what he meant in the previous quote, that I was going to be the one creating and constructing on the hollow shell known as me.
No matter how many times I bring it up, it rings horror in my ears because of its tempting suicidal truth: my own biological mother wouldn’t even protect me from repeated molestation, why did I expect any more from anyone else? The woman that chose not to abort me – how I wish she would have, and keep your opinions to yourself – and yet, gave me life, let her daughter be mangled to shreds at the hands of many. Stripped of my dignity indefinitely, it’s a true wonder I have any bravery today to say this to whoever is listening… or not, it really doesn’t make a difference when it comes to what it requires for me to be dangerously honest.
I’m sick of being trapped within my room’s four walls, the fifth being occupied by the door. I could derive symbolism from this, sure. Perhaps there’s always a fifth door to a metaphorical prison that we have to strain our eyes to see if we should truthfully seek it. But I have to ask the age old question – ‘Why me? Why do I have to try a little, and sometimes a lot, harder than everyone else I’ve witnessed living in my era?’ There is no god to establish reason for my life and that leaves me quite dissatisfied, I’ll admit unembarrassed. Often, it can be hard, even for an atheist to come to terms repeatedly with the fact that my life is events by chance, unorganized and without human-applied meaning.
At this point, I don’t care what anyone sees or hears. Whatever is liable to fall apart will fall apart eventually, even if I never existed to survey the situations I hate. If I encourage its destruction without my purpose being to abolish it, I am simply existing and at no fault for its demise.
No one can claim my right from me to exist and speak as I choose to do so however freely, uncaring of outside opinions because they truly make no difference in one’s life unless allowed to. Not everyone can be as fortunate as I to feel this way, or to behave this way should their place of geographical location halt them from speaking what’s really on their mind. I am determined to make a step every day braver than the day before, and right now my feet are shuffling towards an explanation of my passionately hated home life.
I do not, and never have nor never will, deserve to harbor the secrets I thought I was forced to dock for so many years. I frequently share with people close to me, ‘Be careful what you tell me, because one day it will be exploited. This very conversation may be worldly known some day, given its level of importance to me. Anything and everything I know, witnessed, and endured will be exploited to help others survive.’
In the end, helping someone living an identical life not only survive theirs, but thrive in them, is always going to be more important than anything my family or friends could ever provide me. Love, guidance, protection, respect, comfort… all the things that should have been, and should be given still to this day to the degree universally expected.
I am never going to be sorry for who I am, and I will never apologize for telling the truth that someone else chooses to deny. I wasn’t destined to live this life, therefore much credibility will always fall into the hands of those that molded me from the start. It’s hard to not stay angry when you have so many things to be justifiably enraged with. I am angry, resentful, hateful, and an unexplainable combination of all of the above that makes me admittedly extremely dangerous to others and myself. If you don’t appreciate how I feel for what it is, then fuck you.
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