What I love more than anything about creating content for the internet is that I can share my experiences, thoughts, and opinions with hundreds or thousands of people all over the world. The comments section on my YouTube videos, blog posts, and even occasionally social media posts opens me up to different peoples’ views on what I’m going through. It’s truly powerful.
And I’m hoping that in sharing this, I learn, yet again, that I’m not alone in this world.
I find that of all the words, insults, and labels that have been thrown my way, only one can actually get under my skin and sting me.
Perfect. I’m perfect.
So perfect, in fact, that otherwise normal, sane guys are absolutely captivated and make brilliant decisions in my presence. Like declaring their love for me or asking me to move in with them within a week.
They just want to support me, build me up, watch me shine. They’ve never met anybody like me before. This is the first time they’ve felt this way about anybody. So screw common sense and set fire to caution. They don’t even care if I feel the same. They just have to say it: I love you.
And that’s when I know we’re in deep shit.
You fall in love, I fall from grace
It must be fun to lose all control of your senses and become absolutely head over heels infatuated with somebody from day one. I’m assuming it’s fun, at least, since I keep watching it happen.
Me being the damaged, emotionally unavailable, and scared-shitless fiercely independent person that I am, I haven’t ever actually experienced it, so I can only assume.
Maybe it’s nice to relinquish your control over your emotions and let your feelings reign free from judgement. It’s all very whimsical. Childlike. Full of wonder.
I wonder what it’s like to be on their side: to be so oblivious and naive that you’re not able to predict the ending. It must be nice.
But it’s also incredibly selfish.
I’m 6’4″. That means I’m already incredibly tall. I don’t need to be placed on a pedestal.
Nor am I a piece of art here for decorative purposes.
I’m a human. I’m supposed to be met at eye level, engaged with mutually, and judged accordingly for both my virtues and my flaws (of which there are many).
But guys don’t seem to want to extend me that kindness. They just want to look at me, get high off my energy, and then declare me their favorite drug.
And you know what? That hurts.
Because as soon as I act out of line with what you expect of me, you get to call me all sorts of nasty names. You get to tell me that I’m not being myself, that I’m acting strange, that I’ve changed, that you would expect better of me.
When a cloud comes out and my outlook isn’t as sunny as it’s supposed to be, you get to tell me I’m being negative or pessimistic. You get to tell me to cheer up, smile, and stay positive.
But your perception isn’t my reality. That’s not the world I live in.
You can’t ask me how I’m doing, insist on an honest answer (over fine, you?), and then vilify me for worrying about being able to pay my bills at the end of the month. You may live in a world where you’re considered broke while you smoke your body weight in pot and shop for plane tickets to Paris, but I live in a world where I’ll default on three credit cards and a student loan if I can’t scrape together $200 in the next 24 hours.
And I know that I’m responsible for myself being in that situation. That’s my point: I make mistakes. I’m not perfect.
And if you knew me, you’d see that.
But you don’t know me because you didn’t bother to take the time.
You just decided to be in love with me instead.
A complete stranger, standing in front of you, just asking for a sympathetic ear.
But you’d rather crush me and tear me down so that you can stay high, infatuated, and oblivious.
And all I can think is…
Fuck. I should start charging for this shit.