God and religion
Did God choose this? For me to be this way? Can I even change who I am? Would I want to? Scrap this “trial”, this demo version and select a new class at the start menu, select and build an entirely different character, a different me? Roll the dice for my attributes and personality, tragic backstory and background. Not sure I’d manage to be someone else, lest to say someone better. Maybe I don’t need to. Isn’t God all accepting and forgiving?
The thing is, if it is about forgiveness, why the most difficult is forgiving myself?
God. Fate. Predestination. Karma. Cycle of life. Heaven and hell. Reincarnation. We’ve been through all of this once already, haven’t we? A crisis of faith at such age is rather unlikely but here I am. It’s been 15 years since I thought so hard about god, religion and what it means to me, does it have a place in my life. It does not, not in the traditional way at least, not in the way it matters. I remember back in the day, when I was going against everything it just felt like swimming up the stream, diverting expectations, it was like the shedding of the skin, leaving everything behind. Breaking free from everyone else’s interpretations and expectations.
They tried to make me believe and not question it, accept it blindly, they pushed me into the water to swim but I drowned.
“What if God exists and you are going to hell for your sins?” they asked holding a stone.
“What if god doesn’t exist and all of your prayers have been for naught?” I countered, a bloody mess.
No one knows. I repeat, no one knows.
1 Corinthians 13:2 – “And if I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but not have love, I am nothing.“
With this I agree, love is the most important thing. I just have none and my hands are empty.
Kindness
Is my kindness a weakness? I was never looked at as a person, as me. Always a weapon, honed for something lethal. It may sound ridiculous but I just feel like a single bullet in a magazine in a loaded gun. A soldier, one of many thousands, doing my silly little salute for the people in power who don’t give a fuck about me. They tell me to bow and I have absolutely no choice but to do so. I hate it, I loathe it. I am but a piece of a puzzle, a tiny thing that can and will be easily replaced with something anew, once I am no longer of use. But at the same time, I am a weapon of mass destruction. I am a nuclear weapon that can cause so much damage and ruin. Someone who can also be cast aside but can take everyone down with them. A trophy to be shown as an example but never as me. Always someone, something else. A mirage.
I was always told, led to believe that my kindness is weakness. That it is always taken for granted and people will use me to no end. They will twirl me around their fingers and stick a knife in my back the second I turn away. Maybe so. But my kindness is not, it is not a weakness, it is a strength, it will always be a strength. While I myself struggle with emotions and empathy and sympathy, I still think of the best in people. Am I naive? Perhaps.
“You feel their pain because that is who you are. And you must never sacrifice that. Never! Not for anyone.”
I was also told once, a long time ago, to not expect “me” from other people.
True enough when you’re touch-starved but are afraid of touching and tainting, ruining other people. Yet at the same time when people need comfort, they lunge themselves at you with full body force so you can take it all away. True enough when you’re never sure of yourself, impostor syndrome, always doubting yourself and questioning. Yet always reassure, support everyone and say a kind word when it is really needed. Sad that you’re always on the giving end, forgotten once someone feels better.
True enough when you’re a human disaster. Being a disaster is easy, being a disaster is all I am good at.
“But look at me, oh, what a mess
And I get caught up in the things that matter the least
Oh, let me have release“
Anger
I am getting sick and tired of this bullshit. Sick and tired of everyone always taking and taking and never giving. I have doubts, flashes of anger that usually are fleeting but sometimes stay and linger. Or maybe I’m just angry all the time, I am not sure. I don’t think I’m an angry person but at the same time I think that I am always full of rage. Not sure which one is it for real, maybe it’s both at the same time.
“Don’t be yourself with them”, she says and my heart breaks. Because I can never be myself anywhere, I have to censor myself so much I’m not sure I even exist anymore. Do I even have a place here at all? Do I just have to cut out all of the parts of myself until there’s nothing left? I don’t know. I am just sad and angry and spiteful at the moment.
People listen but they never seem to fucking hear. I am screaming my lungs out but I feel like I’m in a soundproof box. People are all just big talk and that’s it. They don’t care, they don’t give a shit, not about me, not about their surroundings, not about the consequences. People don’t care, they only talk and talk and talk. And it rarely aligns with what they do. All talk, no action. They only say what they don’t mean, fake bravado and a make believe comfort. Nothing is true, I am giving up.
“I need to tattoo my other inner arm,” I say randomly one day.
“Why?” my inner demons ask.
“So I can stop myself,” I yell at the mirror in the bathroom, at myself, at the black bags under my eyes.
“Stop doing what, exactly?” their voices dissipate.
The blade, the blood, the loss.
Parents and parenting
It’s weird to think that all of us have trauma. One way or the other we have scars, maybe multiple. It’s weird to think that our parents may have failed us. It’s weird to think that when our needs weren’t met, we felt neglected even if from another point of view everything seemed fine. We’re scarred, some physically, some emotionally, some in multiple ways. I read somewhere that your love language is what you lacked from your parents as a child, something they didn’t give to you. It’s weird, it’s weird because it all adds up.
If parents failed to fulfill our needs and still fail to do so to this day, we just need to let go. It’s hard, it’s heartbreaking but we need to let go. Whatever it is that they’re giving will just never be enough for us. Not because they’re not trying, they don’t care, not because we’re greedy and pretentious. But because it will never align. If parents gave us a roof over our heads, fed us but were emotionally distant and unavailable, they won’t start acting different now. We need other people to fulfill our needs in a mature, adult way. Not for them to imitate our parents but to give us love in ways that we always wanted but were never given.
