Have I always been like that?
Is that why you don't like me?
Is that why you think low of me?
Am I a horrid person?
These thoughts, they occur with increasing frequencies as hard as I try to suppress them.
For suppress I should else I worry I would not function without suppression. I'd fall into a category of beings who are, as they say, emotionally unstable or for lack of a better description, emo.
But today, I am taunted by the physical and emotional exhaustion that has befallen me and thus my insides turn to ashes as if they were rusty all along, and I keep putting the blame on myself as if it was I who was the one responsible for these feelings. But no, I said, no, they aren't any fault of mine. Blame it on hormones, or on people, horrid, horrid, society of people who often seek to find fault in me. All, of course, and illusion I conjure to lie to myself as to numb the pain. All arrows now, the tiny cogs and the tiny mechanisms of the arrows slowly, continually jerking at an extremely acute angle throughout my years of conscious awareness, all point towards my true horrid, undeserving self. Peel back all my layers of thoughts, my self defense against myself, and efforts I place to protect me from the glances of the students at school, my fellow schoolmates, my bestfriend even, and also, myself.
I keep saying myself a lot, and both of them opposite to the other. I suppose I should explain that, but this post isn't for you to understand. It is for me to express, to unburden, to no longer feel so, so, hated, by myself. See, myself and I, we are at war. There is me, which is the real me, whoever that may be. Then there is this other me which criticizes all my actions, all my thoughts. And there is this other me, which defends those accusations and perhaps even build false statements (though I know not whether they may be false or true) to keep me from crumbling to dust from all unconscious attacks from society and all these tiny subtle jabs from teachers and people. People.
The war carries on. I hope, not for long. But more-ly, I hope that I shall have the strength if it does carry on. Which, I half expect it to.
Damn my self, my stupid, miserable self.
Is that why you don't like me?
Is that why you think low of me?
Am I a horrid person?
These thoughts, they occur with increasing frequencies as hard as I try to suppress them.
For suppress I should else I worry I would not function without suppression. I'd fall into a category of beings who are, as they say, emotionally unstable or for lack of a better description, emo.
But today, I am taunted by the physical and emotional exhaustion that has befallen me and thus my insides turn to ashes as if they were rusty all along, and I keep putting the blame on myself as if it was I who was the one responsible for these feelings. But no, I said, no, they aren't any fault of mine. Blame it on hormones, or on people, horrid, horrid, society of people who often seek to find fault in me. All, of course, and illusion I conjure to lie to myself as to numb the pain. All arrows now, the tiny cogs and the tiny mechanisms of the arrows slowly, continually jerking at an extremely acute angle throughout my years of conscious awareness, all point towards my true horrid, undeserving self. Peel back all my layers of thoughts, my self defense against myself, and efforts I place to protect me from the glances of the students at school, my fellow schoolmates, my bestfriend even, and also, myself.
I keep saying myself a lot, and both of them opposite to the other. I suppose I should explain that, but this post isn't for you to understand. It is for me to express, to unburden, to no longer feel so, so, hated, by myself. See, myself and I, we are at war. There is me, which is the real me, whoever that may be. Then there is this other me which criticizes all my actions, all my thoughts. And there is this other me, which defends those accusations and perhaps even build false statements (though I know not whether they may be false or true) to keep me from crumbling to dust from all unconscious attacks from society and all these tiny subtle jabs from teachers and people. People.
The war carries on. I hope, not for long. But more-ly, I hope that I shall have the strength if it does carry on. Which, I half expect it to.
Damn my self, my stupid, miserable self.
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