clash

i feel somewhat awful about myself. it's ironic, especially since i've been getting so many compliments and everything. i went home proud of myself and i was dismissed. can't quite remember how, he probably asked if my co host was smarter, or better. maybe he told me i should've practiced my instrument so i could have talent like the people performing. i went to sleep to the sound of my parents shouting today; my dad asking my mom to help me out because he's been struggling with getting work, and her cold dismissals and "figure it out"'s. the stark contrast is like a ball and chain around my foot. the performance was great---my hosting was great, but worry and judgement outweighs the approval. i never do well with compliments, they feel insincere. from everyone i know, at some point they become null and void. perhaps i'm too hard on myself, too desperate to be put down rather than uplifted by the people around me. i simply don't like compliments i suppose, i prefer criticism--in both a self deprecating and helpful way. 

i feel like i've messed up, like i've become a burden to my friends in some way. i wish i wasn't. sometimes i wish i was out of their lives, as if the road had been blocked off and i was forced to walk another path. maybe i'd see them on another road, maybe a passerby hello before simply moving along. i hate myself for it, i really do. i don't believe anyone will change me. to the core, i am a solitary person. it's weaved into my being and of course, nothing is impossible--this can always be undone; untangle the string from beneath my tissue and let go of this feeling. i don't want that, i think i'd be better off without being a bother. you may read this and say, "no, you aren't a bother," (if you truly care that much, believe me i don't take it personally, just a small  read is very appreciated, i don't write these to look for attention--just to get it out somewhere), and to that i say i do not care what you think. yes i get it, "you don't even want to help yourself!" and yes, i don't. i've learned well enough about people insincerity towards me, and even if i know they're being genuine---at this point i simply don't care, because it'll always make me feel the same. perhaps even worse. i'm spoiled, rot blooming from the core and quietly seeping through the skin. by the time i hit 21, i'm sure the mold will be palpable and the maggots would start coming out to eat me alive. 

my cynicism is the most disgusting quality about me. cynicism in itself is an ugly quality, but it's hard not to be so doubtful of most people. i'll read this aloud to my psychologist and he'll look at me with the same solemn look in his eyes, a mix of sympathy and what i hope is not pity. i know he can hear the gears click together, trying to listen for any stutter in the machine. any loose spring that clings against the rest. i always feel weird in that chair, like i'm being seen with contempt. that's not the case, i know it isn't---it's just the way i feel right now. i know i'll read this and i'll laugh and smile, cause nothing means anything. he'll always look at me sadly, but it's hard not to be sad for someone so torn apart. i'm a dropped music box; the wiring tangled and the music crashing to a stop, little doll shattered into bits. i've built myself back up but the tune is no longer jovial, it's melancholic and distorted, dips and spikes audible as the small doll---now glued back together haphazardly, struggles to keep up with the music. 

i'll have spouts of avoidance, just because i'm so scared. scared of everyone--makes me feel like a little mouse. i don't like mice. that's unrelated,, i have a personal grudge against them. like the white rabbit, i'll continue to chase time, all the while i yearn to go back to fix every misstep. place my foot in the right spot, say the right words, do the right things--be a better person. no one can be good though, so i don't aspire to be a good person. it's an impossible feat. for now, i'll just continue, what can you do? no point in dwelling.