endless_scrolls (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
endless_scrolls) wrote2006-10-06 02:13 am
endless_scrolls) wrote2006-10-06 02:13 am
Entry tags:
Puppet
Title: Puppet
Type: Prose
Warning(s): Nothing as far as I can remember.
Notes: When you spend hours laying in bed in the dark staring up at the ceiling, you start to think about things...a lot. This was just one result.
People deal with anger in different ways. Most people have the urge to talk about it or just punch something or someone until said person felt better. Me, I say nothing and plaster on that all too familiar smile that everyone never sees me without. All that anger and frustration just stays inside of me until it results in an uncharacteristic act such as punching an inanimate object (I can't seem to force myself to punch a living person outside of play) or lashing out in an explosive manner. Is it safe and healthy to do that? No. Is that the only way I can deal with my emotions? Yes.
The way I see it, people have their own problems without my own to add to it. So I don't bother bitching and moaning about my problems. Because no solution will ever come out of it. At least that is my belief. Philosophers and what not seem to believe that expressing one's feelings and emotions is a healthy way to relieve the body of pent up stress and pressure. Yeah, pressure. My body's just chalked full of it.
So what triggers these bouts of anger and stress? Most of the time is the stress of trying to live up to people's standards of how I should conduct my life. Because Heaven forbid that I should ever disappoint someone. Everyone should be happy and I'm just the puppet to do it. What a sad life to live. My only purpose is to bring smiles to everyone and brighten up their lives while mine remains in darkness never to see the light of day.
So that's it. I am destined to miserable and to live a sad and lonely life. I am not meant to be happy. Every moment of happiness that I manage to get or work to get is only rewarded with endless despair. So I give up trying to be happy. It will NEVER happen. I've realized that now. It's a shame that it took me 19 years to come to that conclusion. I wasted the best years of my youth trying to please all those around me. Because I thought that by pleasing them, I could somehow satisfy myself.
Wrong as always. I should've known.
Well the puppet is out of strings and laughs. Simple as that. The puppet just wants to be put back in the dark trunk never to be taken out again. The puppet wants to end it's misery and perhaps find a better place where it might be allowed to keep it's happiness. Not here. It will never find happiness here.
Sure I'll find some fun. And I'll find people who say they care. And some of them will care. But I don't think any of them will understand what it's like to live the way I do. To be nothing but a toy used to bring smiles. Once the smiles are achieved it's back to the floor for me. Back into the background of dim lights and shadows for me. Back to the closet doors and lockers.
I can't force myself to hit another living thing. But closet doors and lockers aren't living things. I feel the pain a split second after my knuckles make contact with the smooth surface. I look emotionless as I see the damage I did. I revel in the pain. I invite it. I let it engulf me. And then I feel nothing, much like the objects of my pent up emotions feel nothing. They're just things. Objects that are used over and over again by the populous to satisfy their needs during a brief period of time until they're no longer need...like me.
So why punish something that has to endure the same thing I do? Maybe because I envy them. At least they have no choice. They don't choose to be what they are. They don't choose to live with it. It's what they're made to do. I on the other hand have a choice in the matter whether to be this or be that. And I chose to live this miserable life that way I have. Because for once I'm actually good at something...the only thing I'm good at.
Type: Prose
Warning(s): Nothing as far as I can remember.
Notes: When you spend hours laying in bed in the dark staring up at the ceiling, you start to think about things...a lot. This was just one result.
People deal with anger in different ways. Most people have the urge to talk about it or just punch something or someone until said person felt better. Me, I say nothing and plaster on that all too familiar smile that everyone never sees me without. All that anger and frustration just stays inside of me until it results in an uncharacteristic act such as punching an inanimate object (I can't seem to force myself to punch a living person outside of play) or lashing out in an explosive manner. Is it safe and healthy to do that? No. Is that the only way I can deal with my emotions? Yes.
The way I see it, people have their own problems without my own to add to it. So I don't bother bitching and moaning about my problems. Because no solution will ever come out of it. At least that is my belief. Philosophers and what not seem to believe that expressing one's feelings and emotions is a healthy way to relieve the body of pent up stress and pressure. Yeah, pressure. My body's just chalked full of it.
So what triggers these bouts of anger and stress? Most of the time is the stress of trying to live up to people's standards of how I should conduct my life. Because Heaven forbid that I should ever disappoint someone. Everyone should be happy and I'm just the puppet to do it. What a sad life to live. My only purpose is to bring smiles to everyone and brighten up their lives while mine remains in darkness never to see the light of day.
So that's it. I am destined to miserable and to live a sad and lonely life. I am not meant to be happy. Every moment of happiness that I manage to get or work to get is only rewarded with endless despair. So I give up trying to be happy. It will NEVER happen. I've realized that now. It's a shame that it took me 19 years to come to that conclusion. I wasted the best years of my youth trying to please all those around me. Because I thought that by pleasing them, I could somehow satisfy myself.
Wrong as always. I should've known.
Well the puppet is out of strings and laughs. Simple as that. The puppet just wants to be put back in the dark trunk never to be taken out again. The puppet wants to end it's misery and perhaps find a better place where it might be allowed to keep it's happiness. Not here. It will never find happiness here.
Sure I'll find some fun. And I'll find people who say they care. And some of them will care. But I don't think any of them will understand what it's like to live the way I do. To be nothing but a toy used to bring smiles. Once the smiles are achieved it's back to the floor for me. Back into the background of dim lights and shadows for me. Back to the closet doors and lockers.
I can't force myself to hit another living thing. But closet doors and lockers aren't living things. I feel the pain a split second after my knuckles make contact with the smooth surface. I look emotionless as I see the damage I did. I revel in the pain. I invite it. I let it engulf me. And then I feel nothing, much like the objects of my pent up emotions feel nothing. They're just things. Objects that are used over and over again by the populous to satisfy their needs during a brief period of time until they're no longer need...like me.
So why punish something that has to endure the same thing I do? Maybe because I envy them. At least they have no choice. They don't choose to be what they are. They don't choose to live with it. It's what they're made to do. I on the other hand have a choice in the matter whether to be this or be that. And I chose to live this miserable life that way I have. Because for once I'm actually good at something...the only thing I'm good at.