This is just a vent space for me,
almost like an essay,
but really more like prose.
You don't have to read, but 'tis healthy to let some stuff out, no?
If you do, I guess you can interpret it however. I am interested in how that turns out...
I wonder out loud to myself sometimes, I say and call, "why do you taunt me?"
It's simple, really, if you think about it, but I don't like to think about it because it seems so shallow. It's not what I want you to be.
If I speak up, weakly uttering my attempts at an angry voice, it becomes far too easy to pass up a chance at degradation; your voice is much louder than mine. When the threat of favouritism looms over me, just when I think I can achieve some equal ground, a spastic attack, a strong opinion, upholstered by stubbornness and stupidity -because you are just so wonderful at doing that, it's almost second nature- with which I cannot compete. My facts are no match for blathering. My voice is too dull for entertainment. My looks hold no merit against your ego. What am I, then? -if not for these bits of information, which I begin to bite down into my tongue, than what? Why is that place of fighting and opinion void, when it should have ambition and passion? Hold for Sherlock, who, thank goodness, is able to keep me thrilled through the written word without having to indulge myself in various horror movies and games.
Even this. This: the most I could possibly manage at an opinion driven piece of writing, baring the most bland and boring aspects of my true-self for the world to analyze, could still be easily conquered and destroyed by a click of your tongue. It's no longer a matter of boisterousness or narcissism anymore, your reputation proceeds your efforts, making it impossible for me to even think about redeeming myself without your approval. I hate it.
I don't hate much, because I like to believe in facts: numbers and studies that never lie, that stay consistent through time and are comparable in realistic ways. Facts do not have judgement in them. Facts are observations, and that seems to be all that my head is full of nowadays.
No, I hate having your approval, because I don't think you, of all people, should have the power to give it out. I may resent your tactics of imposing your will and emotional standing upon others, but I refuse to use that as an excuse for my feelings. The fact of the matter is, unequal distribution of power bothers me, because it doesn't make sense here. Power is based on opinions and feelings in this scenario. Yes, you could easily best me in a physical fight, and there are many aspects of myself where I am lacking, but there is no reason for you to be able to domineer so many people that surround me, ultimately leaving me unheard or mocked. From this, I've come to resent them too, for not having enough of a mind to pull away from you idiotic charisma. Why has that the appeal that silence does not? It is merely opinion, opinion which I may never share.
I don't envy their conviction in the least. I'd much rather be a monk, before blindly nodding my head at you. So full of contradictions it makes my head spin, so full of neediness and self-appointed righteousness that it makes me feel nauseous, and all the times you've denied it, or tried to laugh it off. It makes me want to scream, but I don't because that would be unpleasant, and something else to push me farther down the line of opportunity. Unfortunately, opportunity lies with people you know, so know many and smile plenty, even if you have to grit your teeth.