Last of Many

21 Dec

This post is the combination of two really long posts I have planned. I chose to put them together because I actually can’t wait to move on to something new more exciting. So get ready to read your eyes out my only reader for now, that crazy guy named Cal. I am actually really excited to be doing this and can’t wait to continue my journey as a blogger that I suppose is what makes this post even more worthwhile. To anyone who wanted to know more about my life story I’m sorry but I guess I am done with that for now, you will see why later on in this post. I hope to move on to brighter greener pastures now to a place that makes me happy. I would love to tell you all about my past but I can’t linger on in my past failures anymore, I need to feel alive and actually do some living so sorry for this abrupt change in tone.

So back to my life story. You must have realised by now that I really hate myself. You must be thinking it’s because I’m a sex-addict or something. Well that isn’t the reason. I hate myself because no  one else loves me, I feel unlovable because of the way I dress; the way I look; in short who I am. I feel as though I am barely a person, I feel like a Ken doll, forgotten misused and tortured, blindly chasing after that person with everything. Really, Barbie has everything and I am way out of her league. I am just that fool who hopes one day she will open her heart to me even though I have nothing that can benefit her lifestyle. My mom has this great story about the day I was born. After she delivered me, I was a Caesar baby, the doctors brought me to her, and she thought I was a really ugly baby. So ugly in fact that she thought the doctor had made a mistake. They must have swapped me with her real child. When my mother tells this story she makes it out to be the funniest thing in the world while I am left speechless, angry and I feel unwanted. I am left to feel my self-pity because I can’t change myself or my looks.

There is a lot I would change about myself. The first thing I would do is curse the god who made me a lot more. You know, that dumbass being that brought me into an unhappy childhood. Most people look back on the past and glorify it. Telling everyone about their laughs, loves and lives. When I look back on my past all I see are the people who left me, turning their backs on me. I remember being and feeling so ugly that I couldn’t find friends. People mocked everything about me, my only redeeming feature was my height (for some reason being tall makes you lovable).

Let me start with my moles, my face was “spattered in shit” someone once joked. I have a face covered in moles that were mocked when I was younger (now I look on them with love, they disguise my facial asymmetry). I had to endure the pain of having a difference, I know everyone does but for a child to suffer being hated – really? Me being the good child I was I listened when my parents said words don’t hurt, I refused to get angry at the people who hated me for being me I was cordial with them offering only niceness and never giving in to the burning rage inside. People mocked and mocked and I felt that there was nothing I could do. I started withdrawing from the world giving it one really long silent treatment. I became that shy guy who never says a single thing to anyone. As a result of my shyness I couldn’t make any friends; who would want to be friends with the guy who says nothing? I withdrew myself and then started hoping that one day someone would come from the shadows and save me. No-one came, no-one understands me I’m still the stupid shy hated kid that no-one will ever love. And still to this day I am mocked behind my back for all the things I should change, but now I am tired and I know  I won’t change for shit.

That is the song of my childhood, it is a slow sad song, filled with the build up of silence solitude and anger. It is a song filled with self-pity and hatred, there is nothing I can do to change the way people see me. Nothing humanly possible would make me the guy everyone loves. God made me who I was and I resent him for it. I prayed and prayed and nothing. I believed in Jesus back then, but clearly he didn’t believe in me. I was forced to endure my life alone and as a child I quickly became jaded and cynical. God did nothing for me I would do nothing for him ever again.

You will notice that even though my parents are parts of my problem I hardly mention them. I felt and at times now still do feel that they don’t care about me. I believe our relationship is only improving now because of my stint at the psychiatric institution. But still I feel as though they are acting out of guilt not love – how could anyone love me.At times I feel as though I raised myself as a kid, I was the only person there to console myself when I felt hurt or angry. When I cried I was the one who provided comfort and dried my own tears. I was the only one who provided emotional support. Everyone else was always busy. Even my siblings weren’t there. My brother and sister both older always had my parents care: Jay because he was maladaptive and Lesley because she was perfect and loved by everyone.

Lesley deserves special mention, she is beautiful and only a year older than me I said before she was perfect, she still is. She was a girl guide and did ballet she had many friends and was popular and I was jealous. I asked my parents if I could join scouts since my sister was a brownie, I asked if I could get dancing lessons as well, when I asked they told me about how expensive it was and that since the places are so far away it would take too much of their time. In their defense they did say I could still join but I had to think of the ways it would affect them. Naturally wanting to make those two strangers I call parents proud I made the adult decision and said that I wouldn’t join. Not having anything to do after school I turned to the tv. I had no friends and  nothing else that could occupy my time, the only way I could connect to the world was my tv.

