Showing posts with label existence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label existence. Show all posts

30day challenge: 22.

Day 22: What makes you different from everyone else?


 

Duh. Everything. There is no other me.

 

I’m really fighting the urge to follow that sentence with, “The End” because this is a writing exercise and it would defeat the purpose, but seriously, that’s all there is to it – everything about me makes me different from everyone else. I AM a beautiful and unique snowflake, so there.

 

Sometimes the enormity of our uniqueness will hit me and I’ll walk through the city or sit somewhere watching everyone go past and just marvel at our total and utter individuality.

 

It’s such a dichotomy though: sure, we’re different from everyone else, but we all still go through the same experiences, and in that regard we’re all exactly the same.

 

We all struggle with love, death, taxes, religion, loneliness, family issues, waking up in the morning, overindulgence, health, jobs, and trying to dress ourselves properly after a night on the turps (or maybe that one’s just me). We all laugh, cry, eat, shit, die.

 

No one else wears my eyes though; no one else sees things the way I do, and there is no way for me to see things the way another person does. I can’t feel what another person feels, I can only imagine what they’re feeling.

 

That’s our point of difference, and that’s what makes me different to everyone else – the place I stand in the world to observe and try to understand it.

30day challenge: 18.

Day 18: Plans, goals, dreams.


 

Plans. Plan. A plan. I plan to…

Hm.

 

Goals. As previously mentioned I’m not really one for setting goals, although after enjoying plugging away at the few I set for this month I might have to revise that stance.

 

Dreams. Well the one I had last night was me on an alien planet hiding in an aircraft hangar trying to avoid a wicked meteor storm.

 

Plans Goals Dreams. It’s really the same thing. You have a dream, you turn it into a goal, you set down a plan to make it happen.

 

So what are mine? *cue 30 second thinking music*

 

This is what I desire. I want to renovate my little place so I can sell it if I want to. I could sell it as it is but I don’t want to. I want to build on this investment and get something out of it. More importantly I want to prove to myself that I can do it, because let me be quite clear here – I. Hate. Renovating.

 

Living on my own makes it even harder. How does anyone manage to organise a renovation around a worklife? I don’t want strange tradies in my house around all my stuff when I’m not there. And where am I going to pee? How am I going to shower when my bathroom’s out of action? I don’t want to join a gym. I don’t want to cart a towel to work to sneak upstairs and get myself all wet. Sigh.

 

To be honest with you my only other long term goal is to find my happiness within. Happiness and contentment is really the only goal worth having. To be happy wherever you are, doing whatever you do – that is the real nirvana.

 

Oh, and find love. Yes, love and a companion to share it with would be awesome. Wouldn’t hurt if he had a pretty penny or two and a place by the beach. Make it so.

30day challenge: 17.

Day 17: Who would you want to switch lives with for a day?


 

I’ve been thinking about this all day. Billionaire? Superstar? High powered executive? A day in their life would probably leave me feeling empty.

 

I would really love to switch places with someone who was terminally ill. I know technically we’re all terminal, but we forget. Or we choose not to remember.

 

Once you can feel your body failing you and you have someone telling you that you only have x amount of months to live, living becomes a totally different thing.

 

You appreciate everything. Everything you see is in high def. You no longer buy into the posturing, the egotism, the energy suckers. You appreciate what is actually important in life. You discover your divinity. Your eyes are opened.

 

At least, that’s what I imagine it’s like.

 

I think I’d like just one day of that, to remind me that all the little stuff I torture myself with every day is utter bullshit, that while I suffer through the things that drain me, sap my core dry and make me miserable, while I whinge about what I think is pain and suffering, I miss out on understanding real pain and suffering, and the real truth of what this life is about.

30day challenge: 13.

Day 13: Write a letter to someone who has hurt you.


 

Dear everyone who has hurt me,

 

From the father who left to the stepfather who battled me until I left at the age of 17, to the boyfriend who walked out of an engagement, to the many boys who used me and never called me back, to the friends who betrayed me,

 

I forgive you.

 

Because you didn’t know any better, because if I don’t forgive you I will never get over it, because not letting go of the hurt will make me the loser – I forgive you.

 

Because my life is richer for the lessons you have taught me, because of the strength you’ve made me discover in myself – I forgive you.

 

Because you have shown me my guardian angels – I thank you.

 

Hugs and kisses,

Me.

30day challenge: 7.

Day 7: What has had the biggest impact on my life?


