Whether I meant for it to happen or not, one thing is for certain. Who I was and who I am as of this day are two very, very different people. A few years ago I was more open, fun loving, I laughed and wasn’t afraid to show how much someone meant to me. I’ve kept traces of that personality with me through these years, though there is one key different--back then when I’d laugh and joke around, I meant it.
I won’t deny that sometimes when I’m with friends I act normal, even if I’m feeling something different. They tell me not to worry, they tell me there are people that care, and I believe them. It’s not that I think I’m alone, or that nobody wants me around. I realize that I’m loved by a lot of people; I realize how much I mean to them. I just wish I could be the person they know me as.
As hard as it is for me to say, I realize that I’m just human; nothing more, nothing less. I am what I am and that’s all I’m ever going to be. I’m not above anyone else; I’m actually far below the vast majority. I understand and accept it, despite how I may act. I have flaws. I’m imperfect, as we all are. Maybe I thought by covering them up instead of openly accepting them it made me somehow different, set me apart from the rest. I can see all I did was dig myself deeper into the ground.
Do I miss who I was? Yes. Do I want to become like who I was? That’s open for debate. I’m a strong believer in fate and how everything happens for a reason. Things change, people change, and it’s just how the universe is run. If I was meant to become like I was, then I would have never changed in the first place.
My friends, the one my heart belongs to, everyone…I want to apologize. Sometimes I can be hard to deal with, sometimes I can seem a bit arrogant. I don’t mean to be, and if I could change it I would. Because I believe in everything happening for a reason, I don’t go out of my way to change it. I know who I am, who I’m destined to be. If I wasn’t meant to be who I am, I wouldn’t be who I am.
When I think about everything that’s happened, had I met my past self from a few years ago I doubt I’d recognize who I am. When I try to think about love, it feels as though there’s a hollow space protected by a shell where my heart used to be. It’s capable of love, it’s just not as pure as it would have been all that time ago. Sometimes I can feel bits and pieces of what I used to feel, but when I go to grasp it my hand passes through it like smoke and I’m left with nothing but a reminder of who I used to be.
I realize my actions cause harm to certain people. For some I can honestly say I couldn’t care less, for others I realize what I’m doing, but cannot seem to bring myself to change my ways. There’s something in my heart, something that I’m not quite sure I can identify, that gives me reason to continue to be how I am. It’s as if my heart itself is to blame. Can it not differentiate friend from foe anymore? Is it because of who I’ve known and what they’ve done, or simply because I’m too weak willed to have stopped it from happening in the first place?
As I sit here and contemplate, I feel as if things are never going to change, even if I try. Does this mean I shouldn’t try at all? No, of course not. Does it mean that I won’t try? Most likely. I suppose I’m one to find every flaw possible in a situation, and one that would rather make up excuses on how something wouldn’t work out to avoid failing, than to focus on how things could work positively and give it a go instead. This is not true in all cases, however I believe it makes up a good part of it all.
It’s odd that in writing this, I feel no relief. My chest remains tight, I remain emotionally unaffected. Ordinarily I would feel a slight weight lifted from putting my thoughts down. Does this mean this endeavor was in vain? Do my words hold no value now? Have I lost the will to continue my writings?
People come, people go, some leave their mark and some leave nothing behind but a bitter memory. I’ve never been a hateful person, I know I shouldn’t be. If someone finds fault in who I am as a person, then it’s no business of mine to become irritated by it. Nay, I should understand their viewpoint and accept it as something I wasn’t able to realize about myself.
There are not enough words in the English language to accurately explain how I feel, how I’ve felt, who I am and what I’ve done or what has been done to me. Some people turn to religion in times like these. I am not one of these people. All I need are my words.
Although I can’t help but wonder when it is they’ll betray me as well.
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