Its Not Your Fault.

It's not my fault, its not my fault. But somehow, it is. If i am made the problem, don't i eventually become the problem? Regardless of if i originally was a mere scapegoat or an object used for the projection of anger and humiliation, do i not eventually become the indirect cause of further anger? Was it not expected that after years of convincing me that i am nothing more than a worthless, selfish flaw, atleast a part of my personality would cringe and twist into the form of that imaginary being? Is it not natural for my mental health along with my selfesteem to detiorate into dust? All i really know is I am content with who i am and no one has the right to change how i feel about myself. There is one thing i have always preeched and believed whole heartedly, as i have learned the hard way, that one must not allow someone to manipulate one's self esteem. Although it is a natural consequence of emotional damage, I refuse to allow more of my personality and self esteem decay into a dimming light. I have the potential (and it took me sixteen years to see it) to be someone incredible. I have the essential tools necessary to move on in life, whether it be a natural given or developed. The only thing that holds me back is my sensitivity, depression and fear of failure. I may not know the details of who i am or who i am to become, but i do have a vague understanding of what i believe in and who i was meant to be. My morals and faith were built on a foundation of love, self reliance, and respect. By faith, i do not necessarily mean my faith in God or religion, though that is a big part of my life. By this term, I am reffering to my faith in the human spirit and its capacity to restore the soul; to my faith in myself and my strength. As long as i have my faith (be it in any form) I will have a path to follow. As long as i have my faith, i cannot be blamed for my imperfections. As long as i have my faith, I will not be manipulated or scarred once again.And if you have suffered of anything similar to what i suffered--then all i can tell you is this: It is not your fault, in the same way it was not my fault. It is not my fault i was chosen as the object of ridicule. I could not control my enviornment. But what i could control is what i made of it and who i became.

Robots.

I've always had an odd obsession with robots. Part of me has always questioned whether or not humans are forced into the boxed chaos of a mechanical life. I mean, isn't it possible that we are just the production of tyrannical motives and subjects to the limitations of power? Isn't it possible that we are robots of the generations before us, programmed to find a way to succeed, and conciously unaware of this? Are we all destined to live in the confinements of an absolute good and bad --decided for us-- where there is no measurement in between?
I think that my fascination with robots arose from roots deeper than this logic. It is there indifference, their inability to love or hate, their inability to question, that drags my interest toward them. I feel a sense of sadness for anything that cannot feel love; that cannot think. Despite their constant purpose of succeeding, there are always flaws--even in these loveless machines-- and these flaws can consequence their failures. Though they lack emotions, I can't help but feel a sorrow sympathy for an unloved failure. I can't help but wonder, behind all the superficial motives, there has to be some sort of emotion there, some sort of feeling awaiting its chance to arise. I do not think that it is that they are unable to love or hate, i think it is that they are forbidden to do so and so the fear begins. To love is to fail, and therefore it remains hidden. And it saddens me that these emotions are plastered under piles and piles of superficious blankets that leave love forever buried.
The questions priorly stated can only be answered through one's particular philosophical roots, but it is my opinion that in this sense---we are all robots. We are all striving to succeed and overcome our failures in order to receive a love that is almost forbidden or hurtful to feel. We are all determined to be someone that was created ultimately by the expectations of others--and most of us don't even realize it. But under the covers of our skin's deepest blankets, lies a love thats bursting out of our shells. In that sense, we are all robots.

Track.

So, for my whole life, i've done countless sports. I've noticed a pattern that has been repetitious from the start: I suck at all of them and I usually end up quitting. Last year, i tried track. Not becuase i love running (I dont) and not because I wanted a highschool sport for my college application, I did it because i wanted to get in shape. I wanted to lose that little blubber that keeps me from loving my body. And so, i tried. I tried last year and hardly lost any weight. But for some reason, i kept going. And this year, I joined again.
I've always wondered why it is that I lack any talent whatsoever in terms of sports especially. Its not that i don't try, i do. I do put the effort. But it kills me to see others pass me so quickly and to own me. I feel like such a failure when i constantly put effort but it's never enough to stop my fate. Even when i do improve my times, the times i have are still ridiculous. Ive questioned so many times about what keeps me from atleast being decent. I'm not asking to be a sports star, I'm asking to be decent. To not totally blow. I've rationalized my exceptional terribleness in sports in hundreds of different ways. To name a few: Maybe, my brother got all the sports talent traits (He's always the star, ofcourse) Maybe, its because my heart beats too fast in general and when i work out, i get more tired than other people and it doesn't let me work harder. Maybe my body isn't able to excersize quickly and steadily.


Or maybe, just maybe, I'm too lazy. I don't know how to push myself and i'm quick to give up. I always have been. Maybe my body is perfectly capable of it all but my personality holds me back. Maybe my dad has been right about me all these years. I just wasn't meant to go far, atleast not on my feet. This year, i've tried so much harder to push myself atleast a little more each day-- to try to outrun someone. And i have done a bit better in terms of the mile alone, but everyone still exceeds me significantly. Sports make me feel like quitting because the only thing i ever think about is how much of a failure I am in terms of the sports. No one wants to feel like a failure, and sports just add on to my list of failures. Since when does practice make perfect? Since when does failure not exist when there is effort? And how can i love my body when it fails me over and over again? I don't lose the weight i initially wanted to lose & in the end, I embarass myself all the time. Whats the point?

This was in my head.

This was a random paragraph formed in my head. This has no particular significance anywhere except in my mind. But i felt like sharing it, so here it is.

We ate pizza on the night she died. The same thing we'd eat on nights of celebration, or birthdays. Maybe it was because no matter what we cooked, it would not fit the depression of loss. Or maybe, it was that we did not want to cook a food that would afterword always remind us of her death. Pizza has too many memories to hold it against one sad memory. The more i think of it, the more i realize how much a perfect choice pizza was. Either way, we ate pizza on the night that she died..

So today, i realized: Running away, weekend getaways, anything to escape is just pointless. You're only gone for a short time and in the end, you end up back where you started. Thats the thing with running or escaping for a while, you always have to come back. You may come back more refreshed, but all your problems will just hit you in the face. It's not like when you're away you don't think of what you're running from, what you can't handle. Well, atleast i know I always think of what made me leave. It might relax me for a moment to be somewhere else, it might even give me time to discover a solution. Bu in the end, you need to face whatever it is you were running from. There's just no way to permanently escape, when you're my age, anyway.