Dear, ‘I’m not a man, I’m an idea’,
Here’s an idea for you.
We’re all so better with masks. You wear yours at times and then take it off too. Yet, you have a problem with the second skin I’m wearing.
You weren’t lying when you said you are all of these. But I am too. And somehow you seem to have a problem with that.
Now that’s the biggest sign of hypocrisy.
You’re an idea, you say, different people in one body. But do YOU like yourself? Behind the pretence of awesomeness, because trust me, I’ve been there. I’ve acted that way. I loved myself to death and hated me too.
I think you’re the same. What’s even more shocking is that you won’t admit it either. Like I don’t. You lie to yourself just as much and as much as you’re helping others, just like I used to do, you’re forgetting to help yourself.
You’re always afraid, terrified that it would all fall apart. Or maybe you are not because you refuse to think about it. I did too. And see, you’re going to be hating me for drawing all these comparisons. Because you hate when i do that. Think that I’m like someone or someone is like me. Because we’re all different people with our individuality. But you know what?
Sometimes we have similar defence mechanism and yours definitely resembles mine. Now don’t think I’m angry while I’m writing this. You often mistake it for anger. Heaven knows why. This is me trying to unveil my thoughts, you’re just means to an end.
This safe home that you’re creating for everyone would alienate you. And who are you creating it for anyway? Us broken ones, are you one of us? Why do you get to hate yourself, think yourself as worthless but no one else can? You hate yourself. Reasons may be just as stupid as mine are.
And yet if you ever read this, you’d never admit it. Because, surprise surprise, you lie to yourself as well.
You and I aren’t so different. In some areas, we are. Completely opposite. Or actually not. You have a very positive outlook on how people should live their lives, feel their emotions. I do too. But for others.
Not for myself.
And that’s how you are. You want all this for others too.
Never doing the same for yourself.
So tell me, when you look in the mirror, what do you see? All the advice you give me, are you just repeating the words to convince yourself as well?
When you try to peek in behind my walls, are you strengthening your own?
What a word. Yeah, it angers me. But you don’t.
Somehow, I understand you. Because I see myself in you. And well, I pity myself. When I’m not busy hating myself or loving myself that is.
You’re tired aren’t you? About being identified by your past, your tragedies. Because that isn’t who you are.
But you’re forgetting that it is a part of you and it has helped you make you who you are.
You’re always trying to see triggers of others, persistently, avoiding yours.
It makes me smile, quite often.
It makes me think of you even more. Is this how I will be in a few years? Or worse.
I’m too young to know. A kid, as you say. And I think you haven’t aged much either. You just got better at pretending. So better that you created an image and then became it. But your real self came out occasionally, so you moulded it too.
And now it’s all gotten so complicated that you don’t even know who you are so you accept this personality. The unique idea, the joker, the Moriarty, the unseemly Psychopath.
If given a chance for a fresh start, would you take it? Or are you just bored and tired now and death is the only light at the end of the tunnel?
Sometimes I think you just need to cry it out.. all the sadness and malice inside you. Or you just need a tight hug. But you wouldn’t like that. If you’re like me, you hate being touched too or any intimate physical contact. All YOU need is love, but you’re not at a point where you’ll accept it.
I don’t know what to think anymore. All the worst parts of myself, all the terrible personalities of me that I share with no one, all my insecurities. They’re basically you, personified.
I think that’s why I talk to you even when it brings out the worst pathetic selves of me out on the edge.
I’m a masochist at heart.
And, you are too. But I bet you wouldn’t admit that either. Because you’re worse than me.
I’m a masochist, not suicidal. I want to hurt myself. You want to stop existing.
Who needs more help here?
I knew you long before you knew me, from your bio that you let everyone see to the little things that you don’t. You don’t know me well enough yet but when I get interested in a person, I get hella curious and then I have to know them. It’s an urge. You think I was a target, so YOU befriended me. I left that trail on purpose so you would find me. And then I just had to wait and you came like a fly on honey. Keeping the conversation going wasn’t too hard and I’m not ashamed to admit it that you surprised me, with your thoughts but mainly with your insights.
I knew you were good, but not that good. So I had to adapt. I had to become exactly what you were expecting me to be. What can I say, it is what I do. I mould into people’s perceptions of me. If you met 30 people, each who think they know me the best and you line up their stories and opinions of me, it wouldn’t match up. Those different personalities in a body. I’ve been doing that long before you. I’ve gotten quite good at it. Only I let the personality depend on you and then carry it from there.
Apologies, we’re here to talk about you, not me.
The thing is, you let me in. Because you thought it would get me to open up and you were right. I’m still not sure how much of your stories I believe and how much is a lie. But it worked like a charm. But while you think you are helping me, I don’t know, maybe on a subconscious level you are, as much as I would let you, I am also using you.
It’s quite fun. I think you would like it. You take inspiration from people and write what you want. Well, I let myself become the inspiration and write people. Every person I’ve met, if they’re even mildly interesting, then I have a whole image in my mind, a whole story waiting to be unraveled, with them as the centrepiece and so far darlin, you are doing the job magnificently. Playing right into my hands. And I hope you never find out. Not until you are all used up or until I get bored of you. Whichever happens first.
But I have faith in the universe so i’m sharing this alright, with a firm belief that you’d never land here. That you’d never find this and even if you do, you wouldn’t believe it is about you because baby, you live in denial. You’d think I’m pretending even now. Or everything I just said is stupid and just my opinion of you. you think you know better. You think me a white swan, an angel with the germ of humanity. And I’m a leech, who has just been pretending for far too long.
All writers are liars and if you disagree, well hello there, fellow writer. 🙂
With undying love that does fade away,
Dolores Umbridge/ ALEX