Most of the people who read this blog haven’t met me in person. Even those of you that have, likely don’t know me too well. To remedy that slightly, I’m going to write as honest a description of who I am. Or rather, who I perceive myself to be.
I don’t know how accurate that’s going to be. We all see other people differently. It isn’t inconceivable that the same way our eyes warp our perception of others, they might also give us false impressions of what we’re like.
Still, I’ll do my best to be honest. That’s all I can do.
I am not a nice person.
I don’t know that anyone is. However, I know for sure that if people who are essentially good exist, I’m definitely not one of them.
I like lying. I take great joy from deceiving others, from creating complex lies in my head, and spinning them into existence, balancing each new lie like plates on a stick. I rarely let one fall, and knowing I can do it gives me perverse satisfaction.
I’m vindictive, and petty, and jealous. I’m also incredibly arrogant. As far back as I can remember, I’ve felt pressure to excel at every single thing I’ve ever done, because I had to show the world I was better than everyone around me.
I worked hard in school because I enjoyed my classes, but I took the most enjoyment from being recognised as the smartest child in my grade. I got to skip a grade twice in elementary school, and both times I grew more proud and more certain that I was different from everyone else.
I suppose everyone does that. We’re all the heroes of our own story.
Sometimes I fear I take it beyond what is normal. I’m incredibly arrogant, and I also tend towards complete selfishness. I am the sort of person who is able to harden their heart and shut themselves off completely to everyone else. If I needed to, I could see someone slowly die of hunger if it meant I would survive, and I suspect I wouldn’t feel a shred of guilt.
I am not a nice person.
I have pain in my heart most of the time, and I find it easy to take it out on others, or to place my needs over theirs. Look out for #1.
I’m very insecure. I’m afraid of not being that special after all, of being wrong, of losing what I feel makes me better than other people. Knowing it’s going to happen someday.
I try to be a good person.
I’m aware of how easy it is to shut yourself to others, so I do all I can to pay attention to them. I recognise a lot of the ugliest parts of me come from a desire to be loved and have people listen to me, so I do my best to listen to others, and give them as much love as I can.
I hate being misunderstood, or having my ideas turned into straw men, so when I listen to others, I try to put myself in their position as much as possible, and to see things from their point of view. As much as I might disagree with someone, I rarely fall into the trap of imagining them as completely evil or unreasonable.
I know I am able to shut the doors of my heart completely and let it harden, which is why I don’t let it happen unless it’s best for my health and happiness. I force myself to be hurt by others, because I understand the importance of vulnerability and love.
I have been through hell and back.
I know I’m young and know nothing of loss, but sometimes my heart feels too heavy with pain and sadness to go on.
There are people who rejected me, the real me. Family, friends. People who tried to make me feel like dirt, like worse than dirt. They’ve called me selfish, treated me as someone whose presence doesn’t merit acknowledgement. I don’t think about them often. The second they showed their true colours, I cut them out of my heart, and now I can’t feel anything for them.
However, there are friends who tried to love me, the real me, but couldn’t. I let go of them, but I still feel horrible pain. Just thinking about them now has made me start crying.
Sometimes I wonder if that kind of loss heals with time, or if you gather more and more grief, until it weighs you down like an inescapable anchor, and you drown in melancholy and pain.
I am a very happy person.
I find it easy to be arrogant, to be selfish, to be cold. So I go out each day with the hope of doing the opposite of all of that. I try to smile, to brighten other people’s days. To be kind in whichever way I can.
Sometimes I laugh and joke because it’s the only way to keep me going when my heart feels like it’s about to break. Other days I can’t help but walk around with a grin from the knowledge deep in my heart that I am living the life I was meant to live.
Either way, I consider it my responsibility to overcome my horrible nature and do my best to leave the world in some way better than I found it. I don’t think I do this on most days, but it’s worth it for the days I do.
Was this pretentious? Disorganised?
I suppose so. However, I don’t know any other way of escaping deceit than writing straight from the heart. So I wrote this post all in one go.
I don’t know whether I’m being too harsh on myself in this post, or much too kind. Sometimes I feel like who I am at heart is utterly despicable and not worthy of being listened to. Other times I feel like who I try to be makes up for it.
I don’t know.