My Mental Scars
Entries of Past

Misery - 01 February 2006

Renaissance - 22 October 2005

Turmoil - 28 August 2005

20th Birthday - 24 August 2005

My Soul? - 23 August 2005

8:48 pm on 01 February 2006

Misery isn�t even the name for it.
Just a wretched feeling deep in your gut that screams to be untrue.
A gaping hole that has been growing for far longer than I have been aware.
I didn�t even know of its existence.

I knew, of course, of the complaints to my parents from other kids saying I am mean and �stuck up,� but I never bothered to care. I knew it to be false, so why should I care? What do I have to be �stuck up� about? No special talent graces my being that could possibly heighten my sense of self aware, so I ignored them and continued being disconcerted and diffident.

Throughout school I was a loner; sitting in the library during lunch by myself, using books as my escape from everyone else. I turned down every offer of friendship so I could delve into a world of fantasy yet unexplored by myself. I couldn�t wait to get home to see what new evil awaited me in my room, what fantastic tale silently begged me to be consoled by its taciturn pages. Those moments of inhibited seclusion I will soon miss.

If it were just the feelings of nameless peers that that mishap presented itself to, I shouldn�t mind at all. But as I have recently been exposed to a most alarming truth, I am forced to re-evaluate my previous disposition.

A resentment deeper than I can ever hope at guessing lies within my two sisters. Not only do they feel that I am above myself, but also that I have done everything in my power to outdo them in everything. They feel that my whole life has been in competition to them, that I view myself in a much brighter light than they. How more delusive can it become?

My own sisters deride me!

Shocked isn�t even the word to describe how I felt. All my life, I have looked up to them in every way imaginable, and I am the middle child. In looks, benevolence, frankness, complacency, and every aspect of sociability have I aspired to be in some regard like them. To think that they have placed me in so disgraceful a light tortures everything I thought I was.

In the most guileless terms, I am ashamed.

Ashamed of having placed the only thing I am fruitful at, academics, above the love of my sisters? At trying to succeed in something, so that I might have something to believe in myself about? Have I misconstrued the very idea of vanity? Am I, in fact, the very thing I never thought to become? Am I so pretentious as to affect the whole world with an alluded sense of smugness? What vulnerability am I enslaved to?

When did this happen?