Older Previous~Next
December 28, 2005

I live in your shadow. I've lived in your shadow as long as I've lived, and whenever you come here, you overshadow me even more until I become nothing more than a speck in your vast galaxy of arrogance as you chastise me for the decisions I make to cope with a world you've fit into partially because you can face people and smile even when you hate them and partially because your chin doesn't jut out and your nose is just the right size, making you consumable to a large audience, acceptable visually, inoffensive socially. I am the bi-product of our respective conceptions, the throw-away parts haphazardly thrown onto my face, the flaws exacerbated by how fucking out-of-tune my body has become, my awareness of that exacerbated by a society that loves people like you. And now you want me to be a productive member of this thing, this thing that doesn't care about people like me with our big noses and our harlequin chins and our borderline autistic social tendencies. Fuck that. Fuck you. Fuck the world that kisses your perfectly toned ass. I want to suceed, but you can't honestly expect me to do it on your terms. On the terms of a good-looking person with social graces. All I have going for me are the flaws that make me dirt in your eyes, and I will exploit those flaws. Success. The only way I can be successful, truly successful, more successful than you is to disregard everything about you, and push against it. And it pisses you off how unproductive I am, how I've lived in this house without any source of income or anything. Here is the truth. For almost ten years of my life, I have been living with a disorder that has shut me off more and more as the years have gone by. For a time, I could not leave the house without a minimum of two days preparation. You may have noticed this in your own behavior, this tendency to have things just so; it's what makes you an asshole after all, and that is a pretty big part of your personality. You have it, but you could leave the house, and get a job, and have friends, and be social, and get a car, and work at the mall, and do the make-up thing, and become a model. And I languished here, becoming more and more fucked up as time went by, and every time you came back, you looked down on me more. And I remained silent because of the shame that goes along with being fucked up like this. There are no excuses that are good enough for people when they don't share your fears. In a sense, I am an exaggerated version of you, in all the wrong places. And now, I am able to leave the house, because I've fought against my disorder, but every day that I leave is a war against the walls around me as I dodge the shit that juts out of every part of this house, boxes and shelves piled all around, nothing is safe. This is something you don't understand, and never will, because you'll never care to. This is something no one close to me understands and I live with it every day. This is one of the worst houses I could ever be in, because it castrates me. I don't clean it. I clean myself and try to escape this place without a scratch, unsure of how I'll be able to move out, unsure of the excuses I can make when I finally get a car and don't want anyone in it because my world will shatter when they go inside.

It's pathetic, isn't it? That's why I'll never show this to you, because you'll look down on me even more for being controlled by things you're blind to.

I'm not a part of your world, and I'm not going to support your world by sharing your goals. I will support my own world, and live the other American Dream, the one that goes against the one constructed by assholes like you.

I have made progress that is as real as the disease that has held me back, but you won't see that, because it's all inside of me, and it manifests in small ways. Maybe no one will ever see them, and if that's the case, it won't be because I decided to do what you did, by charming everyone with the good looks and attitude that I don't have; it will be because no one cared to see them. And that's okay, because I will try to succeed, flaws intact, unafraid of using them to bring me there. It doesn't matter so much whether they listen or not.

You have never accepted me. What makes you think I should start working for you?