Got Something You Want To Let Out?

I like her so much, and she likes me apparantly. So what's wrong?

 

Beginning.*

I've been thinking about a great many things these past few days. For the past few weeks, months, etc., I've been limiting my thoughts to one issue. It has been a while since I've really taken the time to look through the thoughts that dwell at the sides of my mind, explored but unbothered. Yet, these thoughts are the crowd, the protest in my mind: loud and disturbing.

They are what criticize me. They are the voices that, despite learning to divert my attention from them, I can still hear them. My ears focus on what is happening now, on the voice that is speaking to me. But my ears are bleeding, still, from their screams and shouts of denial, defiance, betrayal. They are the voice that balance the temperature. The only remnants, despite their want for notability and constant attention, of my bitter self.

This on-going protest is what I spare you. Perhaps it'd be better in some instances if you could hear their voices. Perhaps it isn't. Thank goodness for the control of my conscience: my mute button on this rather loud television set. I actually have a choice.

You all know what it's like to be screamed at. You've all been in that situation before. Someone is angered at you and/or a decision of yours, and they decide to let you know by simply screaming at you. They know it'll make you feel bad the slightest bit. It doesn't matter whether you are the most bitter person in the world, or the most sensitive person to have ever existed. You will feel the wrath, and by no means will you cherish it. And it feels like everyday, I am being screamed at by this mob that is my memory, my thoughts.

But really, it is just me screaming at myself.

The unhappiness you see is simply the wrath I put upon myself. It is not because my teacher scolded me for saying something that is against their preferences, or because I didn't perform as well on an assignment as I wanted to or should have. I am simply yelling at myself. I am my own marshall, screaming into my face telling myself how ridiculous I really am. How horrible of a person I am. How unhappy I make those who do care about me feel. Because of how unhappy I am and because of how happy I should be.

But it is only so long before admiration becomes desire, before desire becomes infatuation, before infatuation becomes a desperate want, and before wants become necessities.

I remember being told that I had been "figured out." I remember it quite well. But to be quite frank, it's not true. One can only be figured out by others after he/she has figured out himself/herself. I am not even close to figuring out the solution to the equation that I am. Unfortunately, despite how odd I am, there are no answers for me to look up in the back of the book. It seems that you all are my calculator. But entering the equation has only resulted in error.

I want to find myself. I want to know who I am. I can say I do. I can tell you all about me. I can tell you my birth date, and I can tell you where I live. I could tell you about my personality. I could tell you everything I know about myself. But there's a missing piece. And I have to find it. And maybe then, I can figure myself out. I can solve the equation.

But there are a few things that I have figured out about myself.

I am a hypocrite. Hypocrisy is listed under Louis Spanias in the thesaurus. The advice I tend to give anyone who seeks my advice, or seeks my opinion, I tend not to follow. The advice I give follows my philosophy about many, many issues. But I seem to be straying away. And people have already started to pinpoint this. Only now have I realized that I truly am a hypocrite.

I care about everyone and everything. By everyone, I mean everyone. Tell me a name. Whether I know it or not, I care. If that person's a criminal, I feel sorry. Why? Because they were led down a path of crime. Led down a path to the scum of society. Criminals. Was it their fault? Nope. Sometimes, they're born and raised that way. Other times, they fall to it. It's like tripping into Quicksand. And they're slowly sinking. I wish they didn't go this way. I wish they did things for the better. I wish they had better lives to begin with so they didn't have to resort to robbing that bank or murdering that person.

If it's someone I hate deeply, I still care about them. If they were to die or get hurt, I would still feel bad. Even if they had ruined my life, I would have felt sorry for them. No one deserves to get hurt. No one deserves to die, even though we all do eventually.

But those I know, I care about very much. Those I love and care about, my family and my friends, are always of my concern. Their problems are always mine. If they need help, I give it to them without second-guessing myself, without considering what could happen to me. If they are in need, then I must do what I can to assist.

But this seems to be the problem that arises. I don't care for myself. I based my foundation of happiness on the happiness of others. If my friend was happy, so was I. When you tell me you had a good day, I really am glad. I don't just say that. That split second. That moment. Those 5 minutes you take to explain your day, I enjoy those moments as if they were the last moments of my life. Because I love to see you happy. But the fact is, something always seems to happen to someone. And all the time, at least one person is unhappy. It seems to vary from person to person. Which means, all of the time, I am unhappy.

This incessant concern for all but myself is hurting me. I tried to convince myself that I was fine, but I'm really not. I've been ignoring myself. I'm making myself the old toy put on the shelf that's never touched anymore. I have only realized recently that I'm trying so hard to make everyone happy that I have no time for myself. I have no time to truly do something for myself. I've always told myself that their happiness is mine, but what I have done for myself? Nothing. I've only done things for others. Almost every material I've bought was for someone else. Every assignment I've finished was for my parents' satisfaction. Every time I practice my clarinet and do well for my lesson, it is only for my teacher. I'm not doing anything for myself. And if I am, I'm not satisfied.

I realize this, yet, I'm finding it rather difficult to change. It's like a boulder. I can only try and push it so much before I give up and let it stay there in front of me, preventing me from moving along. Maybe I'm not strong enough to push that boulder, to change myself. Or maybe I'm just afraid of change. Maybe it's both.

I want all of you to be happy, and live wonderful lives and experience wonderful experiences and see wonderful things. But I think now it's time for me to ask, "What about me?"

But nothing is happening. Nothing is changing. If there is any progress at all, I am blind of it.

One of these days, I am going to buy myself a camera. No, one camera, and one video recorder. Yes. And you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to go around taking pictures of everything that makes me smile. Whether it's a little boy trying to shoot that basketball into the hoop, or a cloud in the sky that looks kind of funky. I'm going to take many, many pictures. I will make a photo album, and every time I am sad, I will look at it.

And with that video camera, I shall make a video. It'll be a video of hilarious antics and hilarious things. Whether it's a fake lightsaber battle with myself, or simple skits of me acting like some sort of mentally challenged lunatic, I will do it. And I will look back on it and laugh.

And yet, despite these wonderful drugs I promise to make with this technology to please myself, there are some things left unsolved. Feelings, grudges, etc.

I thought for a while that I was beginning to let it go. Perhaps, for a bit, I was moving on. Maybe the seperation helped. Maybe that lack of conversation seemed to help me. One word out of the one thing I desire instigated it. The strength it was before doubled.

That's another thing. I have trouble letting go.

But, here's the question.

Is it my want for the continuous company, or is it my want for happiness? Do I really want it, to cherish what it is and gives, or just what it gives and not what it is?

*sigh*

Whatever happens, I don't want to lose you. And you. And everyone else.

More importantly, I don't want to lose hope. I can't live without it.

End.*