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Quite Frankly

I've had a superior luxury granted to me. I've been granted time without the usual anxiety. With this time, I've inspected my unhappiness and I grew horrified to discover how much I had destroyed myself in the name of self preservation. Let this be a warning call.


I had made up my mind at an early age that I would escape the worst of what love could bring me if I resigned myself to becoming impenetrable. I had devised a tactic wherein I would study and understand what men required of women and I would imitate it with cynical relish to possess the power and certainty of a queen. My only objective was to become a fantasy, to be untouchable and to reject the pain of vulnerability.

I made an awful mistake. I adhered to a set of rules and regulations that only debased my worth as a free-thinking individual. I was not free-thinking at all. I thought I could make a mockery of the patriarchy by making myself a caricature- I thought that validation came only from men and only through desire. I thought I had discovered a wanton truth that allowed me to eschew delusions.

I did not. I suffered from trying to dissuade myself of being in love. I suffered from cynicism that grew like a comfortable tumor. I had reduced myself to what the worst of society reduced women to; I had done it with my consent and I was the only one to blame. I did not nourish the most important aspects of friendships. And the ones I nursed were unhealthy, one-sided and in my favor. An apathetic vampire finding solace in rebuked advances.

Because I spent so much time in chemically induced Elysian fields,  I hardly noticed how dissatisfied I had become. There's no use in working towards finding your own happiness when you can take the instant flood of joy that comes with very little effort. Finding joy in others takes time and sacrifice. Drugs just take money and reinforce false comfort in solitude.

I got used to waiting it out; I didn't do anything to become better or to flourish. I just waited. I got high and found action in wayward fantasies, forged projections of old dreams.

I'm still waiting. I have no idea what I am or what my purpose is. I used to love indulging in narcissism and reveled in my beauty. I am ashamed and terrified of what's left to become.

I'm alright though. Even though I've never felt worse, I know that I've probably never been better.

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