The Mind of an Insecure Person

2. Cole

March 25th, 2008
2:13 p.m.

Dear diary,

This world is a fucked up place. It's either you have to be cute or dying for someone to love you. It might be the horrible truth, but it's true. If you are not cute nor dying, no one really cares what you're going through. They don't care if you are feeling low about yourself, or about the cuts they see on your wrists. They won't care if you are hating yourself one day, or even if you are going through a rough patch in your life. They don't care unless you are dying, or you lost someone close in your life. The world wants you to plaster on a fake smile and go on with your day. They don't care that you have a million thoughts racing in your head, or even if you feel like you want to kill yourself. It is so messed up how this world is, but that's how it goes anymore. You just have to learn to deal with the bullshit life hands you and get on with your day.

I can tell many people about the things that run through my mind, but only a select few of them would really care, because it's not like I'm this "perfect" person that everyone loves. I have flaws, just like everyone else. But, for me, my mind handles them differently than others.

My mind is so consumed of wanting to be perfect, and I know it's wrong of me to want to be perfect, because I know that no one is, but everyone wants to be. We all have this image in our head of what perfection looks like and we strive to be like that. Even if it starts to kill us in the end.

When I look in the mirror, my whole body morphs into this whole new person. My mind changes every perspective and when I look in the mirror, I don't recognize myself. It's like I'm this whole new person and I believe that what I see in the mirror, everyone else sees when they see me in person. It breaks my heart, so much. It makes me never want to leave my house.

I can write a whole book on the flaws I have or see in myself, but no one would really care. If it doesn't have anything to do with them, they won't give a shit what you're going through. You also have the people that would listen to you talk about your problems, and when you are basically done telling your life story, they will tell you how much worse they have it in life. That's a whole new kind of fucked up for a person to do that. I can never understand how someone can listen to a person talk and the entire time after just say, "well, you could have had it as bad as me."

It just doesn't make sense to me, but there are a shit ton of people who do just that. They don't care for other people's feelings. They are so stuck in their own little world to see the bigger picture in front of them.

How they get through life, though, I'm not entirely sure. I don't see how anyone can't live without having sympathy or compassion.

Maybe that's why I get so hurt all of the time.

———

March 27th, 2008
1:08 a.m.

Dear diary,

All I really want is for someone to look me in the eyes and tell me that I am handsome. That no matter the image I see in the mirror, or what people tell me, I am handsome inside and out, and that they are willing to spend their life proving to me how wonderful of a person I am.

Maybe I'm asking for too much. Maybe my mind consumes my head and doesn't allow anyone to come in to my life because I won't allow them to love me because I can't even love who I am. Maybe it's always going to be like this, you know? To the point where I can't even love myself enough to let anyone else love me. They might think they love me, but I won't know what real love is until I start to love myself.

I have to be able to love myself, but we all know that won't happen. These insecurities are eating me alive day by day and I don't think I can hang on any longer. I might lose my grip fast and tumble down into the depths of death. Maybe I would like that. To not have to think anymore of these goddamn horrible thoughts. To be thought-free and rest in peace without hating myself.

I don't know. I'm so confused on what I want in my life right now. One part of me tells me that I want death, but the other part of myself tells me to stay alive and conquer my demons.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to get through all of this one day. All I can do is hope and pray that one day I'll be better. Not all the way there, but close enough. That's all I can ever hope for.

Well, I'm going to go to bed now. Talk to you soon.

Love always,

The broken image of a boy named Cole.