Saturday, January 31, 2009

Tragically 17.

Dear Globlets,

As much as I hate to admit it, the truth is: I'm a teenager. Who would have thought, right?
As much as I strive to be different and unlike the stereotypical teen, I find myself acting and thinking and being just as stupid as the rest of us/them. I could be worse, I know. Much worse. I don't think I fall under that stereotype completely... I'd like to believe that I am different. I don't wear those silly boots that everyone wears, or skinny jeans, or straighten/curl my bleach-blond hair... I strive to be untrendy but still look good in my clothes - something not hard to do when trendy=ugly, half the time.
But that's all external. I'm still an idiot, and the weirdest part is that I'm aware of it. (Better to know than to be oblivious to it) For example, I'll be upset about something, even crying about it, and it will be like I'm watching a fist fight. There will be the irrational, emotional side and the rational, logical side fighting it out but the logical side usually gets strapped down to a chair and told to hold the Kleenex box while hormones leak out of my eyes and splatter all over my room like blood/organ splatter from a brain blown out.
Nothing is solved by fighting... it really isn't.
Anyway... my emotional side brings out all my insecurities to the surface. Feeling insecure is so common and normal and I hate it that I feel it. I hate common and normal and I wish I never got sucked into this hormonal, emotional, CRAP.
I have such little faith in myself, it's really not healthy. The media really doesn't help. I don't think I'm good enough for anything and I don't let myself forget it... I literally tell myself that there's little point in doing certain things because I'm not good enough.
We are our own worst critics...
"[Sometimes I even think] I'm special, [that] I'm different, [that] my case is so much worse and more real than anyone else's." - H. Emotional.
Talk about ridiculous.
"I'm not any different. Everyone goes through this at some point, even more than once." - R. Logical.

I broke down the other day. I thought the stupidest things I could think.
Like what?
Like: you're ugly, fat, untalented, stupid, a failure, a flake, etc. (H. Emotional). And then I called myself an idiot for thinking those things (R. Logical).

I want to know what to do with myself. I thought I had it figured out until I realized that the path I was taking was preventing me from doing the things that I love.
What do I love?
Photography, music, writing, and baking.
I had decided to work on school stuff so I could get what I want for photography: some education. But by doing this, I decided to put all my other stuff on the back burner, especially music. It would merely be a hobby, something to do if I had the time. I couldn't work on my schoolwork without longing for piano-playing and I couldn't play the piano without feeling exceedingly guilty for not doing my work. Half of the time I ended up doing neither and that really didn't work out well.
My dilemma persists. I would really love to focus and dedicate my whole self to the arts; specifically, music. But do I really? I start to wonder if I actually have talent, or if I'd be remotely good enough to even think about taking a huge risk like that: giving it up for music. It seems huge but it really might not be.
My favourite line in the movie, Little Miss Sunshine, is, "You do what you love and fuck the rest." I talked to a friend a long while ago about this. He said to go with my gut, with my heart, but I'm such a chicken that I never did. I'm in the same place as I was then, just older. I'm so afraid. I don't want to be afraid. I want to be one of those amazing people who go after and do what they want and become even more amazing and amaze the world with their amazing amazingness! I'm not one of them though. I hold myself back and get so wrapped up in the "What If's" that I go numb. And then I hold it in. And then I explode out of my eyes all over my room, again and again, but... for how many more times?

What exactly do I want? Do I really want it? How do I get it? Should I get it?

The safest thing to do would be to schoolworkify the crap out of myself, get shiny pieces of paper that tell people I'm not illiterate, go to Uni or Colle, get more shiny pieces of paper, and then do what I love, freely. But then... during that whole process... what happens to the things I love? And here we go back to the beginning... unable to schoolworkify without longing for piano-playing and unable to piano-play without feeling exceedingly guilty for not doing any work.

"Fucking it" is the scariest thing. It's supposed to be. It's a risk and risks are scary by default. So it's a little tricky when you're the scaredest of scaredeecats, wanting to do a very scary, risky thing.

Safe and easy is what people want, unrealistically. Dangerous and difficult is how it is, no matter how hard you try to run away from it.

And now for something completely different:

Her name was Ori
She was a real girl
She had really messy hair
And her tits sagged down to there

You heard me.


FionaMarie said...

Just thought I'd let you know those silly boots are uber comfortable, and thats why I wear them, plus they are fuzzy and warm MMMMM

Ori said...

lol :D They must be. I don't doubt it!

Ori. said...

PS. Tits not sagging. >.< Just a funny :P Still always better in a bra though... especially if they're not small... anyway... I'm gonna shut up now! :D