I think we are all inherently out to hurt ourselves. For the most part it probably isn't intentional but it happens all the same. We let ourselves down all the time whether it be from our expectations not being fulfilled by a movie, that meal not tasting as great as we thought it would, or that person not filling the void we felt they needed to. We set ourselves up for failure because it's what we just... do.
There is a deep pride I hold in myself in my ability to read people; I can know in the first five minutes of meeting a person if I am going to like them or not. NOT to say I know everything there is to know about a person right from the off, but that I know if I will like them and I have a great sense of belief in my abilities when it comes to that. The startling contradiction is how I doubt myself so much when it comes to other people meeting me. The show I put on for them can, at times, be exhausting.
Why do I do this? I wish I knew.
Sometimes I feel the people I meet just need to laugh, so I make them laugh. Other times the people I meet might need to think about the choices facing them, so I'll put some thought-provoking ideas in their minds. I cheer people up, I make people sad (if the situation calls for it,) and overall I mold myself and adapt to any situation. That's the cleverness of me. But when is it enough? I don't know if it ever will be.
The Zodiac says of Capricorns that we are great givers, and that to have one of us in your life is very special. We only share what we want to share and to get a Capricorn to do so is a privilege indeed. The Chinese Zodiac says the same thing about people born in the year of the Ox (technically the Wood Oxen,) that they are unyielding in their patience and a great asset to any arsenal of friends/loved ones. If it's written in the stars and I try to be a proponent of fate and the millions of things beyond my control, why can't I see that? I dunno.
I can't help but think about what Stephen Chbosky wrote in The Perks of Being a Wallflower: "we accept the love we think we deserve." Do you think it's true? I suppose I do but it's admittedly a tough pill to swallow. Others see the good in us, they see the inspiration and the creativty and the many fabulous things that make us individuals, but we don't. We see struggle... and doubt... and pain... and maybe a dash of uncertainty. Maybe that's just me though.
Could be that that's why I write books; in my books, I'm God. If you control the characters then you control the dialogue, and if you control the dialogue you certainly control the intent of the dialogue. It's a control freak's wet dream! I've written so many conversations and so many "thought bubbles" that I feel I might know everything there is to know about reading between the lines. There is always something subtly shared, a soft echo of a previous conversation or even a hint at where things could lead in the future.
Applying that skill to real life isn't amounting to much more than a little bit of pain lately. Not so much pain in my head, and certainly not pain in my legs, arms or limbs in general. But a soft sort of pain in my heart that is not immediatly bad, for it reminds me I can still feel, but not so fast at being good as... it reminds me that I can still feel. A conundrum, to be sure. The lesson to be learned here is sometimes people tell you things the way they are and there isn't much room to interpret it for anything else. That not everything is laced with an ulterior motive or a secret meaning just waiting and begging to be discovered.
Much to my dismay, actually.
It's a difficult choice and one to never be taken lightly when one decides to stop reading between the lines. Can it be done? Who the hell knows; not this guy. Maybe not any of you either, my readers of such rhetorical questions that never get an answer either way. I wish I could just let go and allow things to happen the way they can/should/will/won't happen, but that just isn't me. I'm the planner and the over-thinker, the whiner and the bolsterer, all wrapped up in one. Would you have figured that out about me if we just met? Doubtful. But like the picture way up top says, nothing is ever what it seems and read between the lines.
Off to bed, sorry for the rambler. Ciao ciao.
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