I’ve tried throughout my life to be the glass half full kind of girl, and on most days I succeed. That is, until a couple days ago.
For some odd reason I can not fully understand, I decided to sit back and try and write an odd personal entry to my journal. One in which I had hoped to dissect my very personality, my being as a whole and figure out just why I am the way I am.
I don’t know if anyone else out there has ever been brave enough to do this without any ulterior motives, that is to say without wanting to write a biography because you found yourself overly important and wanted others to as well, or if you were hoping to make a profit from it. But i did it, to explain myself… to myself.
If you can somehow wrap your mind around that idea and make sense of it.
The thought occurred to me while I was furiously texting my boyfriend, upset with him for something so trivial and I found myself pausing for a moment wondering why I was so upset. In my head, I was telling myself it was such a stupid reason, but even in telling myself that, anger boiled through me.
No, not anger, but pain. A lot of unexplained pain that confused the hell out of me.
Why they hell am I doing this to myself? I wondered. I was getting myself all worked up over something that I knew was stupid, how did that make any sense?
It didn’t. And so I went home and my fingers touched my keyboard and almost set fire. I started writing without even thinking about it, I was feeling something so intense that I have no words to describe it.
And as I began to calm down and sat there to read it over, I was amazed at my life. My experiences and could totally understand why I was the way I was. Why I was so difficult and confusing. It was like I was a puzzle cube where you match all the colors on one side, only the whole cube was red with one small white square.
I was unsolvable.
It was such a thing, to sit there and reread childhood memories you had long since buried. Read through it and see it as plain as a headline, that all my problems were rooted somewhere as everyone’s were. And I understood why this little meaningless argument with him bothered me so much.
And yet, I still manage to think of the situation with a silver lining. I said there and murmured to myself; “That’s fucked up!” and then paused… “Well, at least I know why I’m like this…”
BANG! Glass half full… once again.
And it made me think of all the other people out there who’ve had hard lives and they put all their troubles on that. It’s not their fault, they will tell you, they’ve had a hard life.
Understandable. But haven’t we all on some level had a bad life? Don’t we all suppress memories that one day jump up and haunt us?
What makes these people so special that they can use their pasts as an excuse to be uncivil and bitter? Maybe their experiences were more traumatic then others, but who are they to judge other people’s traumas? Everyone’s been hurt, it’s how you take that hurt and learn from it as opposed to using it as a crutch that makes you the person you are… or can’t be.
As I sat back and read they quick version of my life, i sighed to myself. Well, it’s my life… and this is only the beginning of it… Hell, if your story starts out bad, just think… it could only get better from there, right?