FML

Tue, 09/24/2013 - 22:13 -- hk321

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Three words, three words that explain it all. From my life.

How is my life, full of vivid dreams and hopes. How is yours?

Mine is on a roll, like a coin going down the hills of San Francisco; it gains speed and momentum and then, nothing. It disappears and I crash into the ground. Tight schedules and unaddressed issues. Who has time to express her feelings? What is a hobby? What is life? “Enjoy high school life? Enjoy your college experience?” and such words are lies, deceitful and full of, excuse my language, dirty, smelling shit. Dreams...hopes, damn, I wish I can dream. And I pray I can hope. Why? This world wants you to fail. It doesn’t help. Shall I state the reasons or shall I list the burdens on my shoulder?

First thing...well you got to know me. Here it is.

Damning beavers of Canada, I’m short, unattractive and not a human with a body like an average female. I am not a celebrity. I’m fat. Do I think that? yes.

Why? because you said I was. So I guessed, and came to the conclusion that I am.
You ask why I can’t see myself as a self empowered woman, who is fun, cute, energetic, kind and creative? It’s simple, you.

Yeah, I blame you. Because if you don’t know me, you see the leather I wear and the costume I wear tells you many many things.

How can you tell if I’m lazy because I have extra weight. BTW, I look even fatter because I’m short. Just letting you know. You think I am lazy. Wrong, let me work and you can judge. I work hard, but I also want to be lazy too. A person’s got to rest and I am a person not a fattie. You give me a job, I’ll finish it better than the dim-wit who got the job because she was thinner and dressed better than me.

Clothes...well, when you have money you can buy clothes. Job, well I got my first job being an usher. You want to know the reason why I got hired because I was recommended highly and also they phone interviewed. Nice, because I didn’t have dress up everyday. There was a uniform, which was awesome. It was not flattering but it was a uniform to distinguish me from the crowd. Please, you think I don’t have fashion sense? Well unlike you, I don’t watch youtube, or facebook or twitter to get a style. Copycat, that isn’t original. I look presentable in twenty minutes. Ten minutes of full makeup and the other half for clothes and washing up. You want a shirt to wear, take an hour. That’s your choice. I can choose an outfit in my head and it looks good. I know because people complimented me about it. I take maximum five minutes for an outfit, how about you? Don’t compare me. Don’t think I don’t spend time on myself. I do. I am just not materialistic as you.

My school, for instance, they are extremely vain. I scoff, because the blings and gold they boast ain’t even theirs. For me, how much do I have? Money, don’t have it. My parents, not broke but they can’t  spend a penny one. Why there are three other children and church members to help. In this economy, richer get rich and poorer get even poorer. But then you know how Obama tried to fix it? By doing useless shit. Damn, education, can’t even get one decent, because of budget cuts. Clubs so I can show my skills and talent, damn they don’t exist. Why Obama wanted it in on the medicare or aid. But you know what? I’m sorry that was down the drain too. Process took three weeks and they fucked things up that our family had to pay extra fine on top of the ten grand. Why? Because we wanted our brother to live and not die before even turning 11. Middle class, I can’t even consider ourselves middle class. It’s even worse because we are in need yet we aren’t poor enough for aid, so we struggle. So what are we? More than that where am I? Shall I go on; no I don’t care, moving on.

Emotional baggage? Don’t want them, too bad, everyone has them. I’m just good at hiding. No one would know. I can cry, you will see me watching emotional scenes in a movie and I will cry. You tell me there was a shooting at a school or college or building. I’ll say “oh no” but thats it. Sorry. I’m just messed up that way. This world made me like this. I grew up like this. I am not going to be emotional because of that. Why? How can I feel for others when I can’t even feel for myself. I smile and support you and give you encouragements but will you do the same? Do  you do the same? If you do, lies, I don’t know what you are thinking, what goes on your head; I can only know that they aren’t true. My broken heart, who will heal it? No one because no one is able to. Who cares for the fact that I am suffering from the burdens on my shoulder, but me? I don’t have space for compassion to help this withering soul, my miniscule soul that dies every passing seconds.

Why don’t you help me? Find me a sanctuary that I can pour secrets from my life in secrecy and also publically. Secrets are painful and it puts a lock on you. Be truthful...then why don’t you start being truthfully to me first. Yeah don’t preach to me to heal others. I won’t, not when inside I am empty.

Do you feel bad for me? You should because I do too. I abhor myself. My emotional state and physical state. Do you have the skills to heal the diseases that plague me? Try, it’s worth a try. I’m dying, let me die. Love...with him. Well, it’s too late. I’ll let you know I threw away that part of my soul and hopes years ago. He wasn’t brave and neither was I, but he was never kind, always looking elsewhere. There was no road other than the one I took...right? Then you want me to have confidence, then change your opinion about me. The “general” public view must be changed, but hey that’s hard. I have one that’s easy to understand and quite fixable. How about, you want to help my breaking spirit? Are you rich or well off with excess money? Then start by supporting my old father, naive and young brother, fragile mother and struggling sister financially. Help my dad with his failing business and brother to grow strong and wise, my mother to be healthy and my sister to gain her goal to help others. Do that, and you can glue my heart together; you want to be cruel, use a stapler. If you want me to be still, then I can die in peace. You want my beating heart, I will give it to you, if you ask i will carve it out of my chest…

Do not try to judge me, not yet. Do it when I am long gone, in the dirt as dust.

Don’t read a biography or an article to get to know me.

You want to know my story?

Then...be me.

Be me and maybe you can be a better ME, from my life.

FROM MY LIFE.

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