My So Called Maturation

Apparently, to be an adult, one has to grow and learn. I often wonder when either will start or end, because I often feel like the idiot person I've always been since childhood. I'm stuck with memories that few can recall. It almost feels like I'm telling stories to people who lived through the things that I'm telling them and they're hearing it for the first time. I get stuck in my mind, thinking about the past or the future, and wonder "why is the present so ambiguous and brutal to my being". I worry that my addictions have built a safehouse for me to hide inside in order to prevent me from having to tell any more stories or build any new memories. I know I'm tired. I can't help but ignore all of the red flags brought on by external nuisances just so I can reflect poignantly on how I'm evolving as a person, instead of interacting with the actuality of who I am. I am of no consequence. Here and now, I'm learning that I should actually be the person I want to be for myself. And that scares me. 

I don't want to be vulnerable.

I mean, I don't want to be another character that shows how there are times when I'm weak or feeling lost or troubled. What I know is that I'm rarely showing up for myself, and when I do, I get a different kind of high. When I live my truth, for whatever it is, I get a sense of empowerment that is short-lived. My needs get met for a moment and I learn to smile for whatever it's worth and go with the flow. 

I want to be liked. I want others to like the things that I like. I want others to love the things that I love and the experiences I've had. I want folks to enjoy the foods that I cook and the effort that goes into planning and putting together the perfect dinner party or otherwise. I want people to want to see me, and put forth the effort to come and see me, in the same way that I try to see them. 

I keep expecting too much out of others. 

Why is maturing and learning too much for some, and not enough for others? And why, WHY, do people look at me funny when I'm talking like they expect me to pick up on social queues to shut up and stop talking? I hate small talk. Maybe I'm addicted to the attention? Observing eye movements that darr to and fro. Body language that suggests "look here, but don't look here" while contorting social mores into individuality quirks just confuse me more than high school math. I worry that the method to my madness is a judgement call away. I wonder when I became this version of the person that I am? 

I could easily be someone else. Move somewhere new. Start a new job. Meet new people who could change my world view. Experience all of the things in life that up till now I've deprived myself of and from experiencing. 

It's a hard habit to break. It's a harder lesson to learn. My faculities are starting to prove to me just how mortal I am, and the closer I get to the inevitability ending of life, the more disappointment weighs on my heart. All of the things that I have ever wanted to surround myself with, the beauty of art and poetry, the wonder of colors and inspiration of music, the joy of friendship and companionship, knowledge of the world, money.... These things are elusive to someone like me. 

I'm not the one to hold at night. 

You won't introduce me to your friends and family. 

I don't worship idols.

I have no self-control.

I'm neglectful, but also neglected. 

Someone might see me and think "that there is years of trauma, poured into the husk of an adult". Others might see me and think "over-indulgent fat ass faggot", those eyes fall within the majority. Often times I'm just invisible. And I make my way in the present, distracted. 

Morally clouded.

Inspirationally impaired. 

Constantly listening to the man in my head who has grown with me since birth, listening to him tell me how disposable I am to everyone. 

Men used to tell me I have beautiful eyes. 

Lots of people used to say lots of things about me (true or not) and the voice in my head has only ever amplified the negatives.

I'll never be who I was again. I'm not sure who I'll ever be. 

I'm certain that the two could never equate to the same person. 

I just keep trying, hoping to find home and hearth and maybe a bit of solace from the voice of the man in my head. What I wouldn't give for him to love me enough and try to let me enjoy what life I have left. 

Maybe that's the weirdest and hardest thing to learn?

How to love yourself the way you should be loved. 

That would be the best kind of redemption story to tell at the end of the day.