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, ____, ( 09/12/01 anada483 ,
/ \ ,_____ (--|_\_,,_, _ _| _ __________ ,-.______ _,---._ __ _/ \
/ \+------ _| ) | |(_|(_|(_|_ .net------/ )----.-' `./-/ \
/ / ( |__, ( ( ,' `/ /|
\ / \ `-" \'\ / |
\ / "It's Sad When You Don't Understand" `. , \ \ / |
Y-------- ----------/`. ,'-`----Y |
/ by Aura Noir ( ; mEoW!@/| '
i________________________________________________| ,-. ,-'_______/ | /
| | | ( * | /
|____________________ Anada is cat-friendly! __) |__\ `.___________|/
`--' `--'
It's like this:
There's this overwhelming desire to want to be someone important, to
have friends. But at the same time you, as a person, perceive your own
self-worth to be regarded as unimportant. So there's also this idea that
you don't have enough self-confidence to feel privileged enough to warrant
friends. You tell yourself not to get close to anyone because you don't
think you deserve it. But still, you crave friendship to such an extent
that when the inner you finally succeeds in alienating those who try to get
close, it's a crushing blow to your ego, and you mope for days trying to
make sense of it all. You're so shocked, speechless, and socially-inept
when someone even so much as looks at you that you can't help but revert to
sarcasm and false aloofness in yet another poor subconscious effort to
isolate those who might get to know the real you.
Because the real you is a scary dark thing with eyes and teeth and
tongues and voice boxes in all the wrong places. A “Balrog,”, for the
Tolkien-aficionado portion of the audience. By “the real you,” of course, I
mean the part of you willing to do what you have to do to survive as a
person, to open up. The part of you willing to have friends. It's scary to
others because when they see the exterior you, the asshole you, they don't
even want to try and get involved with the real you because they see it as
probably being worse. Your Balrog scares you as well because you have this
feeling that it's going to escape and wreak havoc on a small town of
friends, colleagues, and peers and never return to the dungeon you call your
mind.
The real you is the least defended part of your psyche. Certain
people, MOST people, can't really understand the real you in the first
place, even without the unhealthy personality traits you put in place to
confuse everyone. This means that there's really no reason why you would
even be a jackass sarcastic bastard just because you would rather be alone.
So don't do it.
But the author digresses. The fact is that the small minority that
actually CAN see the real you read completely through your exterior
bullshit. These people can, without even knowing it sometimes, just say
things to you in such a way that you know, you just know that this other
person could tell you everything about yourself that even you don't fully
comprehend.
[*****]
People like Sarah can do this. And Kevin. But Kevin's situation is
different, not only because I've known him four years and Sarah I've known
about a month and a half, but also because he's probably a bit more
conscious of what he's doing. Sarah just talks and says and does all these
random and/or situational things at various points throughout the day.
These bits of information could be verbal, physical, psychological,
unintentional, intentional, whispered, shouted, or lost to all but me, but
the simple fact of their existence remains: Sarah keeps me on my feet.
Kevin too. And my sister and Danica and Rob R.
These are the people who just because of who they are remind me at
our every meeting that I need to chill out. They remind me that every time
I feel the need to traipse off to Andy-land and wither away dark and alone
with the bittersweet taste of solitude and concrete desire on my lips that
it's not going to work and the consequences are infinitely more dire than
any penalty a two minute conversation with a stranger may incur.
Kevin, Sarah, Danica, and Rob. Not even my mom. These are all
people relatively new to my life, too. How strange is that? I remember
being more normal as a child than I've ever been since high school started.
I guess you just don't realize it as much because there's really no all-
encompassing need to be able to be normal around other people. When one
wears glasses at all waking hours, he or she has no need to learn to survive
with poor vision, and therefore doesn't.
I don't know. I just think it's sad when you need four strangers to
hold your hand and make you normal. It's sad when you don't understand and
blame it on others not understanding.
It's sad when you don't understand.
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`-.^.-' (c) 2001 Anada e'zine by Aura Noir `-.^.-'
/"\ ________________________________________________________________ /"\