 

OM

Om. Aum. The sound of the universe. The sound of the vibration in every cell of every thing. This beautiful symbol has changed my life.

 

The most major thing to happen to me occurred when I met my first serious boyfriend at the age of 17. From each relationship I’ve inherited a little of the other’s philosophy, or musical taste, or in this case, spirituality. I really believe the direction of my life took a turn for the better after meeting him.

 

I started to learn a little of the philosophies and ideologies of Hinduism and Buddhism and they just seemed to make sense to me.

 

Now when someone asks me what my religion is, I say I don’t have one specific religion, I have spiritual ideas of my own made up from a few different religions. Maybe I should call it a choose-your-own-adventure religion. Pick-and-mix. But all of the ideas that resonate with me lead back to the idea of OM.

 

There’s nothing but Om. Good, bad, solid, liquid, alive, dead – it’s all just OM.

 

That’s why I wear two around my neck and one on my arm. It’s my power symbol. A nice reminder that I’m just vibration and stardust, and so is everyone and everything else.

 

75af282ba0d2a17488e32fa06a37d1a0_9140386

 

om shanthi

30day challenge: 1.

Day 1: A recent picture of you and 15 interesting facts about yourself.

 

So, I shall start the 30 day challenge, taken up recently by so many of my wonderful twitter peeps, on a day that is not the first of the month, or even the first of a week, but a nondescript day being the 6th of the month, on a Wednesday. Because, just like any exercise challenge, don’t put off starting tomorrow what you can start today; excuses are for the weak. And what is this, but an exercising of the mind?


Dailybooth has the most recent photo of me. I used to have so many photos to choose from, but as I get older I tend to shy away from the camera; I don’t seem to be as photogenic as I was 5 years ago. Sad ‘tis.

 

image

 

I quite like this photo. It’s a good representation of where I’m at right at this moment in time. Bloodshot eyes, freckled face, but cheeky smile nonetheless. A defiant grin emerging out of the darkness. A floating head in the void. Warped and who cares.

 

1. I was actually baptised Mormon. Yes, I didn’t find this out until quite recently, but I was properly baptised into an organised religion. Thankfully my parents quickly switched to atheism and brought me up as such. I’m so glad I got to make up my own mind when I was old enough. Every child should have that privilege. A friend of mine married a Catholic and had to agree to bring up any of their future progeny as Catholics before they were allowed to marry. That doesn’t seem very fair to me. It smacks of number-swelling if you ask me.

 

2. I did 5 years on a music scholarship through high school. I played the flute in primary school, well enough to be accepted into a scholarship program, although I switched to clarinet purely because it’s what Woody Allen played. It didn’t take. No music career for me. But I’m so grateful I did it, because I have such an eclectic taste in music now, from Baroque through to electronica, minus Justin Bieber and Lady Gag.

 

3. I can raise my eyebrows independent of each other, roll my tongue to the left, right and in a circle, wiggle my ears and flare my nostrils. I hold steadfast to the idea that it’s all a sign of high intelligence.

 

4. I was once engaged to the man that took my cherry. I was with him for 11 years in total – 8 before he proposed, 3 afterwards. He chickened out. I made up for lost time after that.

 

5. My heritage is Maori/Scottish/Spanish. I have one single red hair from my Scottish side. I swear – one single red hair. The earliest ancestor I know of is Manuel Jose and he has his own website. My maternal side is so big when we have a reunion it makes the news in New Zealand. I’m related to NZ royalty (the All Blacks, that is). Oh, and let’s not go into the fact that Manuel was a polygamist…

 

6. My tribe is Ngati Porou (te iwi ngati porou). When I found out about this I can’t tell you how much power it gave me. To know that I had a tribe, and a canoe, and a mountain, and a river, and land, and a coat of arms was just so empowering. I truly believe that any person will hold their head up high when they find out their roots.

 

7. I can remember numbers from my childhood, like phone numbers of friends when I was in primary school, but don’t ask me what I had for lunch yesterday because I will struggle to remember.

 

8. I first drank alcohol when I was 15. Got so paralytic my friend had to slap me. Ended up peeing on her neighbour’s lawn and jumping in her pool fully clothed. Well, I’m sure that’s pretty normal by today’s standards…

 

9. I’ve dabbled in drugs but I’ll never inject or snort. I have to draw the line somewhere.

 

10. I truly believe I have two guardian angels looking after me – one male, one female. I don’t know their names, but I know without a doubt that they are there, and I love them profusely for all that they have done for me. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for them. I don’t care if that makes me sound like a loony, they’re real, and they’ve been by my bedside many times when I’ve been bawling my eyes out, providing hugs and caresses at my darkest times. I love them a lot. I also hope they forgive me.

