Things I dislike about myself
People often talk about what they like about their life partners. I am going to discuss about things I despise being myself.
I have never been fully satisfied living as my sad-ass self, but only recently did I realise how much I despise myself. Making obnoxious jokes just to humor myself thinking what is funny for me is funny for others is something I really hate doing subconsciously.
Another thing I deem abhorrent being myself is being selfish and not even giving chance into putting others' opinion into consideration, disparaging others and thinking myself is superior.
On social pressure, I would hide myself within the wall of isolation, pathetically hoping for someone to knock down the walls instead of trying my best to open my door.
I have tremendous phobia for criticism, and not taking even the slightest drip of rejection well. Instead, staying silent, being sulky for days on end, and putting everything into the excuse box labeled as a functioning introverted creator. Not taking part in social activities for fear of incompetence in socialization, is my specialty.
I have only lived in my bubble of familial expectations these past few decades, but what I have learnt from my 2015 social experiment back in Junior College and my recent 2019 high school undercover recalled me of tremendous social skills I would have otherwise missed had I proceeded diving in my ocean of artistic delusion, or being in the mainstream curriculum. It popped me of my self-worthless conjecture of myself.
Life as a free artist is fun, but it is not worth not spending it with the person meant a lot to you, especially when the driving-away force is your own indecisiveness and idiosyncratic idiocy-ful idiocracy personality.
Whenever I talk to the girl I like, in this case, in the language I am super unfamiliar with, I tend to want to kill myself afterwards and it was not even illogical to have not done otherwise. Not because of the weight of regrets but the post- realisation of how nonsensical each and every of my sentence sounds in reality.
It takes a lot of courage to show people what I am really made of, in this case, my case. I am so traumatized to the idea of revealing myself to others and this attitude makes me sick, and me despising myself even further.
Life as a free artist is fun, but I do not want to trade it for the life where the girl I like misunderstands me for someone whose sentences are made out of shit.
My right eye.
Like many other artists, I have lazy-eye syndrome. My right eye gets lazy easily and won't move on sync with the left when it gets accomodated for more than 5 hours a day. Some say it is a sad asset for a working artist who also wants to be magazine supermodel, but most of me is nothing but proud of whatever eyes bestowed upon my face. Some even claim it as a glorious battle scar, of the war between the humdrum routines of daily life and my passion for visual Art.
This is not even the part which I despise.
Underlining the big theme; I only hate myself for being a person who wants companionship in life, but do everything except caring for that person in a sincere way at all. What I would give to retract all those awkward words I have said to her.
I know what you think. Being an artist does not equal being weird. I am still exploring this region of pseudo-truth, but I'm not giving up, and my life certainly is not gonna end like this.
I did not mean to brag about my shit and make your unproductive bid of life miserable reading this. For all I care I could make this a private post for your sake guys, but my therapist said it was great to have audiences to one's heart dilemma and life drama, "lest it implodes in your feeble heart"
Steven v.2.3
I have never been fully satisfied living as my sad-ass self, but only recently did I realise how much I despise myself. Making obnoxious jokes just to humor myself thinking what is funny for me is funny for others is something I really hate doing subconsciously.
Another thing I deem abhorrent being myself is being selfish and not even giving chance into putting others' opinion into consideration, disparaging others and thinking myself is superior.
On social pressure, I would hide myself within the wall of isolation, pathetically hoping for someone to knock down the walls instead of trying my best to open my door.
I have tremendous phobia for criticism, and not taking even the slightest drip of rejection well. Instead, staying silent, being sulky for days on end, and putting everything into the excuse box labeled as a functioning introverted creator. Not taking part in social activities for fear of incompetence in socialization, is my specialty.
I have only lived in my bubble of familial expectations these past few decades, but what I have learnt from my 2015 social experiment back in Junior College and my recent 2019 high school undercover recalled me of tremendous social skills I would have otherwise missed had I proceeded diving in my ocean of artistic delusion, or being in the mainstream curriculum. It popped me of my self-worthless conjecture of myself.
Life as a free artist is fun, but it is not worth not spending it with the person meant a lot to you, especially when the driving-away force is your own indecisiveness and idiosyncratic idiocy-ful idiocracy personality.
Whenever I talk to the girl I like, in this case, in the language I am super unfamiliar with, I tend to want to kill myself afterwards and it was not even illogical to have not done otherwise. Not because of the weight of regrets but the post- realisation of how nonsensical each and every of my sentence sounds in reality.
It takes a lot of courage to show people what I am really made of, in this case, my case. I am so traumatized to the idea of revealing myself to others and this attitude makes me sick, and me despising myself even further.
Life as a free artist is fun, but I do not want to trade it for the life where the girl I like misunderstands me for someone whose sentences are made out of shit.
My right eye.
Like many other artists, I have lazy-eye syndrome. My right eye gets lazy easily and won't move on sync with the left when it gets accomodated for more than 5 hours a day. Some say it is a sad asset for a working artist who also wants to be magazine supermodel, but most of me is nothing but proud of whatever eyes bestowed upon my face. Some even claim it as a glorious battle scar, of the war between the humdrum routines of daily life and my passion for visual Art.
This is not even the part which I despise.
Underlining the big theme; I only hate myself for being a person who wants companionship in life, but do everything except caring for that person in a sincere way at all. What I would give to retract all those awkward words I have said to her.
I know what you think. Being an artist does not equal being weird. I am still exploring this region of pseudo-truth, but I'm not giving up, and my life certainly is not gonna end like this.
I did not mean to brag about my shit and make your unproductive bid of life miserable reading this. For all I care I could make this a private post for your sake guys, but my therapist said it was great to have audiences to one's heart dilemma and life drama, "lest it implodes in your feeble heart"
Steven v.2.3
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