You know, I hate the ‘me’ this year, not the ‘me’ today, I don’t think I hate the ‘me’ yesterday too, but the ‘me’ further away in time. Its always like that, I remember hating the ‘me’ last year towards the end of the year, resolving to be a ‘better’ and ‘realer’ person the next year, and I’d thought that I was finally the person I wanted to be, but hell, I was terribly wrong.
I hate the ‘me’ more than any ‘me’s before.
Okay, what the hell do I mean.
There’re many ‘me’ s in my life, I remember having 4 distinct ‘me’ s, ‘me’ from age 1-12, ‘me’ from 12-13, ‘me’ from 13-14, ‘me’ from 14-15 (the 15, not of today). Of course, the 1-12 one is terribly vague, I’m sure there’re many more ‘me’ s in there, just that I wasn’t aware of such a thing before.
They’re all different people, if you’d met them each on their own, you would never have thought they were the same person. I discovered that after each transitions, I hate the past ‘me’ more and more. I didn’t remember hating the first ‘me’, I’m even a little secretly proud of the second ‘me’, even though it was wrong, the third me, I was terribly embarrassed of it, the fourth ‘me’, well, I think I’m the most screwd up, foolish creature on earth.
I now understand why, because I learn of more things, I open up to more things, the most important one of all is that I understand more. Knowing more doesn’t mean its easier. And this statement is one too, but it does not mean that it will help in anything, but to get me into the next ‘me’.
Perhaps I’ll hate the ‘me’ today, a year later or maybe I’ll hate it tomorrow, I’m not sure but I would like to say it with gusto today that ‘this is me’, just for today. One at a time, one at a time. I’m living for myself. Perhaps that’s why I’m so detached nowadays, I’m speaking to people through the window, I’m not letting anyone in. Not that I wanna change this though, I like myself the way I am, always, meaning the ‘me’ that day, that moment.
So do I regret having the past ‘me’ s? No, as long as I love myself that day, its okay and speak of the cliche, the other ‘me’s brought me to who I am today (who am I??). Which is funny, I remember hating myself when I was the 12-13, but I don’t hate it now, instead, I hate the self-loving 14-15 ‘me’. This is wierd, let’s just cast it into the huge casket titled– “Ironies of Life” and send it into the furnace, I’m not here to debate with you or go Socratic.
Its mental not to think that I’m not mental for writing this, but I don’t think I’m mental. Shit, which means I am, because its mental not to think that I’m not mental. But nevermind, rofl, I’m not. Like I’m not having split-personality or anything, I’m not even depressed any longer– for now, cos it always has its ‘days’.
I do realize I sound like a person who’ve just had a huge overdose of self-help books. Well, no. The only book I read today was Augusten Burrough’s ‘Running with Scissors’ which is the last 20 pages of it, which is an insane book that’s more likely to provoke mental destruction than help our lost souls achieve enlightenment. But the book is great, greatgreatgreat, as with all other books of his I’ve read. I’ve yet read 2 of his old books, I’m so gonna check them out! But I admit that his books actually help me, (help me for ___,I know not), insane books help me, ahahhaha.
Perhaps I’m ‘addicted to crisis’ too.