So Desperate to Believe

Let’s talk about something personal today shall we? I read the story of that final fantasy house and it’s horrifying. Not because it’s a horrible situation to be in, but because of how familiar it sounded.

I am going to school for psychology not because people are interesting, not because of manipulative tendencies that go unspoken, or because I want to understand myself. I am going because I know about the things no one talks about, about how lost you can get inside your own mind and how desperate a person can be to escape they will do anything to survive.

I remember wanting to believe the fantastic stories and finding, by accident, strangers all to happy to indulge me. I could have easily been hurt, I could have been one of those girls that went missing. I remember being so consumed by self loathing that those dangerous situations did not seem all that bad and being so lost in the idea of escaping the pain inside myself any exit would do.

Perhaps it is cold of me and I have always felt guilty for this, but I have such little interest in people who don’t hunger for that fantastic life. Not because they are uninteresting, that would be mean, but because they aren’t in danger. They are safe within their desires to go out to the usual places, safe wanting their job promotions, safe within the straight and narrow. But the ones who don’t want any of that, who would risk everything, even their lives, for a rush of adrenaline or a taste of power, a sense of control, those are the ones I watch.

All too often the feelings of teenagers are disregarded as the superficial and the typical. And as a consequence, we, as a society, get to bear witness to what those teenagers are capable of, what they grow into. We talk over them and we don’t listen to their stories of wants and dreams, we belittle their loves and they build resentment and together we build a pattern. The ones who fall through the cracks, the ones who feel the resentment the most are the ones I seek to catch.

Because it’s weird when you know how far gone I was and how hard I worked to come back. I did it. I had to rebuild every single part of myself and find something worth living for. I know I did not grow out of it, it wasn’t just a passing of time that lead up to this moment. I am surrounded constantly by people who dismiss others because they are weird, because they are sick, and I know the dismissal is wrong. How strange it is to look back on my life and know they would have dismissed me too, had they known.

I wonder if that’s how goth looks to some people, I wonder if that’s how a lot of choices people make look to other people. But it is in the generalization we again disregard the beauty of individualism and open ourselves to be witnesses yet again.

I get mad at myself because if I know so much and I find myself to be so well versed in these matters, why can’t I articulate it? Why is it so difficult to share what could save someone? Why did I have to take the longest route to the position that would give me the best chance to help people and why is my mind is still too clumsy to take it seriously enough to move as swiftly as I should? Say I had done it the way I was supposed to, gone to a four year right after high school, had my degree, fought for a job in my industry, why do I know without a doubt I would be even less capable than I am now?

But we can’t get lost in what ifs and should have beens. There is a reason for everything, there is always a cause and an effect. I just wanted a moment to reflect, and now…

Back to work.

Until next time,

Don’t be hungry for life. Be ravenous.

Z.e.D.

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