be yourself

Weird.

I have spent a great deal of my childhood being called weird. To the point that the word always seemed like an insult to me. I was different, I was strange, I wasn’t what people expected, but most of all I was weird. Weird has always been one of those words, that hits me to the core. Maybe, because I had been associated with it for so long that I have grown to hate it.  I wasn’t normal, I was weird. I didn’t like what you liked, therefore I was different. Everyone wants to be accepted and anyone that challenges that is wrong. People can be as cruel as school children can be.

I obsess over every little thing. I love spoken word and written dialogue. I write lyrics to songs I love all over my arms. If I hear something that hits me like a ton of bricks, I write it down, everything. If it makes me sad, if it breaks my heart, everything. If I could tattoo words all over my body, I would. I get excited over a piece of music or hearing an album, that reminds me of a time in my life that people wouldn’t understand. I love things that people don’t understand. I love people that people would never understand. Those are just my quirks that make up my whole existence. I am not gonna sit and lie to you. I am not going to pretend to love something because you love it too. I will not act a certain way just to relate to someone else.  I don’t like the same music as everyone else did or I cared too passionately about something that everyone else disregarded. I cared about background characters, written word and imagery as opposed to what was the hottest and latest in the game. I stick out like a sore thumb. Getting overly excited for the boring and mundane, where everyone else loved the glittery and flashy. I become uncomfortable with the attention. I become obsessed with simple conversations and deep thoughts then I do with moving in a hundred different ways. Because that’s real to me. What other people forget is what I hold dear to me. But that makes me weird?

Instead I find ways to understand my madness. I will not hide my pain or push aside my sadness. I will not make excuses for who I am because its not what you want to see. I love people just as they are in their flawed missed up imperfections. But people have a funny way of trying to change you. Trying to make you into something and someone you are not. What they don’t understand is what makes you weird, sets you free. What sets you apart makes you a stronger person in the end. I have allowed people to call me a variety of different names and sounds. I have allowed them to. Because I was never good enough. I was too weak to understand that what sets you apart, sets you free. When all the fingers point at you, you start to believe them. When you’re different everyone expects you to be just like they are. Insecure and afraid of who they really are. But you’re the different one, you’re the weird one. The one that stood against the grain. I am not who you want me to be. I never will be. I won’t cry or obsess about it. I will not bend and break because of it. I will not change myself to fit any of the moods people want me to be.

What’s weird to you, isn’t weird to me. What’s weird to you, will always make me weird. I am not ashamed to be who I am, why are you ashamed of you?

 

 

 

 

Go your own way.

I am a selfish person.

For my own selfish reasons, I believe people to be exactly how I went them to be. Because of my own imperfections, I place people upon this pedestal and expect so much from them. Since I have my own troubles, I expect people to be the opposite. In some twisted way, I want everyone to be there when I need them to be. Because it’s all about me, my needs, and what I want. We are all a little selfish sometimes, why should I be any different?

For the past couple of years, I have invested all my time in people. Watching them shape and grow up into remarkable grown ups. I have poured my heart out to these people and watched my life fall apart in the shambles. Every single one of us has imperfections, but sometimes I wish we were all perfect. None of us is equipped with ammo to save each of ourselves from ourselves. I can’t help but want to believe in these expectations I have of people. That everyone is untouchable, strong, and can do anything they set their minds to. That inside each of us lies a super hero capable of anything and everything. More importantly, I need these people to save me, help me, be there for me. Me, me, me.  Most days I believe that but sometimes our emotions and realities get the best of all of us.

We are all incapable of making any mistakes. We are all perfect beings. Because I am a crazy person, I believe that. Every word of that. Perfect beings incapable of doing any wrong because thats how bizarre bat-shit crazy I am. Perfect in every which way I want you to be. It’s weird how things in your mind tend to come out different in real life. Our day dreams are not as real as our reality, I suppose. Eventually chips start to form in their armor. The pedestals for which they have been held upon start to crumble. As much as I want to fight for perfection, all of our imperfections seem to shine through. I get angry, I curse the skies, and curse the beings I have before me. These are the people that aren’t suppose to have dents in their armor. These are the people that are suppose to remain cool and carefree and take over the world. The more I shout to the heavens the more I tend to look at myself. All the time I have spent on others and nothing to show for my own imperfect ways.

I become angry for all the wrong reasons. I begin to hate everyone. I alienate myself from so many people all the sake of everyone not being who I want them to be. All because of my own perception of perfection, believing that everyone else has to be exactly who I want them to be. I am juvenile, I am childish, and more importantly I am crazy. Who am I to judge anyone for their actions? Who am I to point out the flaws of other people, when I have spent a lifetime correcting all my flaws. Who am I to tell people what they should be doing, when I should be focusing on my own life? Growing up means letting go of all these childish ways of thinking. Letting go of this perception of perfect. Letting go of people and allowing them to find the super hero inside of themselves. Instead of searching for perfection in other people I need to start embracing the imperfections in myself. Finding the loveliness in everything instead of pointing out the flaws I can never correct.

I am not perfect and neither is anyone else. All the imperfections I embrace in myself, I have to embrace in other people. I can’t become angry for people living their lives the way they want to live it. I can’t be angry for everyone’s mistakes. I need to stop being selfish expecting people to be what I want them to be. We are all human beings making mistakes and living life. If I can embrace the flaws in myself, I need to be able to embrace the flaws in others. The world is filled with beautiful amazing people and not any one of them is perfect. I will never be perfect and neither will you.

5/15/2013

 

If there was a way to apologize for my way of thinking, I would do just that. My insecurities caused my beliefs in this level of perfection. Treat people and be angry with people for all the wrong reasons. I am sorry for hurting anyone for my past ways, sorry for expecting too much from people, sorry for believing that people could be exactly how I want them to be. 6/2/2015