November 28, 2012 by Manny Wordsmith
Like a cheesy Coldplay song, I fell on my face, slipping in fake love, presented by an adulteress in need of attention she never got from her father or…boyfriend.
Wait, I don’t think that’s a Coldplay song. Shit.
“Self-esteem is a disposition that a person has which represents the judgements of their own worthiness.”-Wikipedia
Only worthless people fall into traps where their feelings are placed so far behind by another’s.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been there, wrapped in some illusion of a life I thought I always wanted. It feels good at first, magical even. You say to yourself, “She understands me and really, really gets me.” But It’s the bottom bro. When you have to look at yourself in the mirror everyday, knowing that the girl you fell for has a boyfriend, or husband or fuck buddy, a part of you dies.
The perpetrating disbelief in your own worth makes you fall over and over, like continually trying to grab an apple from a high branch while balancing on two shaky tables and a three-legged chair. And Facebook doesn’t help. I can’t stand getting drunk and looking at pics of these girls, wondering “what if?”. Yes Manny, what if you two did stay together? Would you have moved out of your shitty apartment? Would you have finally finished school and gotten that dream job with GQ? Would you have finally had some type of stability that warned you away from cheap amateur pornography and sappy movies about mix-matched love in Paris? The answer is no, to all of that. I’m an infantile, obsessive hobbyist, who reads too much and hates everything suburban society stands for. I’m unfinished, a work in progress and still looking for my place in this world. And my demons, that lurk so close to the surface, are fed by my constant discomfort with an established white and black society that constantly tries to force me in a box. Who can be happy with a person like that? A person who feigns happiness to get by through a world that would rather tuck away their woes than fix them? So there’s no use crying over spilled milk. I don’t even fucking like milk.
Nothing good will happen to you until you come to grips with who you are and what you want out of life. I’m mostly speaking to myself, but for the few of you who are struggling with this, don’t give up. Better things are out there for the person who can calm their soul. You don’t need to put up with half-truths and bullshit just to get some sort of twisted validation. Walk. Even if it’s a long, lonely walk, get out. Something better is over the horizon that doesn’t make you feel like crap.
The Angry Hopeless Militant Romantic