 

11. The reason I love boobies so much is that I had a scare with my own and it made me realise how precious they are. Boobs are the best invention ever. I love mine to death even though they’re hardly worth writing home about, but I think of the alternative of not having them at all, and it makes me appreciate them every single day. Plus, boobies are so pretty I could look at boobies all day. Anyone’s boobies. Especially Jessica Alba’s and Monica Belluci’s. Bewwwwbs! #boobs.

 

12. I struggle with the black dog more than I like to admit. He’s a bad dog. I’m getting better at it though.

 

13. My power animal would definitely be the gecko. I love them. I don’t know why. Perhaps because they are cute as a button when they chase my most hated critter, the mosquito.

 

14. I’m a terrible extrovert. I can’t help it. I share too much of myself when I really should just keep cards close to my chest. It just seems like such a waste. We’re all humans on this planet trying to work out what’s going on. Why keep it to yourself? If you can resonate with someone by sharing something about yourself, why hesitate?

 

15. I can’t stand to see people in distress. I have to leave the room when prank calls are playing on the radio, I can’t watch practical jokes in action, I can’t lie to someone as a joke. However, animal cruelty will always cut me up more than human cruelty. To see defenceless animal taken advantage of makes me red with rage. Don’t even get me started on it.

 

Phew. The end. Well, only 29 days of this to go eh. Will you join the ride?

easter energy

I always forget that every day is the first day of the rest of my life. Today – Easter Sunday, I’m reminded, thanks to this tweet from @rashasman:

 

“Happy easter. For those not caring about the religious side we can take the 'new beginnings' message and run with that.”

 

I love it when the world brings me something right when I need it.

 

This long weekend has been spent in a sallow funk with my usual ‘why me’ whine as I wonder what I have to do in this world to get a break.

 

Today is the right time for my new beginning, painful as childbirth as it is. I need to do something different starting from now, because so far all I’ve managed to do is get bogged in the middle of the mud pond of life without knowing the secret of how to get to the other side. I’m sick of pulling myself through mud. It’s tiring and unproductive.

 

I’m not defective, not that awful to look at, don’t have any debilitating quirks that make people run screaming from me, I’m not mean, stuck up, or hard to handle. I’m open, wear my heart on my sleeve and take everyone as they are. So my new beginning for today is to let go of anything that makes me think otherwise.

 

World, I’ll no longer let you put me in situations where I’m taken for granted. I deserve more, and would rather frolic through this life alone than settle for less.

 

Yesterday I asked the world two questions: “do good men actually exist?” and “what next, world?”. In the middle of the night they were both answered by a chance meeting which gave me hope that something better is out there and sometime soon I’m going to find it. The world told me not to give up and I’m going to obey.

‘tis the season to be expletive deleted

Christmas can kiss my arse.

 

Yes, this is a rant.

 

I am over it. I just want to go away somewhere and enjoy being happy. By myself. No commitments to anyone else but myself.

 

Why the fuck do we put ourselves through this every single year? Most of us don’t believe the belief behind it anyway. We are pushed into having Christmas by commercialism. Buy buy buy – under the pretence of caring and sharing and giving instead of receiving and it’s all bollocks.

 

This is the most stressful time of the year. Suicides, depression, deaths, misery, divorce, road rage, shopping rage; people generally going psycho.

 

Is it like one final worldly purge of karma for the year? Is a greater being sitting up there with a big-arse wooden spoon stirring extra hard at the end of the year, dredging up any unfinished business, buried secrets, anything that needs to be addressed instead of repressed?

 

Seriously, everything and everyone kicks into manic overdrive. I can’t take any more stress. I don’t want any more politics. I am over trying to juggle everyone else’s feelings at the expense of my own. Everyone needs to grow the fuck up.

 

It’s just a date on a calendar; everything else that comes with it is spewed forth by us.

 

If I was floating in space looking back at the earth right now I suspect it would have a grey-green tinge to it. The world is sick right now.

 

I can’t wait for Christmas to be done with.

heart

 

the world is poking

the little heart

inside my chest

 

collected teardrops

remain unshed

and pound my breast

 

my aura wavers

unsteadily

around my frame

 

i’m not sure how much

longer my heart

can play this game

pang

The games we play with each other drain me.

