Doing what is best for yourself, will never be the best version of the story for anyone else. My life has never been my own and due to the fact, my future is tied up in everyone else. What’s fucked up, is the moment you begin to free yourself from the confinement of everyone else’s expectations, you become the villain. The story is rewritten. You are selfish, you are cold and responsible for the unhappiness and pain of them.
At some point, I became the personification of the false reality I was written into. My heart became so cold that I couldn’t love myself nor recognize the love I deserved. Living in my skin felt like surviving with a million tiny pest fleshing through me from the inside out. My identity subsided, and my downfall was mounted by everyone else; by their wants, needs, emotions, and woes.
Regardless of the torture and pain resulting from the way I had lived, it had become my means of survival. In my ignorance, I never truly realized that in all honesty, it was my choice of a slow death. I allowed myself to be burned alive and condemned by those I had sacrificed myself for. But those are such the consequences for selfishly destroying your becoming for the likes of someone else, for a moment of affirmation.
The moment the fire charred my bones, it became clear that I needed to find my truth. To discover something that would preserve my existence. So I scattered myself above and below, in friendships, and in events. Truth can be so beautiful when you base your knowledge on lies. And so easy to find once you’ve been burned alive.
And so the truth, “I may just indeed not be the villain in your story, rather the day player in your life, the one who is meant to bring you to your knees so you may keep on going and find love. I can’t be the great love in everyone’s story, or even in your story at all when I am meant to be the great love within my own.”
Miss Parisia B.