One of the reasons why i have rejected the notion of religious fanaticism of any kind is because i’m afraid i’ll lose myself in the process.
Another reason is because i can identify with pain.
As much as i hate my life sometimes i’m afraid losing pain and its effects will turn me into a boring oaf.
As much as i try to embody the basic christian values i was raised with. And as much as my forehead reads “good girl” to most people (something i’ve come to embrace), its quite ironic how so many secrets and all the pain in my life has moulded me into who i am.
How one person could beat years of abuse and depression and suicidal thoughts to resemble any form of normalcy is beyond me. I laugh at how ironic my life is sometimes.
Although i would never be described as “that girl” i’m well aware that most people find me weird. I get it everyday. The only thing is nobody knows the depth.
I recently set fire to a ribbon in one of my depressed moments. I was setting fire to stuff and i did that. Then i forgot i was holding it and then burned my hand.
The pain felt nice for a few moments…bad for a few as well and in my head i compared it to what i figured cutting must be like. Inflicting pain on your body to rid yourself of inner pain.
I got a scar at the bottom of my left thumb and my middle finger as well.
The one on my thumb is more prominent.
It’s a little one but the fact that it’s there makes the pain even more real. This is because usually when i get depressed i cry hate life and move on even if it’s for a bit. I leave my depression in the room, on the bed, under the blanket or here even.
This time it’s on my thumb. And when i’m being a normal member of society i can look at it and laugh. My own little secret.
Point of this whole story is…my pain has moulded me into all the interesting things peculiar to who i am as a person. As much as i try to be good. Letting go to the notion seems almost impossible. Pretentious even. I don’t know where i’ll end up. At the same time i don’t want to be one of those people that let experiences define them. That’s one of the reasons why i try to be good.
But sometimes its like piling clothes and rubbish up in a closet. Throwing them in until the door can’t really close anymore.
The closet is your mind. Its in a tidy room that everyone sees. You pile and pile till the closet cant take them anymore. Then they spill to the floor and alter everyone’s perception of the girl they thought you were.