028/365

No longer afraid to face the person in the mirror...

--------------------------------------------------

I rather be disappointed by expectations than to always assume the worse about the man underneath, because once I train my mind to believe that it will become true and I’ll never be happy. I’ll never be happy because I’ll always be afraid of getting hurt. And in avoiding pain one ceases to understand pleasure. The world becomes obsolete and all that exists is me and my madness--- sadness. My inability to seek joy in getting to know me. I have used up a lot of my energy convincing, explaining, exemplifying how I want others to treat me…that I’m worthy of being treated with love… but I don’t even treat myself with half the respect and affection I’m expecting people to give me. Maybe I try to convince myself of that and seek confirmation from others, assuming if they treat me poorly it must be a reflection of self. A flaw in me must be what motivates others to hurt me. Time after time again.

I don’t understand me sometimes and, in my quest, to do so I uncover ugly truths. Truths too hard to swallow. Truths I so neatly swept under the rug but lay right beneath the surface nonetheless. I lie to me more than I’ve lied to anyone in my entire life. I’m fragile and I’ve put so much effort into convincing myself that I’m not that it has been so hard to let it go. The feeling is comforting, but dishonest. Temporary. The insecurities stay. They’re the ones I need to talk to, but I shun them away. I silence them with false confidence instead of looking my demons in the eye. I run. I freeze. I can’t seem to fight myself the way I fight other people. I’m raw and I’m vicious and I know I can hurt me better than anyone else can, so bring it on. It’s almost a challenge. It’s almost like I ask for a target to aim my discomfort at, anything to shift the burns of my wrath away from me. I might get too real and break. “I know what you’ve been through,” I say. But my own words of reassurance are never quite enough.