"I try to hate myself less", I hear my voice telling to myself, as I was just trying to open a chocolate pudding and I broke the package. I've lost count of days that even every tiny thing I try fails. Tow or three, no, no it was exactly five days ago, several times during the day as I would pick out the phone from my pocket, my hands couldn't hold it and the voice inside me: "I can't even hold the damn phone, how can I go about life?"
There is this movie I loved and I promised to write a text about it, somehow somewhere, still unfinished, like billions of unfinished tasks on my todo list. Do you know what is the toughest part? After years of running with such todo list and not seeing any sign of success, even completing one task or the other doesn't help. I fail even if I accomplish the things I set up myself for.
I forget, I was telling you about this movie, it's not heard of, I mean the theme is two prostitutes and the guy who drives them here and there and take the money and gives it to the master. Three persons 1 hour 37 minutes, starring mostly only the three actors, no dramatic scene in between, most of the conversations are about being sexually abused or about how one's life ought to be and isn't. That's the movie on the list of my favorite movies. "I try to love myself" I hear the voice inside me telling, as I'm writing the previous sentence and tears dropping from my eyes.
Yeah, the thing I wanted to tell about the movie, was this epic line:
And the smell is killing me.
Hossein loves cooking, at least back when I hadn't lost all the joys in life, but it's no more there.
"My disappointment in myself being so much bigger than my parent's disappointment in me"? Of course that's not how I feel, of course not, at least not anymore since a while.
"That's not my life" that's the sentence accompanying me since forever, as back as I can remember being able to judge my life. In the past that I was living the life my parents imagined for the son, the sentence was true, because it wasn't my life, it was their son's life, the son that has nothing to do with me. and it wasn't a big deal, how I broke from living that life wasn't a heroic journey, it wasn't an experience that I received a medal at the end of it. I just get to know this human being, and she was so much like how I would have looked like, had I been living my life. I mean just the point about writing poems. and slowly I become a stranger to my parents. There were lots of fights, lots of arguments, but I couldn't. I couldn't. I couldn't continue living someone else's life.
The woman who had that impact on my life, don't even post updates on her social media. I guess she has no clue how much seeing her walking up 4.30 in the morning, the unwashed face, telling she is trying to do this, or do that was inspiring me. "Inspiring" is not the right term. It felt good, it felt great to have someone you know you love you know are doing the things you are trying to do, and so you don't hate yourself like before ... you can trust following your interest might have good results ... but her online presence is gone and I just ... I just find telling to myself: "that's not my life. This fucking thing is NOT my life." I can't even get close to getting the things on my todo list done.
"I'll love myself", I'm repeating to myself. That wasn't my idea. No, even if I seem self-absorbed to others, inside me I couldn't be happier if I had never been born. That was the idea of a woman who wanted to help me be able to date. That feels great, doesn't it? A woman two or three years younger than you giving you dating advice? No, I'm not against receiving dating advice, but I guess the dating advice "you need to love yourself first" is what 15 years old need to hear.
"I'm trying to love myself, you know", I hear myself telling to myself remembering the memory of someone ... the very young very, beautiful woman, to whom my inability of acting out of strength seemed an unsolvable mystery, how much I wished I wasn't behaving this way, even if we never be together ...
"I'm trying to love myself, you know", It is hard to believe myself. It was one week or two weeks ago, when I was thinking to myself the stuff Chester Bennington was telling in his last interview.
Perhaps there is not much time left. I'm thinking with myself why he committed suicide, how can I prevent myself ending up like him when I'm already feeling the way he felt just before that. I have no clue.
Thanks to the God, I remembered the adaptation of Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice, the first time I saw the movie I realized a man's response to rejection is not self-destruction:
and thanks to the God I was able to see the answer to the questions: why do I find Darcy's reaction reasonable yet I'm unable to behave similarly? I can imagine doing the same if I were in his shoes, why not then in my own life?
When all the attachments you had in your life were unreal, where not for who you are, you'll lack the ability to deal with anything emotionally challenging, even if those challenges be tiny, even if those challenges are because you're feeling positive emotions you never felt before ...
But I'm not going to wait. I'm not going to wait, till I've learned to love myself and then love others. There are individuals I felt affection for ... I'll try to not look at the memories of my past, I'll try to build the life being like that of mine ... and I don't love myself.
I don't like you, the reader, feel despair after reading this text. Here is how I'm trying to go about me: instead of trusting past memories, I will how to my ration & new knowledge to navigate the life ...
and I don't love myself, it's only the idea of loving few exceptional individuals that kept me alive and the Lord helped ...