DemonInMyView
New member
- Joined
- Jul 25, 2008
- Messages
- 4
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I am a person with a false past. A false history constructed on the back of a squandered creative talent. A liar to his remaining friends and family.
I feel the need to be someone else, lie about my wealth to even those who cared for me the most. And I know the end is coming. My entire life has been a constant building of lies for social acceptance and the inevitable fall. My house of cards are ready to come crashing down, as the roiling clouds of summer are ripe for storm.
Broken dreams, broken loves. I lie to myself every day. I wish wasn't intelligent enough to be self-aware of this behavior, but I am cursed with an impotent sense of conscience.
I have created false family members, false stories around them... if some people only knew the truth, I would be hated. I do it all for acceptance, because social acceptance was viciously denied to me throughout childhood, and I am now willing to ruin myself to retain that acceptance. I am broken.
I can't stop. To stop would mean facing who I am, and I cannot do that. I've kept the mask on for so long I don't know what's lurking beneath it. Even this is too close.
I think of nights as a young teenager, the dreams I had. The dreams that were possible, within reach. As unaccepted as I was, I truly miss those times. At least there was a chance to change, to redeem one's sense of self-worth and respect. Here and now, at 25 years, there is no comfort. The world gives no quarter.
Who am I?
A child forced to rely on imagination and self-deception for survival. An adult who never really grew up.
What will shatter this mask?
Steel.
I feel the need to be someone else, lie about my wealth to even those who cared for me the most. And I know the end is coming. My entire life has been a constant building of lies for social acceptance and the inevitable fall. My house of cards are ready to come crashing down, as the roiling clouds of summer are ripe for storm.
Broken dreams, broken loves. I lie to myself every day. I wish wasn't intelligent enough to be self-aware of this behavior, but I am cursed with an impotent sense of conscience.
I have created false family members, false stories around them... if some people only knew the truth, I would be hated. I do it all for acceptance, because social acceptance was viciously denied to me throughout childhood, and I am now willing to ruin myself to retain that acceptance. I am broken.
I can't stop. To stop would mean facing who I am, and I cannot do that. I've kept the mask on for so long I don't know what's lurking beneath it. Even this is too close.
I think of nights as a young teenager, the dreams I had. The dreams that were possible, within reach. As unaccepted as I was, I truly miss those times. At least there was a chance to change, to redeem one's sense of self-worth and respect. Here and now, at 25 years, there is no comfort. The world gives no quarter.
Who am I?
A child forced to rely on imagination and self-deception for survival. An adult who never really grew up.
What will shatter this mask?
Steel.