Thursday, 6 September 2012

I am a hypocrite.

Yes, I'm a hypocrite.
Stumbled across a blog today, quite unexpectedly, and found a little something more than I bargained for. Dark Sanctuary.
The more I read her posts, the more I see myself in reflection. So why? Why am I hypocrite?
Because my writing is so vastly different from hers. Of course, I do not expect to be like her. I do have the wits (or experience, more like it) to know yet that no two people can be the same.
Yet...her words, her stories:
"There would be times when I am too bruised to interact with people. Every word uttered is like a blow to my soul, every breath leaves blisters on my skin. I want them to shut up and go away but all I can do is smile painfully and nod. I prayed so hard for them to leave me alone that I must have trembled at some point. Or screamed. Or clawed my face. Or I could have just continued smiling and nodding."
                          - Sheryl-
-Sheryl- completely me. It's like I'm talking through her. Like the song, "Strumming my pain with his fingers, singing my life with his words, killing me softly wth his song...". Sheryl is writing about my life with her words, and it is killing me. It's like, having found someone who's so like you, you reckon, after all these years that it's impossible to have someone live your life. It's unfathomable.
I always thought that when I finally found someone who is so essentially like me, I would leapt with joy. Soared with happiness. That I would never feel that pitiful loneliness again.
I guess I shocked myself when I had felt jealousy too. You see, all this while, I'd thought there's not a single possibility of there being a someone like me. Or even a soul who could even remotely understand how I felt. Heck, not even my family understand me that well. And they're supposed to be theonly one who could ever had a chance of understanding me. But then sprung out this person, this girl who just wrote it all. Say what I wanted to say for all my life but never did say. Here's a girl who's not afraid to own it, and who's just so like me in some uncanny way, that I'm no longer special. And she's better than me, and more special than me, because she said it all. She is being her true self. And I'm not. Never have.
Because I was presumptious to think that no one will understand, so refrain from ever forming the mere thought of even explaining myself. Because I'm vain to want to keep those secrets to myself, in a very sick and pathetic attempt to paint myself a mysterious and dark aura. Because I'm so self-indulgent and selfish to want to share. Because I'm a coward to share my fears. Because I'm a hypocrite, trying so hard to fit in, to pretend that I'm not a freak, enough that I betray myself. But, most of all, because I myself never ever truly understand me. At times, I can be brooding and dark, but sometimes I'm just sad or happy (can't even make up my mind on that one) and confused.
I cannot make up my mind about myself. It could have been loads easier if I could either be Dr Jekyll only, or Mr Hyde only, but I can't. So who am I? Just like Dr. Jekyll, I thrived on my saint, yet also feed on my demons! Oh shoot it, now not only am I a hypocrite, a coward, and a vain, self-indulgent, selfish bitch, I'm contradictory too.
Sheryl and I am no two same person. In fact, we are vastly different. She love her literature; she love her Armand. She's proper, dark, brutal and honest. I? I couldn't even be bothered with Pride and Prejudice because young-uns like me couldn't understand a word they're saying, and I've enough pride to stay away from it altogether just because I don't like any reminding that I'm not good enough. I devour cheap flicks ocassionally because it's slightly entertaining to watch them screw each other up, but mostly because they help take my mind off the fact that I'm pretty screwed up myself (yea, no need to say, I'm pretty pathetic); read way too much action, adventure, and inspector-solving crimes because there're lots of good ones out there (unfortunately, my opinion's not to be trusted) or even if you're so unlucky to stumble across a really bad one, there's always the action and gory details to distract you, or you can just laugh at the writer's painful mistakes all the way through (sorry for being mean). And of course because I can always, almost understand them.
The point is, we are totally different individuals. Even reading through her words, had me trembling with desire and longing so strong for her dark and oh-so-alluring talent. I'm literally salivating. Like that Big Bad Wolf in her story, Red Riding Hood.
I want it, I want it so badly, that it hurts. But I am not her. And I will never be, just as I'd learnt so many times striving to be someone who I'm not. Because I'm a hypocrite.
And so...I'm a hypocrite. Now...who still wants to be my friend?


  1. Oh my god, I can't... This is the nicest comment anyone has ever left me. I mean, it's a whole goddamn essay and - I'm stumped. I'm speechless.

    I guess what I'm trying to say is, that, I'm really really happy that you like my writing so much and please don't put yourself down. I think that everyone has their own coping mechanisms and will develop their own emotional response. Mine is to write about it, and it works for me. So I guess you could find a way (that suits you) to channel your negative emotions?

    I'm not saying that you should forsake or ignore them, because painful and gruesome as they are, I still think that sadness is ultimately beautiful. I don't think I would like it any better if I was less morbid. At least, that's what I think.

    And no, you did not creep me out. Feel free to talk to me anytime you want. My e-mail add is =)

    1. "I'm not saying that you should forsake or ignore them, because painful and gruesome as they are, I still think that sadness is ultimately beautiful. "
      Very well said indeed. :)
      Haha, glad I didn't creep you off! :P
      I have to say, as morbid as you're, you wrote beautifully, and it touched me right to the core. I'm compelled to do something about this feeling, and what better way than to write it? Though I'm afraid I might not have done it much justice.
      I write about my feelings, perhaps a tad too much sometimes that my mum even chided me on it, but I can't help it. Yet, I can't refrain myself from putting a little something positive at the end, just because I myself need it. And sometimes I need a wake-up call too, hence this post.
      Anyway, in short, I just want to say you write beautifully, and know that always I'll be there whenever possible to read your posts. :)

  2. Oh and also, will you please leave more comments? It doesn't have to be long ones, just for me to know someone's reading my writings. I love comments.

    1. I'll try my very best to do that, but know that my assignments are pilling up soon, and I might have to disappear for a while.
      No matter what, do know that I'm always reading. :)

  3. Reading this post right now.. totally made describesy feelings. Also made me realize more about myself. I dont feel as lost as i was before i read your post.


    1. No thank you for making my day.

      It's nice to have open your blog after a very long absence to find a little awesome surprise! And it's really nice knowing someone's reading your post. I'm really glad I helped. :)


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