Lady Gloom Angel made quite a grand entrance in the form of “heap on the floor” (to quote She & Him) me last weekend. I was a wreck. I would normally give a detailed, hourly account of that fateful night (Cause I am a glutton for punishment that way, ha!) but even the usually thick-faced (especially at every chance to laugh at myself) me thinks the specifics are kinda embarrassing to detail here. Let’s just leave those to your very vivid imagination. Always remember the wise words of Pablo Picasso. Everything you can imagine is real. (Lolwut?!)
I ended up talking to a friend online about my boohoos around 12 midnight-ish. I was going on and on about the major suckage that is my life and how much I hate failing in everything I do when he practically shouted through the screen.
WHEN HAVE YOU FAILED IN LIFE?
I have never been tasered but I am pretty sure this is his equivalent of virtually tasering me. And this is a bohemian (?) dude who never says anything nice to anyone when he’s sober. He asked questions, I whined some more, he gave some stupid advice, we laughed it off, I whined some more and then he had to go to sleep.
I was left to ponder with the question above.
Do I really think of myself as a failure?
The short answer is yes. The long answer is below.
This is Dexter’s letter to Emma, taken from One Day.
To say that I can relate is an understatement.
My life is far from perfect. Most of the time, I dunno what the hell I am doing. Sure, I “try” (really really hard) to make it seem that I am okay on the outside. I project an image of a put-together girl who has it all figured out. I even have the nerve to push people away when they don’t get me. But in reality, I don’t know a freakin’ thing about anything. I talk a good game about seemingly having answers to whatever is thrown at me but I don’t really know jack about the things that matter like faith, hope and love. Couple my ignorance with the important stuff to my extreme paranoia when it comes to letting people into my life and voila, you have the accident waiting to happen that is moi.
It took me quite a while (and 3 angry close friends’ confrontations in the span of 4 days) to admit what I am about to write here to myself. At the risk of sounding like a suicide risk, I am starting off this blog/project with this confession. (Contrary to popular belief, killing myself is not really my style. I am too scared of blood. Yep, there’s that word again.)
I am just so freakin’ scared to do anything that I end up blocking my own shot to being happy.
I implode. I self-combust. I crash and burn. (These all sound like really cool superpowers, don’t you think?)
Out in the world, I am this giddy girl who believes in unicorns and fairy tales. But late at night in the solitary confinement of my kingdom(which is the top bunk of a double-deck bed somewhere in Pasig), I blame myself. For everything.
If only I were this. If only I weren’t that. If only I did this. If only I didn’t do that. If only. If only.
Playing the victim can be very romantic when you think of it. Oh, the anguish! Oh. the sleepless nights! Oh, the nonstop worst case scenarios! Cue the world’s tiniest violin. (This is precisely the reason why Wuthering Heights is a classic. Tortured Heathcliff ftw!) Make these thoughts reside in your head for 25 years and they will become your drug. Who needs illegal pharmaceuticals when I can get my fix by just going to a dark corner to sulk ala Angela Chase? (Yes, I do realize that I am sounding like an immature 15-year-old by comparing myself to a fictional teenage heroine of the 90s. Btw, go watch it if you haven’t seen My So-Called Life. ‘T was a great show that was off the air way too soon. Check out Twin Peaks, Freaks & Geeks and my beloved Firefly while you’re at it. These shows were also gone way too soon. Sadface.)
If I am honest with myself, I can even say that this dark abyss of a reality that I have created for myself has become my home.
I can rant off all the excuses in the world to rationalize my shitty outlook in life. Daddy issues. Abandonment issues. Bad childhood. Sexual abuse as a kid. Betrayal by my own family who turned a blind eye on said abuse because of money. Feeling that I’ll never be good enough for anything or anyone because I am dirty. Having to prove my worth over and over again to people who just don’t “get” me. Growing up in a family who finds it hard to express encouragement.
But these are just those. Freakin’ excuses.
2 Corinthians 5:17 New International Version
17 Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!
This verse is very much basic Sunday School and yet I can’t claim this promise. And I dare call myself a Christian, right?! (And a Sunday School teacher at that!) I can really be such a hypocrite.
But I need to stop all this before it’s too late. I need to stop blaming myself for stuff that wasn’t my doing. I need to stop with the pity party and begin seeing myself the way God and the people important to me see me. I need to stop letting the hurts of the past deter me from pursuing the things that will make me happy. I need to stop holding on to grudges and start forgiving the people who have wronged me. Ultimately, I need to stop with the if only’s and begin the probably long journey of forgiving myself for feeling this way all my life.
Things like this keep me up at night. I cannot believe I am baring it all for the world to see. Yep, universe. I am deeply flawed and I am telling it all. The process of revealing how dark and black my heart really is frightening and liberating at the same time.
So I am starting The Brave Project to push myself to get past these issues and live a life that’s good and right and real. (I love you, T. Swizzle! Listen to State of Grace now!)
Please be my strength through all this, Lord. I need you more than ever.