I lied. Another part tonight.
Dec. 12, 2014.
I'll never be unique. I'll never be special, or one-of-a-kind.
This is kind of a slap in the face for me, or a punch in the gut. Whichever hurts worse. And it sucks because, really, isn't it bad enough that I'm already kind of lacking in the self-esteem department. The least I could be is something different, even if it means I'm weird. But I'm not, because being weird means being unusual and uncommon and strange, but how can you be that when there are so many people around you that are weird and unusual and uncommon and strange too?
I don't know when I came tk realize this, but I think it came when I realized there are 7 billion people in thus world. Seven fucking billion people. Holy shit. I don't know about you, but that seems like a lot to me. How the fuck am I supposed to be different when there are 7 billion other people out there, some of which probably share my love for books and my dislike of noise and cauliflower. How can I, one person, stand out among seven billion other people?
The answer is: It's impossible.
Because I'll always have something in common with someone. There's always going to be a stranger that'll agree with something I say or post and tell me yes, I do that too; yes, I feel like that.
There's even a theory about this, the Original Thought Theory. The theory suggests that anything anyone can ever think if has already been thought or will be thought by someone in the future, I.e., no thought is original
Regardless of what you think, I do believe in this. I mean, how many have you ever stumbled across a tweet or blog post or quote and thought whoa, thats exactly how I feel! I know I have hundreds of times. Because, when you take away our exterior and strip away our pretenses, we're all the same. We just like to pretend we're not.
Which brings me back to my point: I'll always be common, a dime in a dozen, a nobody who wants to be somebody like millions- no, billions of other people out there. And I hate it. I hate it all. I hate that I can't be myself without being someone else at the same time. I hate that everything I am could quite possibly belong to someone else too, somewhere out there. I hate that I can't be my own person, at least not completely.
Why can't I be different?
Why can't I be unique?
Why can't I be special?
Why can't anyone make me feel like I'm all if those and much more?
Isn't that what friends are for?
I'm pathetic.
YOU ARE READING
The Truth. For I Have Lied.
Teen FictionThe title says it all. This "story" will be a purely nonfiction account of my life up to now, as best as I can remember. I know it sounds boring, but it gets pretty weird. I mean, there's a pregnant 10 year old goat who has never been around male go...
