When I speak of armor, I’m naturally not literally adorning myself with battlefield attire, nor have I ever served in the military so it comes down to items that most people own. However, I was this close to committing to the army, but instead disappointed a recruiter and found myself working as a receptionist instead. My second “real” job. It was a construction company and a project manager gave me a hat. It was camoflage and had a company’s logo on it. For the life of me, I can’t remember what it was. But the sitched on logo carried meaning with it, too. Too bad my memory sucks. I desperately think and think and try to remember things and what happens – I become infuriated with myself. Add to that disappointing others as well. Anyway, I came to rely upon this hat that was given to me at my place of work. I wore it when I wanted to feel protected and powerful. It gave me a fearlessness that was very powerful to me. If you’ve read some of my writings, you may have come across an article about safety objects. But this hat wasn’t worn very frequently, only when I seemed to need to cover my identity that I wasn’t ever satisfied with and give myself a feeling of power. It was a simple baseball cap and stuffing my hair inside it was an objection to objectification. I believed that it sent a message that I’m not a weak ass motherfucker. I guess that’s what it was. I didn’t know much more than it was my armor against a world that has always been confusing to me and since I didn’t ever believe I belonged, I suppose I was letting the world know, I knew how they thought of me. So I could feel like I was someone that didn’t give a fuck, when really I gave a hell of a lot of fuck. That camouflage hat is long gone. I have no desire to get another. I mean to tell you the truth, I’m literally not seen very much nowadays. I’m in a home most of the time – in the basement – it is the only place I feel safe. Let me explain to you why this hat made me feel protected and powerful. See my voice, it has never been heard. I’m treated like an outcast. I’ve been taken advantage of. I’ve suffered so much, I would never retaliate against my antagonists, which go from fake friends, boyfriends and family because I knew the pain it caused me and I didn’t want to know that I caused someone to hurt like that. Today, I wish I had spoken up – told people off and told them to go fuck themselves. But I don’t want to be miserable!
I have absolutely no one that loves me or understands me. It’s scary. I desperately want to change – morph into someone else’s body and life! And for real, I don’t want pity. Sometimes I greatly desire to be social, other times, I find comfort in my isolation. I’m a hopeless romantic when it comes to life and people. A heroin addict said to have expectations of others will always render disappointment. I don’t even want to write about me – I’m in the process of learning how to get over myself, but damn it is hard. Do you know what I am talking about?
You have to let go of vanity completely. You have to free your ego. Let go of everything and live with the realization that life wasn’t what you expected it to be at all. You question God, yourself and the world at large. You will likely suffer and fight against it, but then eventually you will realize, you are actually making the pain worse. That is the key. Suffering is sometimes referred to as passion. Do you suffer? Do you know how passionate you are? How could anyone alive not be suffering somehow? It makes me sad. I wish I could, broken as I am, save everyone from suffering.
How can a average girl, who suffered for ALL of her life, find a way to take all the disappointment, rejection, humiliation and vilification and tell herself now that it’s totally all in vain to keep fighting those whose backs have always been turned, who lie, steal and kill me slowly? They laugh among themselves at my pathetic behavior to assert myself. It’s gotten impossible if you can grasp that. If you get me, thank you, because I’m struggling with writing recently so if you’re still reading, it means a lot. Thank you. Like I said, I don’t want to write a sob story about myself, but I suppose you can label this as one. But I want to teach you something. That it’s not easy to get over yourself and your life. Let go of all the vanity that we live in. But it can be done and you’ll return to your true self if you can wait. Patience is the most powerful characteristic I have. I have so much that I don’t even understand it anymore. But every once in awhile I lose it and then shit gets really bad and I tell myself harmful things. So you’re ultimately defeating the one thing that you own – yourself. But it’s the years of torture, of mistakes unforgivable, of any pain that my antagonists tell me I’ve caused. It cripples me. Paralyzes me. So getting over yourself is the only thing that’s left. I’m not there yet, but once the realization settles in my mind – I’ll stop living in vain. You may have been bruised, burned, beaten to death, but you won’t care – it will be shelved away with all the vanity that is life itself.
You want to know what my armor now is? It’s tight belts. Maybe a little weird, huh? Definitely more passable than a camouflage hat with a suggestive logo. What is your armor, if you would like to share, I’d like to hear what you consider to give you that little boost to keep going? Until you can let that go, too. It makes me sick that my five or so belts can’t possibly give me any more power than being a fashion statement. But I still put them on anyway. Oh well, for now, it works, a little. Expectations of others that the heroin addict spoke of is just as dangerous as the drug itself. She spoke with sincerity, and at first I thought what a terrible way to go about life. But she must of had a very valuable point. I’m certain that some of my pain is a result of having expectations of people before I knew them – handing over trust like it was nothing. I had good intentions. But I was misguided in judgement and now I’ve got to let go of the idea that people are like me and I’ve held on to this for way to long. I’m am a person that mean people say is in denial, but I’m more easy on myself and say that I choose to live in a sort of fantasy land. I’m not saying I’m special, but I will put it this way to protect my personal problems – I am a person who only has a brain that processes feelings. That’s all I know. I can’t share my secret yet because it’s so new to me. And it fucking pisses me off. It terrifies me. Things that I thought I accomplished, were not the work of my mind alone. And at first I was frustrated and angry, but like I said, or rather like he said, “I need to get over myself.” And of course I believe his is right. After all, he’s been thinking for me my whole life. Yeah. It’s true.