This sucks.
I don't even know what this is. Should I call this my life? I don't think I can and mean it. I don't think it's my life at all.
This thing- my mess of a life is not mine even a single bit. I guess this is one of the very normal bad effects of being famous. I lost the life I want to live. People hate me then they love me. People love me then they hate me. Everything I am is big deal to everybody. How did all these even happen? I am not sure. It’s that I was born, discovered, then poof- famous as fuck. Also, aside from this and the lack of privacy anywhere, posers also come with the package. Oh! Many in social networking sites pose as me and many call me a phony or a rip-off. Well, I don’t care now.
Should I hate this? Do I have the right to? Oh, I forgot I don’t- because this is not my life. This is everyone else’s.
Maybe I should just sit my ass, contemplate, and be happy about my status right now. I get to appear on shows and ads. I get to be often mentioned and referred to in many social networking sites. I am inter-frickin-nationally known! My face gets printed in billboards; fan t-shirts, mugs, and all that crap. I get to be clothed in many different bright colors and appear on magazines. To add to those cool stuff, I also get to travel to different places whenever day or night I prefer.
But I don’t want this.
I don’t want to be the robot everybody thinks I am. I have to stand up for myself and realize today is the day I need to follow orders no more. From this day forward, there will be no more dictations, no more commands, and no more pitying myself for not being able to soar high for my wings are controlled by the people surrounding me. They are keeping me under severe security.
I don’t ever want my face to be sold again on posters or on any product for that matter. I don’t want people talking about me all the time anymore. Everything’s too tiresome already.
I don’t want going through this social status’ obstacles as if I were trying to fit myself into tiny spaces with precise timing like a serial killer or an assassin of some sort. I’m not ninja. I’m just me. Though sometimes I feel like a zombie due to restlessness but it’s different.
However, bullshit everything and all values I hold on to.
People are shit. The media men are always at it. To them, I’m a piece of shit sold and sold to get money. They make up stories, good or bad, to sell me. They rate me. Company after another company uses me to get a high rank or something of that sort- the statistics showing scores after scores of deals to people- buying and buying me.
And it’s ironic that despite all the money certain people get from me, I feel like a cheap prostitute given to all for free.
So I stopped believing in humanity.
I stopped hoping since he died- the only person who has ever believed in me; the person with the greatest impacts in this thing- my damned life. That one person who shaped me to what I am right now.
Maybe he died of a heart attack or self-pity. Maybe he died of harming himself ‘cause he couldn’t take what I’m going through. For whenever I’m down, he is, too.
I would never know. I wasn’t there when he was taken away by the light.
And that’s my greatest regret. I let other people decide where I go, what I do, when I rise, and most of all, when I fall.
So I fell when his life did.
And whenever I fall, you curse and check if you beat your high score. Okay, so you can just bump me into the green pipe and you’re dead. Whatever, I’m just this bird who flaps its wings tirelessly. Thank you for making both our lives hell.
