Unrealistic expectations

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

In light of being told I place unrealistic expectations on humanity for the nth time but actually processing it for once and reverting to self-abasement - a coping mechanism.

"Damn, I really had to think about that. You’re probably right.

I often remind myself of a Chekhov character. The most irritating one who romanticises everything and self-loathes and dispels all contrary ideas in this way, by digging inwardly deeper at everyone else’s expense. And feeling justified in mental gymnastics fuelled by self-hatred.

Even by saying that.

Change is good.

I’ve always been cringe and had a snowflake attitude.

I pushed everyone away.

It’s just too much for me. I’m convinced I’m simply waiting for death. I like the phrase “it’s about the journey and not the destination” but I don’t practise what I preach.

I am a hypocrite. We all are, I think.

The more you know, the less you know.

I basically just hold the same prejudices taught to me by my abusive father.

But that’s no excuse for my character. It’s only a way of shrugging off personal responsibility.

I’ve read enough to know I don’t know shit. God knows I was told I was dumb more than enough and internalised the idea.

Good thing I was born a peasant with no influence.

I do like to hold onto the purity. I feel it’s really all I have at this point. Not purity, but honesty? At least I think I’m telling the truth. What’s really going on in my head is convoluted. I’m confused and conflicted.

There is one thing - the fleeting glimpses of divine light.

“Blessed are the pure at heart, for they have seen God.” Or something like that.

At least let me have that.

Someone once told me, as a compliment, “it’s like the world hasn’t gotten to you yet.”

I take pride in that independence. But misanthropy is one of the costs. Irrational attitude stemming from dysfunction within myself which I project onto others.

A cyclic nightmare in which I live. I created it. My beautiful hell.

You reap what you sow.

Writing helps me to think these things through. I don’t discuss much IRL. I resent people in general and I’m far too cynical to involve myself socially. Im no political activist or revolutionary. I’m not special. (See I say that, but fuck knows what I really think... the ego and all that.)

At best I’m someone who expresses themselves poorly in writing. See the cringe. I can’t talk without it. I really am the irritating Chekhov protagonist. Even by saying that.

I don’t trust confidence, especially in myself. The feeling of certainty in it strikes me as off-putting. When I had a manic episode, I relished in that certainty and the confidence that comes with, the wisdom you perceive yourself as having. But in hindsight it was ugly. Like you said, I am the dictator. Without having known. Even now that I know, I’ll still indulge. Even before I knew, I still kinda knew in my own way.

I’ve explored my neuroses through poetry and prose and I’ve changed for the better to some extent. But fundamentally I’ll always be this way. Maybe I simply impose these restrictions on myself. Shit, I know I do. Mental barriers. You are your own worst enemy and all that. The root lays in past trauma but the growth lays in present consciousness.

Thanks for at least trying to pierce my husk. You kinda got further than most. See, I do think I’m special.

I pushed all of my friends away. I used whatever means necessary. I had some really good friends, too.

I don’t like myself and I’ve felt uncomfortable in my own skin since as long as I can remember.

I do these pieces all the time and sometimes it feels cathartic. It does a little bit now, even if you don’t read this, even after I forget - the effect will last, probably, even just a little.

I just saved some poor psychologist a headache by typing out my thoughts before becoming frustrated, defending my discordant beliefs and moving on with the burden of unresolved bitterness. I really hate myself. I also love myself. It’s in this fog of confusion I forever see myself and seems I’m unable to see the bigger picture. Anything past myself. Narcissist just like my dad raised me. -_-"

Submitted: May 22, 2021

© Copyright 2021 olive tree. All rights reserved.

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Ann Sepino

All I can say is that it's good to write your thoughts out from time to time, especially at points in your life when you feel like the world is confusing you (or vice versa). I do like the honesty and frankness of your prose as much as the beautifully gruesome flow of your poetry. Keep on going, dude!

Tue, May 25th, 2021 12:08pm


Thanks Ann... always nice to see a comment from you :)

Tue, May 25th, 2021 6:03pm

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