Sometime I cry. It's becoming clear to me when. I cry when I feel I have no control. I cry when I feel like the choice isn't mine. Like everything is in someone else's hands and I'm just an unwilling participant. Like I know what I want but I also know I'm not going to get it no matter what I do. I cry when I'm angry. I cry when I sense oppression from forces I can't control. But even more than that, I cry when I feel like I am a good man stuck in an adverse situation. I cry when I feel like I don't deserve what's happening to me.
I have always been able to lash out and express myself whenever I was dissatisfied with anything. I have always taken comfort in the thought that no matter what, at least my thoughts were always my own. Not anyone else's. But not lately. It's taken me a minute to get here, these are things I cannot so easily talk about. I've recently been through one of those moments, when you wish you were never born, or were born under different circumstances. In that moment, I felt like there was more on my shoulders than they were wont to bear.
The classic defintion of selfishness to me came from one Oscar Wilde. Selfishness is not living as one wishes. It is asking others to live is one wishes. There was an argument when I was at home. It was bad. And I have had nightmares about it ever since it happened. It started as something small but when it was over my life was completely changed by it. I still don't know if I can talk about it, but I know two nights don't go by when I don't think about it. This is the second time now in my life that I have wished I could tell the future. So that I would look and see what the consquences of my current actions would be before I committed them. And not just consequences on me, but on the people around me.
Maybe one day I will be able to talk about these things openly. Maybe one day I won't have those nightmares. And maybe when it's my turn and I have my own sacrifices to make, I'll do what I think was the right thing to do. I hope I won't be selfish. I hope I won't be supremacist. And I hope I will have the wherewithall to listen. But for now, for now I must continue to block that weekend. It's a sad day when someone like me can't say what they really want to say. Because that day, I'm not myself. The person that I am doesn't exist anymore. Something happened that weekend that I can't ever take back. And I can't talk about it. So I cry. And it's not the good kind.
END
I have always been able to lash out and express myself whenever I was dissatisfied with anything. I have always taken comfort in the thought that no matter what, at least my thoughts were always my own. Not anyone else's. But not lately. It's taken me a minute to get here, these are things I cannot so easily talk about. I've recently been through one of those moments, when you wish you were never born, or were born under different circumstances. In that moment, I felt like there was more on my shoulders than they were wont to bear.
The classic defintion of selfishness to me came from one Oscar Wilde. Selfishness is not living as one wishes. It is asking others to live is one wishes. There was an argument when I was at home. It was bad. And I have had nightmares about it ever since it happened. It started as something small but when it was over my life was completely changed by it. I still don't know if I can talk about it, but I know two nights don't go by when I don't think about it. This is the second time now in my life that I have wished I could tell the future. So that I would look and see what the consquences of my current actions would be before I committed them. And not just consequences on me, but on the people around me.
Maybe one day I will be able to talk about these things openly. Maybe one day I won't have those nightmares. And maybe when it's my turn and I have my own sacrifices to make, I'll do what I think was the right thing to do. I hope I won't be selfish. I hope I won't be supremacist. And I hope I will have the wherewithall to listen. But for now, for now I must continue to block that weekend. It's a sad day when someone like me can't say what they really want to say. Because that day, I'm not myself. The person that I am doesn't exist anymore. Something happened that weekend that I can't ever take back. And I can't talk about it. So I cry. And it's not the good kind.
END
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