Pieces Of Me

Dear diary

In this day and age, some of us live under the impression that suffering makes us pure. Although, for some, this is far more superficial, the idea stays the same: the world is bad, so if you're hurt by it, then you must be good; only bad people feel content while surrounded by horror.

I used to think that way and I still do, to some extent. Is that why I put myself down whenever I catch myself being happy? Is it that I have this constant masochistic urge to be a victim of society and fate? And is that because of my egotistical need to be the center of my own universe, the protagonist of my own made-believe story? At times, I am afraid to own my life because others don't have the possibility to do so. Is this desire something essentially human? To be the center of everything there is, to bring others down only to lift ourselves closer to the spotlight. All of these people shoving themselves into everyone else's face, desperate for acknowledgement, attention and praise and I am like that as well. Aren't we all? Isn't being a part of the pack our sole reason of existence? If not, what is? What's the point of it all? Of being „someone" among so many „others"? Of being different and standing out? Isn't each of us closer to „nothing" getting lost into the "emptiness"? After all, we're all prisoners to the same destiny.

I hurt myself. Everyday, with trembling hands and blurred vision, I point an imaginary gun of insecurity loaded with bullets of guilt at the joyful child that I should be. For what is more deadly than feeling ungrateful and unworthy of everything you have been given. Why? Because it feels wrong to live oblivious to all the sorrow around me. All the death, all the sin, all the punishment. We all sin supposedly in front of God, yet the most ruthless judges are ourselves. It feels wrong to call myself „a good person". I have all this, everything while others have nothing.

 How and when have I started to feel guilty for the blessings that come my way? Is this the curse of caring? Or am I just lying to myself again, drowning in self-pity?

Love, Ilinca