plain old damage

07.03.2022

Song: Break The Rules – Ruen Brothers

I’ve been writing a lot lately. For a second there, I thought I was writing cause I was having fun doing it, and I just felt good when people liked it. But it’s just not that. I just might have a motive: Letting it all out because I somehow need to.

I think somewhere between middle school and high school, I forgot what happiness was, and the sadness was all I’ve ever known. I internalized every terrible thing that happened to me with some impossible hope that I could one day attribute a meaning to it and tell people ‘‘see, I went through all of this but for a reason; now I write pieces on the internet that nobody reads or I work at corporate job and sit on my desk all day with a decent salary’’ so that I could justify its existence in my life. But at the end of the day, trauma isn’t something that’s romantic, and it doesn’t bring any greater significance to your life.

maybe damage is just damage.

But then, what is it all for? That means all the damage that I got isn’t good damage. It's just plain old damage. I gain nothing out of it. All those years, I have been miserable for nothing then; I could’ve been this happy little kid the whole time; cheerful, loving, and kind. (props to Diane from Bojack Horseman for talking about this)

what was it all for?

I thought that everything, neglect, and abuse, somehow made me special. That’s what everyone told me. That’s what I told myself.

But maybe, I don't have to exploit my trauma to justify my suffering. My trauma, my grief, does not define who I am. The other elements of myself, on the other hand, do. I might discover that I'm happiest when I think of moments that aren't about my misery on purpose every time an inconvenience happens, it might get tedious after some time, but it also might just help me sleep a bit better. Last week my therapist said ‘’Don't wilfully live in your own misery.’’ I’m pretty sure he read that from somewhere, but these are good words to live by anyway. Though I’m not sure if I’m there yet.

Having a sad childhood sucks.

It isn't, however, who I am. It's a part of who I've become mostly, but there's so much more than that. There is just so much more to me than what I’ve been through, I think, I’m not sure. I mean, If I were, I wouldn’t be here sharing this with you now, right?

-M