2001-08-10 Oh, I've been hard on RedZoo. That's the first thought that came up in my mind after I read his e-mail. He explained in detail why he finds me interesting, and I appreciate it a great deal. It's always wonderful to be contacted by people who don't cencor their e-mails. (Which is what I do.) begin:ramble I used to suffer from the fact that I didn't have idols. I couldn't respect a pop band even if I thought they were cool, I never dressed like them, aped them in any way. I thought I was strange and different from the usual young people. It was horrible. I dress in black because I like it, and because it makes me feel awkward not to. Today I was wearing all blue and I felt and still feel... just weird. Like I was wearing nothing at all. I don't dress in black because I listen(ed) to Marilyn Manson. I never cut myself because of that. I dress in black because it feels like me. I cut myself because I had to. I went to see Marilyn Manson, though. He was quite boring live. That was the last hint of respect I've ever felt for bands, and once that was gone, I felt better. Because I was old enough to realize it's a good thing not to ape anyone. Now when I watch those little fans of HIM (a band) on the t.v. I wonder how many of them become miserable and self-harming just because they think it's cool or something. They already dress in black, and they already look like they were trying to prove something. I don't know, perhaps they're miserable already, and always were, HIM just helps them to show it. I wonder how many of them grow up and think it was just a phase. I never had that phase. I was always too reserved, always too scared of being made fun of, always too disrespectful to adults in general. I never could be a fan of anyone because I trusted no one and wanted to become like no one. Perhaps it was because I wanted to die all the time. Because I had to use all my energy to get through each day, and I had no energy left to be a 'rebel', to want to be something different. I was different because all I wanted was to be normal. I didn't dye my hair black. I didn't do anything. I was so out of it, outside everything, that I didn't even have time to be a proper teenager. I yelled at my parents, yes, because I couldn't stand them anymore, and because I wanted them dead, only to make them shut up. I hated my parents but not because they were my parents, not because they were adults, even, but because they made my whole life miserable at home. I would've hated anyone who made me miserable. I did hate every adult who made me miserable. Because the adults were always the worst ones. And the adults didn't care a shit about what happened to me. I yelled at them when they tried to get nosy about my things, my life because I knew they merely hated me. And I don't mean a normal paranoia now. I mean properly psychotic stuff. I was certain people were trying to kill me, poison me, do evil things to me. I wanted my parents dead. I mean, really wanted them to die. This isn't something everyone goes through, I assume. I was certain, every night when I went to bed and turned off the lights, that someone, or something was to kill me instantly. It wasn't real anymore. Realistic. I mean. Of course I hated school and the system and the fact that I'd have to become an adult some day but I'm inclined to believe that I was different from most people. Because of the reasons why I hated that. I didn't object to the system merely because of rebelling, I objected because I couldn't bear the system. And I still can't bear it. That's why I'm sitting inside my flat, writing on a computer and not out there with friends and without my arms full of keloids. Often, still, when I walk down the streets I get these thoughts about them hating me and wanting to do bad things to me. I'm paranoid, I've always been it, and I'm so used to it I don't even realize it anymore. If I could have, if I had had the courage to do it, I would've closed my door and never gotten out again. Someone I used to know did just that, but it never occurred to me that something could be differently. That I didn't have to take everything that the world threw in my general direction. My imagination just stopped there, I could dream of a better world, but it was only imagination and I never ceased to know it. I couldn't imagine things being any better in this world. That's why I wanted to die. And somehow didn't. I was very scared of death for many years. I think I just thought it'd be worse than living, anyway, and there was no point in dreaming of it. It was horribly contradictionary, and that didn't help one bit. Oh, this isn't what I meant to ramble about. Not one bit like it. I don't even feel much better, I just feel like I'm trying to dramatize my life, which can't have been that bad. (And why on earth it can't have been bad?) I mean, I talk about this, and that, and so on, and then I think that it wasn't like that after all, it can't have been like that, because I'm still alive, and I completely forget that I wasn't supposed to be alive today anymore. It all feels so unreal. Everything does. All the thoughts about killing myself. They can't be real because I never act on them. And still... what is real, if this isn't? /end:ramble Why am I telling this anyway? |
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