Tag: fuckit
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Will I Ever Learn?
The only lesson that I keep learning from relationships is that the utterances of endearing affection at the peak of the relationship should always be taken with a pinch of salt, but that rare moment of appreciation feels so good that I forget quite quickly how many times before it was the start of that painful trend.
The trend seems to go like this…
- They relate to something I post
- Express curiosity about my views on their current emotional state
- Amazement at how much I get them, or relate to the space they’re in
- Outpouring of emotions regarding past hurts and betrayals
- Spirited exchange of sharp wit and adorable indulgences of philosophies on life and people
- Some feigned curiosity about me
- Realisation of how vulnerable they are given the information they’ve shared over such a short period of time
- Defensiveness at every observation or comment I share from that point, despite it being previously devoured but is suddenly distasteful
- Desperate attempt to re-establish their defenses
- Venomous attack on how insensitive I am about the space they’re in and how I don’t understand them at all or how I need to get an education
- Cut ties without explanation and a healthy dose of grossly inaccurate assumptions about me
And so the trends persist…it’s an emotionally expensive way to live life. Caring about people in whose lives I have no vested interest, nor do they in mine. I try to convince myself that I’m jaded, but I know it’s all an insincere lie in an attempt to convince me to be a cold detached prick that sees weakness as a pathetic state, rather than a desperately human one. But I know how desperately human I am, that’s why I’ll always be dumb enough to extend myself to those that forget what beauty they hold within.
I’ve fallen in love with the human spirit. Pity it hasn’t fallen in love with me.
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Sometimes, like right now, I stare at my Tumblr dashboard and realise that it’s a painful reflection of the emptiness of my life. It’s supposed to be an escape, an outlet, a form of creative expression or mental ejaculation, but instead it only reinforces the very same realisations that I try to ignore. I’m reminded of all the people that tell me that I just don’t get it, I don’t get them, I’m missing the point, or I don’t understand women. But the logic of how much I get it stares blankly at me saying, ‘wtf?’
Then I look at my post editor telling me that I already asked two questions today so I can only ask another one tomorrow and I wonder if it gives a shit about the fact that most of my questions go unanswered anyway? Now I’m talking to my post editor, which makes me almost as shallow a douche bag as the ones I despise.
Pathetically unique, or uniquely pathetic? Looking for meaning in the wrong places, or doomed to be insignificant? Fighting my true nature, or simply in denial? What does it matter? Asking these questions doesn’t change what is, it only reaffirms what is not. I should be asleep right now, but I’m averse to getting into bed again.
Nothing gives you quite a mind fuck like betrayal…it’s the wine of the heathens!
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Believe in me…not!
People don’t want to be believed in. They want to be pitied. Your pity for them reaffirms their victim state because they need to believe that they’re downtrodden because no one else would’ve dealt any better with what they’re contending with. When you believe in them, you expect them to rise up and become a master of their state rather than a victim.
So instead, they’ll scowl at you for not understanding, for undermining their heartache or anguish, and for thinking you’re better than them or that you just don’t get it at all. All this because they need to hide behind the facade of being able to survive in spite of this massively overwhelming burden of life being placed on them. That way, they feel like they’re strong because they’re still alive and have pathetic remnants of hope for the future, when in fact they’re weak and are only existing and surrounding themselves with like-minded people that will stroke their egos and affirm their resilience because they haven’t thrown in the towel yet.
But despite knowing this, you’ll be bold enough (read dumb enough!) to believe in them because you see through their defenses simply because you employed those very same defenses at some point, and their true strength is visible to you like the light of day but hidden from them because of the daunting decay of society. So you believe, and you invest emotionally and sometimes physically into that belief in them, and instead they rebel…they deny and despise your efforts because you’re not giving them what they want…you’re not telling them what they want to hear.
And that sends you into a state of despair and suddenly you’re the victim of the weakness that you tried to help them to overcome. And suddenly you’re questioning your self-worth, your significance, your ability to influence…and you recede…not realising that receding is giving up and not necessarily accepting. But at some point we all give up. Sometimes on life, sometimes on living…and sometimes on existing. And then someone comes along and believes in us, and we strike back thinking what the hell do they know? Do they have any idea what I’ve just been through? How I’ve just been rejected in the harshest way? Do they know anything at all, or do they need to believe in me so that they can feel significant in their quest to touch someone else’s life in the hope that it would bring meaning to their own? How pathetic they are for thinking that they have what it takes to convince me that I am wrong about my conscious choice to recede. Do they not know how much I know about why I shouldn’t believe anymore?
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Another brush with the faint of heart
Sometimes I wonder if I’m depressed or am I just an ingrate. I usually get these thoughts annoying me when I’ve had yet another encounter with betrayal or insincerity.
Fear breeds cowardice as much as betrayal breeds hypocrisy. Or something like that…I think…I can’t really think clearly right now…not sure if it’s the lack of sleep, the distracting pain in my gut, or the untimely reminders of betrayals gone by.
I’ve realised that in this world, the spineless will always reign supreme in the end because they’re more adaptable than those that have a back bone. It’s so much easier to live a life as an un-tethered liberal. Stand for nothing, fall for anything, and never accept accountability for commitments, either implied or explicit.
If someone believes in you, that’s their problem. You never asked them to in the first place. Everyone bemoans the fact that they feel insignificant, unloved, unimportant, inconsequential, pathetic, alone, blah blah blah…but everyone is also always pushing away such love or care or concern or selfless commitment because it demands a reciprocation that is too constraining. We cry for companionship or understanding but then despise it when it comes in the wrong packaging.
What a laughable bunch we are, aren’t we?
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When I was younger, I was dead set on the fact that I was going to die at an early age. I made every attempt to be cold, callous and detached from everyone around me because I didn’t want to bear the responsibility of anyone’s life being screwed up as a result of my passing. I didn’t want to be missed. I didn’t want to be mourned. I wanted to leave as if I had never been there.
I didn’t die. Sometimes I’m disappointed. And sometimes I’m not. But right now, I’m ambivalent…and I hate being ambivalent. But I’m still here…so I guess I may as well try to make something of it, even though the trend of my life has proven that my efforts are mostly futile.