 

Why all the power plays? Why the hurt? We believe someone’s wounded us and we strive to wound them back. Why?

 

An unanswered call. His mind goes into overdrive: Why is she not answering? What’s she doing? Is she trying to get the upper hand in the relationship? Is she purposely making me wait around for her? I don’t like the waiting around feeling; being the one with no power. She’s discovered how much I actually yearn for her. I’ve been found out; heart laid bare.

 

I know: I’ll hurt her back. Feign indifference. Stop calling her. Make her wait. Make her think the rest of my life is suddenly much more interesting than the part with her in it. Make her feel like I couldn’t give a rats whether we chat or not; edge my voice with cold. Then I will have the power and she will be the one waiting, wondering, weaving stories in her head.

 

See how she likes that.

 

 

It’s so childish. It makes my heart hurt. I don’t like it. Stop it.

i am

a shell, hollowed, spray painted grey

left with only breath. inert. glassy-eyed.

 

an ember, dulled by a layer of ash

buried under sand. fading. unnoticed.

 

tired, and empty, a powered-down machine

essential functions only. dim. blinking light.

 

removed, disconnected, sight without feel

everything is dull. boring. bland.

 

numbness, thorns, a hidden shadow corner

the apathy of daggers. aches. muffled.

 

i am disinterest. misery.

a walking dichotomy.

i am my own before and after:

 

 

 

i am my own before and after:

my time laid bare

delineated.

photos of a me suspended

there for all to look upon;

my happiness

of sometimes joy,

my smiles of often painful hiding,

blush of health

and pallid grey -

it sucks to be so on display.

bcn IMG_6442c IMG_3172c   
IMG_5236c
IMG_3525c 
 

the study of nothing happening

I need a good cry. You know the kind of cry you need to have not because something’s happened, but because nothing’s happened? I need one of those cries.

 

I didn’t get a job I applied for last week, and in a way I’m relieved, because the next step would have been to go through months of suffering and hard struggle – it would have been one tough slog I’m not sure I’m up for right now.

 

It would have also meant cancelling my long overdue holidays, working much longer hours, and taking a pay cut of at least $5K but most likely more. It would have meant leaving an office full of people I love, and a view to die for.

 

Among a shitload of other things.

 

So why with the crying?

 

I went for the job almost because I had to; I felt obliged. I looked at it as a possible fix for my malaise, and went for it almost as a way to let the universe fix everything for me.

 

I think a lot of people thought I was a definite for it. Except me. Heart wasn’t in it. Heart told brain. Brain turned off at crucial moment.

 

Now, I haven’t moved anywhere. Nothing’s fixed. Nothing happened.

 

The universe has given me a big “oh no you don’t”. I can’t take the easy way out of my general dissatisfaction with life. I still have to strip myself bare and study everything to find out what the hell is wrong with me. I have to fix it the long and hard way instead of trying the geographical approach.

 

I just wish it could have given me that message in a less humiliating way.

marcus was a little lamb…

There’s an interesting story today about a school in London where the children helped rear a lamb from birth, then voted 13-1 to send him to the slaughterhouse.

 

He was part of a farm set up for the kids to help them learn the very important and very overlooked question of where our food comes from.

 

I think this is the most fantastically awesome thing I have read this week.

Marcus the lamb, in happier days…

 

Don’t get me wrong – I’d prefer it if little Marcus the lamb at least got to see out his first full year of life, and at most got to live a full and pampered life, but this is an important lesson I think everyone should be made to go through. If you want to eat meat, you really should understand where it comes from.

 

Growing up I was reared on the ‘meat and three veg’ diet. I never questioned how the food got to me; as far as I was concerned, chops came from the shop, on styrofoam trays, wrapped in plastic. I made no connection between the meat I ate, and the little baby cows and lambs I saw frolicking in the fields.

 

This is probably going to sound naff, but around the age of 16 or 17 (late in life, I admit), I had an epiphany while eating my obligatory chop for dinner – I suddenly tasted blood and nothing else, and in front of my eyes as clear as the 80’s wallpaper in the dining room, saw a cow with a chop-sized chunk out of its side.

 

Then it was just a matter of connect-the-dots.

 

My last meal of meat was silverside (my most hated of all the meat creations). I finished it, and turned to my mum to proclaim I was becoming vegetarian. I had had enough. I realised I only ever liked the taste of meat when it was masked by something else – a nice full bolognaise, or mushroom sauce, or a mound of mashed potato. Meat, by itself, was disgusting.

