anotherlongshot (anotherlongshot) wrote,
anotherlongshot
anotherlongshot

Superhuman.

I don't like myself very much right now.

While growing up you had all these infantile ideas in your head about what you wanted to be: a teacher, because your father was one; a pop star, because it looked so cool; a rock star, because rock music had more cred than mindless, recycled pop; then a writer, because writing not only made you feel alive, you were actually good at it.

Along with these half-formed, frivolous and unrealistic ambitions, you had ideas about who you wanted yourself to be. It didn't always start off pretty: at 14, you wanted to be misunderstood but always right, the poison of overblown teenage angst seeping so deeply into your bloodstream that you actually believed it were real (it wasn't); at 16, you wanted to be free and stand on your own two feet and say with confidence, "This is the destiny that I chose"; at 18, you wanted to be the overachiever that had the entire world at her feet, placed on a pedestal with thousands of admirers, her stellar grades as proof of her worth; at 19, you wanted to be more; at 20, you wanted to be content; at 21, you hoped that you could be content; but at 23, you realise you can't be anymore.

I'm not just about my achievements, the things that I can do, the thoughts that I can formulate, the opinions that I can have; I am also very much about my values, my morals, my principles. I always say I'd be nothing without my ability to write, but I hardly say another fact that is also true: I am nothing without these high standards that I impose on myself. I expect myself to be a certain person, to do certain things that comport with my values, even if everyone else doesn't. In my mind, the only approval that truly, truly matters is my own. If I can live with the consequences of an action, then that action is right, other opinions to the contrary be damned.

On the flip side, if I can't live with the consequences of an action, then that action is wrong. Period. It doesn't matter to me that everyone else is doing it - maybe it makes me feel beter temporarily, but when push comes to shove, the white-washing fades and disappears, exposing, once more, the issues that I tried to cover up.

Been trying to do that for a while now. It all came back out in the forefront a few hours ago. And honestly, honestly? Really can't do this anymore. I can't recognise myself, I have lost track of the things that matter to me, and I love this too much for it to be continually tainted by something so simple, so fucking obvious, that it's really a crime that we're going on as if it doesn't matter. It does matter, and it should matter, and it'd always mattered to me but I was too weak, too fucking heartbreakingly human, to make it matter the way it should.

I don't know how to be myself without being a responsible person, at least to myself. And so this has to stop, once and for all. Even if I expect myself to be superhuman, I will make it stop until I get it right.
Tags: angst, personal
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 0 comments