(I have a section written down about my body issues but I think I will skip it for now. I have a lot to get through tonight. And this typing makes me feel like) Anotherwannabe.

So much more to write so much more to say, but this is the last of my life-story. Wow my handwriting is actually really small and it hurts my eyes to read, yet this is the most important part of my story. It is the dearest attachment to me and I hope that I can fulfill its promise of living life and being happy. I started writing it by saying that I am afraid, and that I hope no-one ever reads my blog. I hope no-one sees my deep thoughts. Yet I still sit and type my life away. If I am afraid why would I type you ask? Well my need for help far outweighs my want for no-one to read this. I have hidden my feelings for so long and now that I have a platform I am hoping that someone is out there who will read this.

I am scared of connecting to other people. I am scared of being rejected and unloved. I am scared; chilled to my bones. I’ve become so scared that I withdraw myself and I don’t tell people who I am and what I am about. I’m scared they will hate me. It’s become easier for me to have no connection with people at all than to have them in my space. I’m afraid that after I tell people about my life they will just leave to find someone better. My fear of connection has sprouted even more troubles in my life; it is a seed that just won’t stop blooming. My fear has made me afraid to love; it made me feel afraid that I cant love; it made me afraid to feel love; it made me afraid that I will live life alone and unwanted: mostly it just made me afraid. I’m scared very scared; afraid and angry. The more fear I develop the angrier I become. I hate myself for having all this fear. I have put myself in a vicious cycle that only ends up with me hating myself. I don’t know what to do anymore.

Something I really hate is telling people I love them even if I do. Admitting that I love them only makes it easier for them to hurt me when they leave. So I refrain from saying it and letting people know how I feel. Here’s the thing I can’t tell people how I feel and I know it hurts our relationships. If I reached out I know they will stay but since I haven’t had many constant ongoing relationships so I don’t know how to reach out. Everyone leaves me without letting me learn to be in a real relationship. They move on to greener pastures and better friends. What really scares me is that I feel I deserve to be left alone and hated, I deserve it because I am not loving enough.

I’ve never had good friends who will always be there in tough times, willing to help with their love and support. Stable, wonderful friends who remain nothing but an arms length away. I feel as though I outgrow people in my life: Mark, Matthew, Damian, Delano, Warren, Julian, Adrian, Xander, John, Justine, Katie, Melissa, Kishong, everyone of my friends. All of these people could have been considered my best friends at one stage in my life, now I don’t talk to any of them. My new best friend Tawanda is Zimbabwean and might be moving home soon, even he is gonna leave me I hope not too soon though.

I’m sad very sad. I feel stupid. I feel useless, everyday is something made for me to spend another moment with tears. Everyday I live is a sad occurrence, another opportunity for me to envy the dead. Now I am sick of it. I am tired of feeling this way. I am so sick and tired of tears, of feeling like nothing; I am so sick of it and I don’t know what I can do. Still here I sit writing my life like it’s a tradgedy, as if I am insane. So what if that’s true. I am sick of playing the act of a little runt too sick to eat even though suckling is the only thing that will help me grow. Look at the name I gave my blog (Anotherwannabe), why? Why would I be happy suggesting that I am nothing but a wannabe? I have the guts, the talent and the charm, I can make it. I’ve reached a point in my life where I am tired of dwelling on my past, crying every time I reflect. My life does suck, true, but I don’t need to hold onto the pain. I need to take control. I guess that is why I ran off and had the starting point to my life-story (my crazy wank). I need to do things for me.  I am in a stage of healing. Even all my old wounds will will dry and heal, there is no point in letting them fester when I have the means to patch them up.

So what I’m trying to say in short is that I’m embarking on a change, an epic turning point. Remembering my scars and learning from them, yet still being to move on.

I’m (anotherwannabe) no more.


2 Responses to “Last of Many”

  1. najlepsze pozyczki online July 10, 2013 at 3:30 am #

    It is appropriate time to make a few plans for the long run and it’s time to be happy. I have read this post and if I could I wish to recommend you few interesting things or advice. Perhaps you could write next articles relating to this article. I want to learn even more things about it!

    • anotherwannabe July 11, 2013 at 5:02 pm #

      Hey, sorry I only saw this comment now, it was stuck in my spam for some reason. Thanks for taking the time to comment though. I actually have a lot of things written that relate to my life, most of them are really gloomy, so I never post them (that is actually funny to me because I think more people should write about their experiences of depression, anyway…). You should feel free to give advice it’s your right as a human to help out whenever and where-ever you can. About writing follow ups – uhm, wow, uhhhhhm… ya I’ll try I guess (see my latest post).
      Thanks though.

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