 

In my university years, I read more into the production of meat, joining animal rights newsgroups online, speaking to like-minded people, discovering the whole dirty secrets within the meat industry. My stance became ethical – I wanted to pull myself out of the meat production-line, reduce demand by one. Whatever impact it had, it was a kinder soul I found myself imbibed with.

 

Any argument on this goes round and round – yes, I still wear leather; yes, as of recently I’ve started eating the occasional fish due to health reasons (and now call myself a vegequarian); yes, I’m aware that even the shampoos I use may have animal products in them, but I’ve reduced demand for eating meat by one. My god, the stories I could tell. Cement, chemicals, hormones, cruelty – I won’t get into it. I don’t deny anyone the choice to eat meat if they so desire.

 

I’m not vegan, but by not consuming red or white meat I’ve at least reduced demand by one, and I’m happy with that. I can only make decisions for myself. Everyone else needs to sort themselves out personally.

 

I won’t get into the argument on fish but to say that my decision to eat fish is partly eastern religion-based: fish have less of a developed nervous system, and therefore slightly less of a karmic imprint (but one, nonetheless).

 

So this story really makes me smile. Parents are spitting and demanding the principal be lynched in front of a leering spitting vitriol-spewing crowd, but how many of them sit down to eat their pork, and lamb, and beef every night?

 

The hypocrisy is rife. “How dare you expose our children… to the… truth… about where the food they put in their mouths and therefore nourish their spirit, comes from…”

 

Give me a break. Let the kiddies know and understand, and make their own decision based on the full facts. Let them not become hypocrites like the rest of us.

rant alert

Now this is probably going to be a rant and slightly ‘diary entry’ ish so feel free to skip it. I say probably because I don’t know what I’m going to write yet. I’m just going to start writing and see what hideous creature I give birth to. I doubt there’s going to be a point to it; I just really really need to rant.

 

It’s only Tuesday night and yet this week already feels like the longest, hardest, most depressing, constricting, claustrophobic week ever. I mean what the fuck, really. Can it get any more annoying? And the stupid thing is I can’t even pin down what, exactly, is making it this way.

 

I say, this week is shit, and then I say, why? and I have no answer. It just is. The little things. Every single little thing. Everything is hard. Everything takes effort. Everything seems so very very not worth it. I look around and it all just looks like maggots flailing around in primordial ooze. Pointless. Not worth my time. Sans nourishment.

 

I’m aware of this mood, conscious that obviously something in me is currently askew and I should just try and ride it out, shut the fuck up and get through it, see things as perfectly fine and not one great difficulty after another. But I can’t.

 

I can feel the unease, simmering just under the surface. I’ve felt it before. Soon I’ll have the irrational thoughts like wanting to quit my job, sell the house and piss off to some foreign country just to see what happens. Or daydreams of standing up in the middle of the office to yell obscenities, tell every idiotic pissant they’re an idiotic pissant, and storming out.

 

Of course, if I can hold out until the rational mind decides to return from hiatus, I won’t do these things. All the more pity. I should. My world is too constricted with the rules and regs. I can’t breathe.

 

The other thing that bubbles away at times like this, is my old friend ‘why?’ Why why why why. Why am I here? Why do I put up with this? Why am I letting myself get the shit kicked out of me? Why do I continually do things I don’t want to do? Why am I doing things that don’t inspire me? Why am I persisting with the unhappy? Why can’t I get my shit together and just sort this crap out? Why why why.

 

What am I waiting for? The second coming? Is that when I’ll finally renovate my house (so I can get the fuck out and away from the neighbours with their seriously fucked up granny taste in music which they like playing louder as the night gets later and they get drunker and what the fuck is with her droopy tits and her bad peroxide job anyway)? Is that when I will finally go after a job that inspires me? Is that when I’ll finally grow some balls and take some risks?

 

I mean I could get proper sideswiped tomorrow and go all bug-on-windscreen and lights out, and this would be all I have made of my life? How depressing is that? It’s a fucking travesty.

 


“Here is a life. Do with it what you will.”

 

oh ok, just let me think about it for, say 3 or 4 DECADES before I decide what I want to do with it.

 

“Ok well don’t take too long; you don’t know how long you’ve got it for, you know.”

 

yeah well i’m really trying but this shit is hard you know.

