Maybe I Like It This Way

I don't consider myself to be much of anything, although I am accutely aware that the people who surround me think differently. I, however, do not,- sorry- ,cannot justify that to myself.

Whenever I can, I visualize me lightyears away, absorbed in outlandish performances replete with jazz hands and glitter. I am not proud, although some insist that I should be. I am not very confident, although I have been told that I give off that air. I am not a big fan of redudancy, although it appears I am partaking in a redundancy-fest. I fear confrontation, loathe human-blunder (which is unfortunate, as I am not a robot), enjoy chocolate and drinking ginger-ale through Twizzler straws. I am unhappy. I don't want to continue on this path of overcomensation where, for everything wrong with my life (ie: all of the things I have no power over), I work twice as hard and cry twice as much.

In less than two years, I shall escape from this hell-hole that is my life and start anew, in the Big Apple-New York City- La Mansa Grande-Heaven. For now I... maintain composure? I struggle to keep my chin up in a world where too much is parlayed upon my shoulders, bricks hold my head to my chest, and I have never been strong enough to tame the monkey on my back.

For now, I do what I do best; lie to myself. Promise the little girl inside my soul that the Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow, although we both know not even Daddy Warbucks could save me now. Maybe he could--- but not much else. Still, the thought of a savior is all I have. Surrounded by strength, it never fails to shock me that the strongest person I know allows herself to be mutilated, shattered, shredded to the core, where, still beautiful and wise, she is no longer whole. Thus, the cycle continues as the children of this wonderful woman are treated worse than she was.

Perhaps wise doesn't necessarily mean smart and strong isn't bulletproof.

It just doesn't seem fair. We who strive to please everyone and abide by the Golden Rule (treat people the way you want to be treated), are met by people who don't deserve such kindness. Yet, for some reason, our minds are set that if only we were good enough we could fix everything.


Am I the persecuted? She teases mockingly. Perhaps I am.


Does this blog post seem too self-annalytical? Too self-aware? Too critical?

Maybe I Like It This Way.

Screw it, Maybe I Need It This Way. So that when the fog is lifted and the dark cloud over my heart is engulfed by sunlight, I can pull from that and win a Tony.
Or I can save children who, like me, are abused and frightened.