bits of my mind

self-doubt (🇷🇺)

first person pov

i feel choked. almost as if i'm suffocating under the weight of the knowledge that i may never amount to anything. sometimes, i think it would've been better if i had not been born at all. everywhere i look, i am painfully reminded that i am no one's favourite; no ones number one.

certainly not my teachers. i think they despise me.

did you know a teacher once yelled at me for breaking an egg on the edge of a bowl? she claimed that her bowl would break. did you know what the bowl was made of? make a guess, take your time.

it was made of metal.

at that point of time, i was pretty pissed off. how could i not have been? i was 14, and my class had been yelled at by her pretty much ever since we stepped foot in the kitchen, and now i was being yelled at for risking cracking a metal bowl with an egg. but now that i think of it, years later, it's pretty funny. it makes for a good story.

definitely not my friends' number one either.

i don't think i've ever been good with people. i don't get close enough to them. i just.. sort of exist. would they miss me if i was gone one day? i'd like to believe that they would. but they'd survive pretty well without me. i'm not very special, and a little boring. i ramble about things i like, and they're pretty boring. modern history being one of them, and politics being another. i don't have much interesting things to say — i don't really like watching tv.

and undeniably not my father's favourite.

he doesn't play favourites. i know he cares, even if he doesn't show it well. even if he resorts to violent anger sometimes. even if he says hurtful things sometimes. i know he doesn't mean it. that doesn't mean i forgive him, but i get it. i do that sometimes too — я сын своего отца. i am my father's son. it is a conflicting feeling, but at least i have a roof to live under and a hand that feeds when it is not curled into a fist.

no matter.

i long for affection, a hug, perhaps, but my lip curls at the thought. the feeling of vulnerability is enough to make my stomach turn. i am not being fair to myself, i know. i may be an introvert, but humans are inherently social creatures.

anyway.

it's much easier to be angry, to bare the sharp teeth i don't have, than to come to terms with my feelings and be honest. the wind is grazing against my neck and i am merely turning up the collar of my coat. a temporary solution, yes, but it is much easier. the wind will eventually grow stronger, and i will eventually have to find a permanent solution before i am trapped in a derecho.

i tell myself i will figure it out when the time comes. i delude myself; i don't know how i will figure it out. i don't know what i want to be, what i want to do when i am an adult, although the future is fast approaching.

i try to be optimistic — i am hoping that it will all work out. but life has proven time and time again that it is better to anticipate the worst rather than to hope for the best.

do not get me wrong. i do not mean to complain. some people out there have it worse than me, i can almost be considered lucky for being able to live the life i live. my father is a powerful man– no, was a powerful man. he is old now, and not as strong, but he is still witty. i am told i get my wit from him, but i do not see it. i flunk my classes, and i cannot create coherent arguments because i always get angry before i am able to do so.

but i guess it's alright. i'm still breathing, aren't i? it is alright.

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the egg story is my own experience, i find it pretty funny because every time i see that teacher now, all i can think about is her shouting about how an egg would break a metal bowl. too bad i'm graduating this year. i will no longer be able to point at her and tell my friends that story :(