My Selfish Self

Chapter One

        What I’ve done so many times before this is, write down my thoughts that race through my mind like a song trapped in my head, but the lyrics are jumbled and on the tip of your tongue, waiting for discovery.  Unlike before though, this is a different kind of rhythm. I’m not sure what my point is but I’m restless and unsettled. The poetic currents that usually get the vibes of the soul to awaken in me are missing. The melody of how to make my words scribe the way I feel are quiet.  Usually so in tune with rich inflections of how I wish I could speak in life, with as much passion and attention to detail of which I am sadly incapable of using with vocals, only to have been silenced.
There is no song lately, the sound of out of tune violins are playing, feverishly trying to find a way to still be a beautiful piece of music, failing miserably and the sound of it is the eerie of cries ever to happen upon.
In this life there is an equal divide of light and darkness, kindness and deviousness, good and evil along with any other opposition’s that you can think of, that offer to help you understand and make the most of the yin-yang theory more accurate. Inside each of us, we possess these traits, and as we grow, they do as well, enabling us to achieve the ability to aspire to rise above. I’m saying this because at the start of the year, just like everyone before it, had begun by thinking that, this was it!  This is going to be my year! I’d done everything asked and expected of me rarely with any hesitation or complaining. Now it’s finally my turn. There existed, however, an ugly feeling that has always made me feel incredibly fraudulent.        The feeling is of resentment. Even saying it out loud, feels as sharp as a blade, twisted in the rib with shame. In my mind are images of this weapon, always different but so similar, with its rusty serrated edges that read the words, which have been dipped poison,  binding the phrase that brings a sick feeling to the back of my throat, and as the words “what about me” rise like bile of the most horrible thing about yourself that is about to spill out. These feelings that make a person feel like I must be a selfish being, to have such a strong and constant desire to spill the truth of my darkness for all, to let go of the tightening of the noose put around my neck by expectation.
Must not think these things, if you dare you will be scorned by it forever. Must not think these thoughts, you aren’t really a genuine person that is selfless and good if you do.      Must never think about these hideous words because everyone will see. But how do they not, it must show, being so near the surface that even the flesh nor contour of a palette can hide it. These are the things that make my blood turn cold and my eyes and cheeks wet with doubt.
I thought these things when I was a child, left behind when my mother needed to get away in order to better herself and rise in life. Be understanding, I am loved, and I should not be sad over the perception that is that I’ve been left behind.  I should not feel like this, don’t make it about me, keep your eyes lowered and blink rapidly. I thought these things the time when I was wondering why I was not able to see my dad for years and didn’t understand why I was now living with my grandparents. Be still, ungrateful child. You are not the only person who this has ever happened to. Don’t make this about you. They don’t need your whining right now.  I thought these things as I was being carried out to yet another place watching as the tears fell from my grandmother's eyes, I was too needy,  I must have been too much to handle, I needed to be quieter, now I need to leave. I thought these emotions when my mom would show up out of the blue and spend the day with me, and sing me to sleep and when I’d waken up to the indent left on the pillow beside me it was an indication that I hadn’t been dreaming. Don’t you dare think about yourself girl you don’t know what they deal with? Why aren’t you more understanding of others? At least she showed up to see you at all. You can be so miserable at times. I felt like this as I was leaving the comfort of my bed to sleep on a cot knowing that I would have that damn metal bar in my back that would be a cause of my sore body the next day. This feeling is one that turned my insides and twisted them into knots. As I would watch my three siblings take over my soft comfortable bed, sleeping, sounding at peace and knowing that you are their safe place, it calms the feeling of unease momentarily but you are still fighting  the acidic burn from bits of yourself you try to choke back down into the dark places where it rests, waiting for its next opportunity to come up again. What kind of person would think of their own comfort? You’re a piece of work for even allowing them thoughts, get over yourself girl!
As the moments of those “what about me” had come and passed and the anxiety of these feelings are triggered. They leave dust particles covering my mind with doubt, leaving me to question more and more, about who I truly am.