Tuesday, August 12, 2014
"They're afraid that the moment the laughter stops, all that's left is that gross, awkward kid everyone hated on the playground, the one they've been hiding behind bricks all their adult life."
Humor is a failed yet precious ability that I try to improve from time to time. Humor is my mask; my failed mask. The interactions between the components of an individual's complex personality sometimes act towards his own detriment in socializing.
The article hit me like a silent hand that slowly tugged on my diaphragm; pulling my lungs and chest downwards into a virtual void in my belly. Your throat suddenly becomes dry and all the moisture heads to your eyes. Thus, a tear or two was broken. Thank God noone was here.
Blasted writer revealing secrets to the public. I think that having random people poking into that cell and disturb the peace of self imposed emotional incarceration is one big no-no.
Another addition about the people described in the article is that some of them are stuck in an inescapable circle. They could not share because they hate themselves for their social awkwardness which takes them back to the inability to share.
Some may argue, if they are socially awkward, how can they even try to be funny? Why can they be the social butterfly instead of being the introvert? Why do they want the attention when they actually should be hating it?
My answer? The laugh that people give to them is their heroin, their shot of THC to illuminate their dark cave. The scar from being shunted once upon a time in their life forced them to live a personality that they hate. Don't even call it a personality, call it a lie - a facade. A facade. Facade. What a nice sounding word to describe an ugly thing.
Crack up humor. Revel in the brief high. Repeat.
It sounds bad looks ugly, but don't hate their method of social sustenance.
Due to the contrasting values between the real individuals and their masks, we try so hard to be approachable but we rarely feel approached, in the end we drain ourselves to the point that the only thing we have left to give is our life.
at 6:01 PM
Friday, August 1, 2014
This is the plight of the seemingly happy kid who seems to have everything but lost everything. This is the plight of the ambivert who shuts the world out because it drains him. This is the plight of the little girl who chose to become Rapunzel because her stepmother was right - the world is filled with rotten hearts.
To those who found the heart to care, follow the signs to find these people. Find their eyes beneath the cracks of long hair, peek within the windows of their souls, through the fortification of silence - built to shield themselves from the barrage of discrimination.
Listen to the voice coming from within that is begging you to step into their worn out shoes; to look through the lens of their crooked glasses, and to see the world in their taste.
Perhaps they'll pry open your third eye and show you that this is a world where superficiality is an accepted mentality, where exploitation is a denied yet real motivation, and where being street-smart means being able to be the meanest to the weakest.
Beneath the awkward silence may be an orchestra of ponderings. Isn't that true my friend?
at 9:23 PM