Nov 22

In response to @Raishimi’s blog, I had to think and reflect on things that I normally try to avoid. I don’t think I avoid them because they are particularly painful or that they force me to reflect on times that weren’t always the happiest. I think I try to avoid them because they stir up emotions like a feather stirs up dust. The emotions aren’t recalled in a controllable manner. They’re seen in flashbacks, where sometimes I see the good, sometimes the bad and almost always regret. Not regret that they happened, but regret that I didn’t or couldn’t handle them differently.

We grow as we get older. Not only in size and scale, but emotionally and in how we handle situations. Rumors about me in the past made me paranoid. They made me look over my shoulder, feel ashamed, and feel self conscious. I was an idiot now that I think back on it. I was insecure in myself, not because of what others said or thought of me, but because of what I thought of myself. I thought I was ugly, unwanted or undesirable. Not because I was any of those things, but because I felt alone. Of course I felt alone because I preferred it that way, but it still didn’t help my psyche that I projected those feeling onto myself.

Now when I hear about rumors or my stalker spreading stories, I feel a twinge of anger sprout up, concerned about the lies, but then I just sit back and laugh. I’m glad someone cares enough to spread them. And that people care enough to discuss them. I gave up believing that what others think about me matters. I have a family that cares, and between my writing and few friends that I do have, I have no cares in the world, even if I’m squeezing pennies to live day by day. Happiness doesn’t come with what I have, but how I use and enjoy that which I do.

Dreams are always tricky thing. My mind can be demented and so when I’ve spent the day contemplating devious things, I tend to dream about them. Waking up in a cold sweat but not feeling fear, but excitement for another story idea only brings elation. The scariest recurring dream is actually me living a normal life. Or at least it looks like what’d I’d believe is normal. It’s never always the same, but it does include myself and another. A female, but she has no face. There is no name and there’s always something else happening. Why would that be scary, you ask? Because I don’t know if that’s even possible. It’s capable to be in a relationship, I’ve done it before. But I know how my mind works and it requires a certain level of pickiness to date or get involved. And as I grow older, the chances of it happening grow slimmer and slimmer.

I am not scared of love. I’m actually a bonafied hopeless romantic at heart. But please don’t share that with anyone. It just scares me that I’ve wasted my life up to this point because I viewed myself in a way that wouldn’t allow it to happen. That is the only thought that crosses my mind when I wake up from those dreams. I have to believe there’s still hope if those dreams keep happening, but I choose to avoid it altogether. It’s easier to not dwell on it. The emotions are better off chained in a box. They don’t need to be released and feed on the tenderness of my heart. Reflections aren’t always easy. They aren’t always as beautiful as they’re portrayed. Luckily, others see me in a different light than I view myself. Not that I view myself poorly anymore. Far from it. I just view my past self poorly. It’s only when I remember that past self is what led to current self that I can smile and take a little pride.

Current self has arrived in a good place. And while I wish the journey wasn’t as bumpy as it was, I still remember the scenery along the way much more than I do all the painful experiences.


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