That old slap of exclusion. The constant need for attention palls on one after a while. The bitter rank taste of jealousy is so familiar I rarely have to think before I thrust it out of my head.
I'm always on the outside. Outside, outside, outside. And I can't take it. Why can't I take it?
I have tried unsuccessfully to figure out what lies behind it, but I cannot for the life of me pin it down. Why must I always be the special one, the loved one, the one at the centre of my universe? Why do I need that validation? And why can I never get it? I find it so hard to tell someone that I need them. It's like giving them a loaded gun and then pointing it at my chest. And I'm afraid. I'm afraid to give people the power to hurt me. The funny thing is, I wouldn't mind if they figured it out for themselves. Can you figure out just how much you mean to me? Can you? God. Such a stupid contrary creature. First I won't tell, then I expect them all to know anyway. And to give me that attention. When I think about it, though, it isn't the attention. It's just love. I need to be loved. All the time. I need to know every minute of the day that there is someone to whom I mean something. Someone who needs me. See? And it isn't enough for me to feel like they love me. I've found it so easy to convince myself of things that I tend to take everything I see with a generous helping of salt.
She says I have eyes from which no one would ever want to take away that shine. He says it, too. And still I don't believe, not really.
I wonder, I really do. Sometimes I feel so old and jaded. And alone. Always I feel alone. I tell myself and tell myself. Whole conversations are spent trying to convince me that I will be fine, that everything will work out. That there will be a day when I will feel just as special as I want to feel. When I will be loved as I deserve to be loved.
And another whole set of conversations that tell me that I will be fine on my own. That I have all I need. I almost listen to that voice, most of the time. I almost believe it. I almost do.
What gets to me is my constant CRAVING. I hate it. The addiction to attention. I want so much to be thought of. If I know that someone has thought of me, I am the happiest person in the world. And when someone seems to ignore me I fall into the depths of despair.
Stupid spoilt baby.
I'm always on the outside. Outside, outside, outside. And I can't take it. Why can't I take it?
I have tried unsuccessfully to figure out what lies behind it, but I cannot for the life of me pin it down. Why must I always be the special one, the loved one, the one at the centre of my universe? Why do I need that validation? And why can I never get it? I find it so hard to tell someone that I need them. It's like giving them a loaded gun and then pointing it at my chest. And I'm afraid. I'm afraid to give people the power to hurt me. The funny thing is, I wouldn't mind if they figured it out for themselves. Can you figure out just how much you mean to me? Can you? God. Such a stupid contrary creature. First I won't tell, then I expect them all to know anyway. And to give me that attention. When I think about it, though, it isn't the attention. It's just love. I need to be loved. All the time. I need to know every minute of the day that there is someone to whom I mean something. Someone who needs me. See? And it isn't enough for me to feel like they love me. I've found it so easy to convince myself of things that I tend to take everything I see with a generous helping of salt.
She says I have eyes from which no one would ever want to take away that shine. He says it, too. And still I don't believe, not really.
I wonder, I really do. Sometimes I feel so old and jaded. And alone. Always I feel alone. I tell myself and tell myself. Whole conversations are spent trying to convince me that I will be fine, that everything will work out. That there will be a day when I will feel just as special as I want to feel. When I will be loved as I deserve to be loved.
And another whole set of conversations that tell me that I will be fine on my own. That I have all I need. I almost listen to that voice, most of the time. I almost believe it. I almost do.
What gets to me is my constant CRAVING. I hate it. The addiction to attention. I want so much to be thought of. If I know that someone has thought of me, I am the happiest person in the world. And when someone seems to ignore me I fall into the depths of despair.
Stupid spoilt baby.
1 comment:
Hi,
I was checking out the blogs of the frequent commenters on Doc's blog, and obviously yours was the first name to try.
You write...strange! Damn good,but as though you are searching...trying to find yourself, even though you might be an adult (well, I must admit I didn't have the inclination to check out your profile and know your age *sheepish grin*)...hope u grow up soon, and find what u want. In more ways than one, this sorta places blogging as a plea for help...or recognition, or worse: validation. Slay me now, quick! :-)
Oh yes, someone once said (dunno who): To love someone is to give them the power to hurt you, and along with it the trust that they won't.
Cheers.
P.S. - Ppl at QuietlyAmused know me variously as Shantanu, or Sapru. If u wanna pull my hair out due to my comment(s) here and elsewhere, direct your wrath at eroticon6er@yahoo.co.in; altho I must be candid in saying that I am usually a 'blog-snob' (another reason why I decided to spare the world MY rants ;-) ),or too busy to reply. So either way, kindly adjust.
Ciao!
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