Saturday, April 23, 2016

Writing with myself

I can never guess when I want to write some days. Today the sun is out and I'm at home alone with no money, no plans for today if i did have money, and no one to soften the punch of being alone. Don't get me wrong,I've created a solid home for my brother and myself but when I am here alone, I start dissecting myself. My past choices, my life so far, the connections I broke, all of it. It's like I'm standing in front of a full-length mirror of self-loathing. Like I was back in high school trying to sort myself out before I got off the school bus. This is what I hate about myself sometimes. I can never be alright with being alone even though I assure others that there is absolutely nothing wrong with it.  Is that crazy, Tell me I want to know?

Truth is my whole dream of being the best storyteller of my time is meaningless if I don't have anyone to tell them to. Even when I do tell stories now, I relentlessly doubt if they are interested in what they have to say before I finish. Something always worries me, a distrust in them that kicks in. I bet myself to the disbelief of my story before they even notice I'm telling it.
a word that I felt for everyone in my life at one point or another.
Childhood truma aside,  My days are even now filled with doubts of the average friend.
I find myself thinking up alterior motives and lies upon lies.
Sometimes I would like to be wrong, often times I'm not only am but I stick my foot in my mouth before I can prevent a mistake from being made. What Is friendship without trust?
A broken one as it turns out.
I knew a man I grew up with in my teenage years, This man has a family, a belif, a mission, and a heart. I knew a man once that called me his brother and godfather to his kids but because of distrust, I no longer know him.
It was hard to write that last bit. I burned that bridge and left it with a text unanswered.  Is that what I'm doing now, getting rid of people in my life to work toward some solitude that will end up killing me in the end. It's hard to tell what decisions are mine and what aren't that of a distrusting coward afaid to admit when he's wrong.
I regret what I did. It's true.
It was not without reason mind you but my reaction was rotten all the same. Missing the good times don't do any good along with changing how everything went down in my memory. It was so fast. I wasn't even in my right mind but I know how it looked. I was a snake, I am a snake, a serpent of distrust slidering my way in and out of peoples lives, unsure of my purpose, unsure of my status, unsure of my value in the eyes of thoses who say they love me.
I have been betrayed and taken advantage of but it was me. Me.
It wasn't thoses who lied, stole from me, abused me, it was the weak person they left behind afterwards. The "toatured soul" as my drama mentor put it.  Writing about it doesn't make it better,it doesn't stop the dreams of me telling him I'm sorry and I'm stupid and I don't know what I am anymore. A friend? A jealous prick? a fool? all three?
When do we as people learn to become better than our previous pain and the result? when do we open our eyes to see the reflection in the mirror as a companion that desrves companions who trust us and who we trust in return? I don't have much to say now sitting out side on my pourch with my laptop in front of me. And maybe it's enough that I wrote it. Anyway, thanks for reading.

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