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I have decided to journal. The purpose of this post is to hold myself accountable to writing once a day. It is not meant for criticism or ridicule, though I doubt that will stop anyone. However, I will genuinely ask for no comments at all if possible. Let me have just a little bit of space.

I just really need to find a way to listen to myself and maybe writing things down will help with that. I have no dream, no vision for what what a good life would look like. I have obligations. I have responsibilities. All that keeps me going is the fear of angering or disappointing others. All I hear are demands. I have no joy of my own, no interests that can pull me that are stronger than that fear of judgment. I feel like others view me as this limitless resource they are entitled to for need fulfillment. I don't get seen as a person. I don't get considered or recognized unless it is to assign blame. This makes me even more afraid of others because I know they will burn me down for a moment of warmth. 

I'm scared of getting trapped in their lives and constantly responsible for keeping them happy. I'm scared of being lost in this state of subhuman subservience to the point where I no longer care for myself at all because what little identity I had vanished with a lifetime of ignored needs.

Deep inside I can still feel a person who misses the act of choice, who has preferences that never get heard, dreams they are too afraid to consider because bringing them into reality means risking having them crushed. Planning for what you want feels impossible when someone else gets to veto but planning alone makes the results feel hollow. I don't want to get crushed or abandoned again. 

I guess somewhere along the line my heart decided it wouldn't invest energy into anything that didn't have a strong chance at fusing with my fears for emotional relief. If I do what is asked of me in a timely manner, my fear of judgment is satisfied. After all, how can they be mad at me if I just gave them what they wanted? How can they abandon me if I serve a crucial purpose or fulfill a critical need? 

The problem is, my days then become nothing but a mad dash to keep up with everyone's constant demands. I get tired, hungry, and frustrated that my needs never fit into anyone's thought processes. The answer is never focused on how to make things better but how to get me to work harder and faster. 

The more I do, the more is expected. The more is expected, the harder it gets to meet those expectations. The more I struggle to meet those expectations, the angrier everyone around me gets that I'm not giving them what they want when they want it. The angrier they get at me, the more I hate myself. The more I hate myself, the more I feel life was never meant for someone like me.

"In a field
I am the absence of field"
- Mark Strand

I have always worried I wasn't really a person, but a vacuum of space and a subhuman species not entitled to the freedoms real people have; a Pinocchio longing to be real, to be this vibrant, magnetic, full human that people make room for instead of just a toy to use and grow out of. I am negative space, a backdrop, a pedistool others stand on. 

I want to matter for something more than the responsibilities I must shoulder. I want to be talked to because someone likes the conversation, not just to warm things up before the inevitable "ask." I want my opinion to be more than just something others use to justify actions they've already taken. I want people to listen because they care, not because of a social obligation to appear righteous. I see this void in how I'm treated and it feels like the underlying message is that there is nothing of value in me outside of providing a service demanded of me. Do others feel that emptiness? 

I see people who walk into a room and own it, who are fawned over regardless of any type of productive output. I see how their arrogance makes them cruel and their entitlement makes them bullies but they always win. They are still the hero, no matter who actually does the work. It hurts to know appearances will always hold more value over action. I was always meant to be behind someone else's curtain.

So this is my start. I am reclaiming my right to write regardless of what you think. I cannot censor myself for your comfort any longer because I'm afraid if I don't do something, I'll vanish from my own life. I used to love to write, but I stopped because there was never the time after taking care of everyone else. By the time there isn't a demand, I'm too exhausted to do anything but stare blankly at entertainment that mildly distracts me from the hollowness of giving all that you have to those who don't care about you. This is me taking my tired self to the cliff and screaming into the void:

I'm still here. I matter to me.

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Rudy Francisco 
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zinjanthropusboisei:

“Uprisings and revolutions are often considered to be spontaneous, but less visible long-term organizing and groundwork - or underground work - often laid the foundation.”

My twin got me a signed copy of Hope in the Dark by Rebecca Solnit for our birthday, and it’s been a comforting read this winter break.

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windflowerfairy:

Sylvia Plath, September 1950 journal entry

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getyouacocoa:

beeple:

PLEASE SHARE.

I needed this

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angryblackgirlrants:

“I am my own muse, I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to know better.” -Frida Kahlo 

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