 

“No it’s not, you’re just being a pussy. You’re just taking life too seriously. You’re just letting the rules get in the way of a great comedy.”


 

I need wine. Lots of wine. And for this week to be over. And for either my sanity to return, or my insanity to start making some very convincing arguments for a permanent move to lala-land.

atrophy

 

 

atrophy is not my friend

it’s time to end

 

isolation self-imposed

will kill the seed

 

trying to grow without the sun

is death before

 

everything has just begun.

this isn’t fun.

on a train

 

on a train,

unguarded moments.

 

humanity revealed in a sideways glance,

a ponderful stare into space,

a man engrossed in a book.

 

breathing, thinking, existing.

 

thought-clouds

like fog around heads.

 

silent synchronicity,

all perfectly still

travelling at 100kmh.

 

a common bond

of anonymity.

bug profundity

A bug spoke to me today.

 

He said I was miserable.

 

Still not sure how.

 

He was a small speckled dot on my desk. When I nudged him, he moved and started on an aimless trek. And said I was miserable.

 

He meandered slowly and placidly toward the keyboard then casually turned and headed for my desktop map of the world, and said look at this desk. Look at the misery formed at this desk. As I trudge across it, so you trudge through life sitting at it, directionless, dusty and dry as a desert.

 

He paused at New Zealand and rotated as though he was taking in the rest of the world. You should be out there. You should be walking the earth. You should be learning in the school of the world. Don’t you remember your dreams? Your yearnings?

 

Strange that he paused in the place where I started this life.

 

He walked the Pacific Ocean heading for Russia, and fell on his back, legs flailing. Ok, maybe Russia’s not for you.

 

He righted himself and headed back to me. Think about it. There’s nothing holding you here now. In this place. Now is the time to go.

 

And he went. Down the side of the desk. To where, I don’t know. I didn’t look. More mysterious that way.

 

He’s right. I’m miserable. There’s actually nothing holding me in this place. I should go. But to where? To do what? I feel useless not knowing how to answer that. Bug didn’t hang around long enough to enlighten me in that regard.

 

Could it be that my spirit guide is a nameless speckled bug? I always thought it was a gecko.

i am origami

i am origami.

fold. crease. fold.

unwrinkled paper

shrinking in size.

Origami-crane_1_1 every fold. crease. fold.

creating a weak spot.

greasy fingers that

fold. crease. fold.

and leave a residue.

who folds?

who manipulates?

what am i?

box.

crane.

stick insect.

flower.

or just

a piece of paper

once smooth

now wrinkled.

double-vision

To be misunderstood.

 

How long do you call it ‘misunderstood’, before you start calling it ‘reality’?

 

How long does it take for you to turn, “people misunderstand me. I’m always misunderstood” into, “people must see me how I really am. I’m the one who’s got me worked out wrong”.

 

I’d really like to know, because the only thing that holds me back from adjusting the focus is my rage, and the fear that if I embrace everyone else’s misunderstandings of me as reality, I’ll slip into a deeper, darker, den of despair – a padded den, in which I can more easily, quietly, slowly, beat myself up.

 

Does everyone have an aspect of themselves they think they’ve got worked out, only to have everyone else think the opposite? Even random things, like humour, or level of compassion, or body image? Or is it just me?

 

I’m always wary of people who think I’m this fantastically wonderful person, or great at something in particular, because I don’t see myself that way, or at least at their level of wonderfulness. It’s not an act of self-deprecation, I just honestly don’t think most of my every day actions warrant what others think of me.

 

It puzzles me.

 

It also works the other way – if people see certain actions as awful, or slutty, or immature, or just plain wrong, but in my head I know I’m not doing anything wrong, I just don’t get it.

 

The difference is, when people think better of me than I think of myself, I’m confused, but I try and take their word for it. I don’t think I’ve deserved even half the praise received while I’ve been on this earth, but I try and graciously accept it.

 

However, when I’m thought of worse than I think of myself, I do one of two things: up the hackles and bring the rage, or more commonly, doubt myself until I’m a shaky mess rocking in the corner.

 

I’m sick of people making me doubt myself. I don’t know how to stop it, except for rage and indignation – and they’re not much fun to have as house guests. They’re always tearing the place apart and doubling my electricity bill. When they finally leave, it takes a lot for me to put the house back together.

 

But the alternative – doubt, is like an infestation of termites, eating away at the foundations until my house collapses (Ok I think I’m over this analogy now).

 

Anger, or depression.

 

There has to be

a door number three

-world, please?