When one first said “be yourself” – they surely didn’t mean it to end like this.
It seems the true colours behind my mind are being tarnished – from the inside. See, look here; these emblems and draperies are normally proud to be azure. But they’re not, are they?
What can you see now? Rouge. Literally, rouge. Here, a despicable and sickly cosmetic that has grown out of control and been smeared around like some sort of gawkfitti.
When I first saw the trend of my activity over the past months, I was shocked and alarmed, shortly followed by indignant and violently frightened. It took less than a minute before there were bandied whispers of femme fatale (like visceral snakes) and cries of “Oh my god.” – because at heart, these personalities were right. Collectively, they were never intended to form me as a selfrighteous idiot bitch; or worse, a seducer.
Leveraging gender and pity? How the hell did you not see that? Why do you cling to pity and dependance?
Another bitter drunk embarrassment to add to the pile. I’m sure of that much, but no, what troubles me more is that they’ll be back, and they keep twisting my arm and brushing the grit off my neurons. No. What really fucks me is that it’ll come back, like some sort of never ending history trail. There aint a promise or end to it that I can be relied upon to deliver. It’d be kinda uncertain that there’s anything left about here that can still get a tactical grip on a situation. For all I’ve had in life, it disappoints me can’t even promise to eliminate a damn taint and make sure won’t be back. I’ve been fighting fire with vengeance in a desperate endeavour to stave it off for some sleep. But the mofo bounced back, messed in my brain some more, and suffocated me with darkness and fear on its way out! It’s some sort of adventurous, cliché ripped, battle to keep free of urges – but books are successful because people relate to them.
It’s just ironic (and thus further clichéd), that these very seductive urges that besiege me were the result of hopeless solitude in the first place. Take a look at this page on Maslow’s Hierarchy, and tell me what you see – and note that this is a subconscious grab for romance in lieu of love. I’m not trained in clinical psychology, but what I can say is that it’s a pathetic and volatile imitation and substitute for a proper relationship, disturbing the very foundations of trust that a coalition must be built upon.
As the conflict ensued between these zealots and the true-azure survivalists (outraged that the lust would run uncontrollably and disturb a stable living), there was a crisis that pitched my mind into terror. I’m on the run from them now – there wasn’t exactly anywhere else to go to.
Note the lack of any family relationships above? Note my vicious tone that is rather unbefitting and odd? I blame my family for a lifetime of independence, indifference and insults. In their own way… understandable; but not brilliant. It’s spurned a life of untrust, cut off and eternal vigilance. There are few that know my secrets, and none yet that understand the complexity and deep shit that I got stuck in. Bitterly, the concept of reassurance and happiness was turned over its head for solitude and isolation.
Personality wise, this is exacerbated by a feminine partygoing persona, the first visage you meet. It’s all too typical of a modern girl: deceptively simple, eternally drunk and yet have proper limits. It doesn’t benefit from tactical analysis, wisdom or rhythm and dead stupid.
Totally false and unreflective of the internal workings. Desperate in time, desperate in love, and a complete recipe for disaster. But coping normally, not like those… creepy, old people with their stiff rules and weird habits. Total ugh!
But as much as spontaneity is lively, loose and happy, it doesn’t give much unless it’s tempered with a bit of temporal awareness. Sleep.
You can see where this is going, right? I hope so. I’m not really sure if I’ve been making the concept link into each other, I’m so freaking tired and bitter.
Because of the lack of trust, the sleep deficiency kicks in and wipes out any defensive personas, mucking up their concept of rhythm. Without timing, defence is uselessly ineffective and gives out to fear and lust. Something stupid will be said. BAM.
Of course, I’m watching this fucker. This demon succubus isn’t getting away, and there might actually be some interesting shit to talk about then. Question is, how do you get to grips with a fight with one? The supply routes are adequately slashed. I can barely think straight because I stayed up late to write this out of sheer fustration. Social isolation progresses because of that sleepless fear, causing an alert on stupidity, and inertia isn’t exactly working in my favour…
Time and trust will tell, I suppose. First thing is to get a grip on everything, not just half like this, at one instant. I might actually see where to go from there. (Um, no actually. It’d be to get some nice sleep :P )