my beautiful hell

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

My beautiful hell

I live with my mother in a 2 bedroom railside apartment. I'm 26 years old. I have no job. I've been sheltered and pampered my entire life.
Although I was shown love, I was consistently stonewalled and emotionally neglected by those closest to me, so that I frequently found I'd noone to talk to. I sought to immerse myself into the cyber world.
My bedroom is a whitewashed cage of flimsy composition, just like me.
A significant part of the living room, which is also the foyer and kitchen, accommodates my computer.
I have squandered countless opportunities to improve myself, grow and succeed.
I always tried to get ahead and set for myself unreasonable expectations.
No matter how much I achieved, in my mind I always failed.
I struggled to accept that people might like me, preferring to suppose they were taking pity on me by their expressing affection.
Reasonable people have abruptly stopped talking to me without explanation. I imagine they thought "there's actually something wrong with him" if perhaps they weren't deeply offended by my tendency to be needlessly honest out of spite.
I spent most of my time desperately floundering, struggling to realise I didn't actually want to die.
My whims negatively affected all of my relationships, many of which I felt were cut short prematurely. I attributed these failures of communication to my own inadequacy. Perhaps they sought to escape from my intensity.
Around people I always felt insufferably anxious. This feeling was compounded by my insecurities about my appearance, manner of speech, hearing loss and hearing loss itself.
Being unable to understand what everyone else could prompted emotional repression and pretense. I took to daydreaming and was only comfortable alone. I pretended to hear what was said to satisfy the speaker and avoid embarrassment and shame. Yet I still felt shame.
It suited me to blend into the background where I could hear what I might and still avoid the pressure of being expected to respond. "The shame would be tolerable if I could only disappear."
I'm not exceptional, although shamefully I always thought I was. This core belief may have given rise to a number of my neuroses and behavioural patterns which I've yet to reform, some of which I may never be rid of.
The tide crashes before sweeping out.

My beautiful hell

I live with my mother in a 2 bedroom railside apartment. I'm 26 years old. I have no job. I've been sheltered and pampered my entire life.

Although I was shown love, I was consistently stonewalled and emotionally neglected by those closest to me, so that I frequently found I'd noone to talk to. I sought to immerse myself into the cyber world.

My bedroom is a whitewashed cage of flimsy composition, just like me.

A significant part of the living room, which is also the foyer and kitchen, accommodates my computer.

I have squandered countless opportunities to improve myself, grow and succeed.

I always tried to get ahead and set for myself unreasonable expectations.

No matter how much I achieved, in my mind I always failed.

I struggled to accept that people might like me, preferring to suppose they were taking pity on me by their expressing affection.

Reasonable people have abruptly stopped talking to me without explanation. I imagine they thought "there's actually something wrong with him" if perhaps they weren't deeply offended by my tendency to be needlessly honest out of spite.

I spent most of my time desperately floundering, struggling to realise I didn't actually want to die.

My whims negatively affected all of my relationships, many of which I felt were cut short prematurely. I attributed these failures of communication to my own inadequacy. Perhaps they sought to escape from my intensity.

Around people I always felt insufferably anxious. This feeling was compounded by my insecurities about my appearance, manner of speech, hearing loss and hearing loss itself.

Being unable to understand what everyone else could prompted emotional repression and pretense. I took to daydreaming and was only comfortable alone. I pretended to hear what was said to satisfy the speaker and avoid embarrassment and shame. Yet I still felt shame.

It suited me to blend into the background where I could hear what I might and still avoid the pressure of being expected to respond. "The shame would be tolerable if I could only disappear."

I'm not exceptional, although shamefully I always thought I was. This core belief may have given rise to a number of my neuroses and behavioural patterns which I've yet to reform, some of which I may never be rid of.

The tide crashes before sweeping out.

 


Submitted: December 27, 2020

© Copyright 2021 olive tree. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Benjamin Labidi

I don't know if it intentional, but you repeated your text twice.
As for the story, it sounded like the inner voice of any human who would take time to meditate about his life, with a hint of depression. Unfortunately, our own judgement is also our biggest enemy. One can simply go through hell by rejecting himself.

Sun, December 27th, 2020 1:56am

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