To murder another
I am going to write this under the assumption that you have not actually committed the crime of killing someone. But if you have, shame on you!
Now I want you to imagine someone, me. I want you to look at that image, that smiling face in the relaxed pose, smiling so weightlessly on that chair on the cold day it was. I want you to imagine being wrapped in just the right amount of clothing to be comfortably warm on that brisk winters day.
Look at my hair, look at my smile, look at my legs and my hands. Does this image pose the idea that someone is happy and joyful. Of course it does.
Now i’m going to murder the image.
Whats the one thing i didnt get you to focus on? My eyes, I want you to stare into them.. STARE!
What is it that you see? Can you see joylessness? stress? insecurity and anxiety? All those are evident in the image, but mostly only visible through the benign stare of my eyes. That deadpan look.
Something is missing from the image, from my face… Its the raw emotion, not the fake and insecure kind that RADIATES from my pores.
I’m not saying this is a bad photo of me! not at all! I actually really like this photo, my skin looks flawless, as does my hair and my legs look cute too. But i’m mainly focusing on whats behind the image.
But I was never insecure about myself until people noticed how benign I truly was. It was only until the naïvety of my person was evident and then the comments began, the actions started and then it descended from that moment.
These insecurities stem from the actions and words expelled from other people. I have never taken anything out of the media trying portray who i should look like. I have only others to blame and myself for exacerbating it.
You dont know it, but you are the reason for them. You are, you specifically and all of you others too.
You beat me to death with your words, your actions and your simple being.
Even the nice words kill me, because the actions and the words don’t match, they aren’t on the same line, they aren’t synonymous with one another.
It isnt my choice to be killed in such a horribly non brutal way. Its involuntarily your choice to kill me, because that may make it easier for you to live whatever you’re living…
For me, im living an existence.. Not a life.. a life is something you enjoy.. and according to my diagnoses, I dont.
Some people dont need to tease or taunt me to know that they are slowly hurting or killing me. Simply just doing things which they know will eventually upset me however is what kills me. A fake smile, A falsified hug, A forced conversation, being ignored, being shut off, having a back turned towards me. Simply thats enough to get me killed.
I wouldn’t wish this feeling on my worst enemy… But i’d wish it on you!
What is it to enjoy life? Apparently I dont know… And apparently i’ve never known.
