Thursday, September 17, 2009

Untitled

I've been having these weird dreams lately. I've been seeing glimpses of a woman in her mid-thirties, she's got brown hair tied back and a white 1800's style dress with a blue apron on. She seems to be cleaning or cooking in the kitchen, and has several children running around her. She's got an older daughter working alongside her, and she looks disdainful. So does the daughter.
I'm curious as to whether or not I'm seeing glimpses into my previous life. It would be amazing if that was it, wouldn't it? I'm curious as to why no one wants to know if they've had a previous life or not. If reincarnation is real, I wonder how far I've come. My soul, I mean. How many lives have I had? Every soul has to start somewhere, right? I wonder if I've lived once or twice, or maybe seven or ten times? I wonder how many of my lives have been happy and prosperous, and I wonder how many of my lives have been depressing and ended in a sorrowful death.
In the Wiccan religion, suicide is not a terrible thing, but is punished. Wiccans do not shun those who've killed themselves, and embrace the souls of the suicides as they have the natural deaths, but as a reincarnation, your next life will be just as bad, if not worse than it was before.

I've been reading a lot of fanfiction lately. I wish I could amount to something like these Mary Sues do. It's not fair. I sit here, I read all night, I go to bed, I wake up, I bitch about hating life, I go to school, I work for seven hours at school, I come home on the trolley, I do homework, I read, I go to bed, I wake up and repeat the process. These people in these stories wake up, intend on doing their daily routine, and somehow, something fucks it up. I wish I could have a not-so-ordinary life. Ah.... I feel like I'm not living up to the standard I'm supposed to because I have no special talents. Sure, I can draw, sure, I can write, play piano, and ride horses, but it's all mediocre! I mean, I do it, and it never seems to be good enough. I'm no Picasso, I'm no Chopin, I'm no Parelli, I'm no Orwell. I want to be all these things. I want to be extraordinary and get peoples' approval at first sight, but I can't. I have to work my ass off to get what I want, to get where I need to be, and no one else seems to need to do these things. Everyone knows everyone except me. It sucks.

I long to find the approval of those who mean most to me, but my heart can't even win the approval of my mother. She says it's a cruel heart. She told me she hopes it grows up as I grow up, for it's a mean heart. I've striven to obtain a mean heart, don't you see? So no one will use me like they would if I had a kind heart. I can make my heart kind if you are deserving, but I need the ability to make it stone if necessary. No one seems to understand this, and I feel so alone. I see people for what they really are: Smelly, nasty, rude, obnoxious, uncaring creatures who's main goal is to reach the top, no matter who they kill in the process. And I desperately wish I wasn't human for this reason. As George Orwell said, "Animal's only enemy is man." I wish I could hide my heart away where no one could find it, where if it was found, it would be impenetrable and unstoppable.

And I wish I could hide away from all the stupidity in this wretched world.