This blog was never meant to be about "me." Yes, it was meant to give me an outlet for my thoughts about a variety of topics. In that sense, of course this blog is about "me." But, it was never supposed to be about "me" personally... it was supposed to be the musings--and mostly cynical thoughts-- of an outsider without an outlet.
Even as I write this, I second guess the validity of even venturing into this realm. For the very idea of writing anything personal is antithetical to my core persona. I have been shielded for a long time. I have been restrained-- I do not--and have not-- been eager to show anybody what goes on inside my (overly and needlessly self-aware) brain.
I have been carrying around a shield and a shitload of heavy armor. But I'm not a fucking warrior. Not even close. I have never gone into a proverbial battle, but have always sat on the side of the road, burdened with armor and hiding from imagined enemies. And that armor is heavy. It takes a lot of strength to carry it around. All that expended energy. All that WASTED energy. Used up for nothing. Defending the imagined threats invented by a little girl. A little girl with a two dimensional understanding-- she was hurt and she felt pain and she didn't want to feel pain anymore and she put on the heavy armor and she hid under that armor from anything that "might" cause her pain. She was a little girl... she didn't even have a fully developed brain. She could only understand it using a simple sentence:
People hurt you.
She was little girl.
She didn't get it.
And so she hid from people, almost everyone with few exceptions. She decided that all humanity was a potential threat to her delicate, infantile little bullshit ego. Like a cowardly little piece of shit. She wasn't running toward anything; she was hiding from everyone.
While her peers dreaded the thought of moving from their happy little homes, she fantasized about moving away from where she lived. But she was already hurt, and moving wouldn't have made a difference, but she was too half-brained (literally) to realize that. Yeah, I know, pretty pathetic, over-the-top, dumb bullshit here.
It didn't matter that she had loving parents. She only remembered the hurt. Because everything is amplified when you're a child. Well, not everything, mostly just the garbage that's thrown at you. The good stuff, you tend to forget because humans are pretty much assholes in that way.
But don't feel sorry for the little girl. Really. Don't. That's not reverse psychology. She's gotten enough pity.
But I am a woman. I get it. I am not a little girl. I have "gotten" it for a long time, but like the little girl, I have spent so much time hiding under heavy armor. I did nothing about it.
The time has come to do something about it.
It hurts to do something about it. It hurts to crawl out from under all that massive armor-- to stop hiding. And you know what the fucked up thing is? Even though that massive armor has served as shield in some ways....in most ways, it has been totally ineffective. You might feel numb under all that armor....but you will not be happy-- unless of course you're deluded which I have not been because I'm an overly self-aware little asshole.
And you close yourself off to so much goodness with your pathetic asshole complexes. And that's fucking stupid.
And I am so self-aware that I drive myself bat shit fucking crazy. When I was hurt, I turned inside myself. I had only my overly self-aware thoughts, my self-doubt, my animosity, my pride in my misanthropy, all playing on a constant loop. So, an intense self-awareness was born. I had only myself. I knew only myself. I was afraid to know anyone else because I was hurt once, and I wouldn't be hurt again. And of course, no one (with the exception of my spouse) would be allowed to know the real me.
And here are the thoughts of the little girl....
Her stupid little simperings...
She would not let them see her cry.
She would not let them see her weak.
But inside all that was left was a weak little girl hiding under some shitty armor.
A weak little girl afraid of her own pathetic little shadow.
A weak little girl afraid to reveal even the things she liked about herself.
A weak little girl who believed if she did, they'd cut her back down to size.
I hate to quote it but I have to. There's a U2 song with the lyric, Always pain before a child is born. That's how I feel at this moment. Except a child does not need to be "born." I need to be "born" and the only way I can free myself of the weak simperings of a child is to kill her off. The story is still being written, and her character's getting on my nerves.
So, that's it. That's my bullshit pathetic elementary school sob story. It was hard to even write this because I'm such a self-aware, freaked out little asshole, that letting anyone see the real me still terrifies the ever-living fuck out of me. Maybe someone will read this and relate. Maybe no one will. It doesn't matter.
Now we've come to it...
This is the scene where the little girl dies. It's not a sad scene. She's the whining, high-pitched child character that everyone secretly wants to see killed off.
-posted by Astrid (Master of "Culture Rash")