- Author
- 11/25/2022
- 1,013 Words
- 1,524 Views
- 36 Comments
Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are based on the authors' lives and experiences and may be changed to protect personal information. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Therapeutic Rant - 1. Therapeutic Rant
Validation. It's been a war. Well, at least for me. I seek it, yet I only desire it in pure form. Anything less is cotton candy; sweet and unfulfilling. Constant reminders telling me I'm not strong enough to handle the real shit frustrates me. I need to shoulder the criticism and realities before I can succeed.
Fuck that. I'm breaking through. You don't dangle a substance above an addict's head and say, "C'mon, boy! It's just a few feet above you."
I'm not good enough, you say? Last time I checked, I’ve muddled through the murky swamp of mediocrity and peasantry of lower-class society. Hearing the same garbage about the weather and quality complaints from over a retail counter for fifteen fucking years? People think it's all I know: put on a fake smile, apologize for shit that's not my fault, and take a verbal beating like a God-damned dog in need of rescue.
Surprise! I can write. Whether it be by God or my own insanity, I learned to write and speak my opinions, values, and ideas. Before, I was told to keep my head down, stick my nose in the dirt, and let the world spin. My hometown better be quivering in their boots, because I'm unhinged. The doors are broken down, and my name's Johnny. Aaron is no longer the snot-nosed wallflower. I have my wants and desires.
Validation. It's always been my goal. To be accepted in this world… You'd think it should be easier than this.
Love. I picked this one up with trepidation. It was never meant for me, but I've grown to care for this want. My husband taught me the true meaning of being loved. Honestly, it's a shame it took twenty-two years to discover this. Before, it was just a word spoken as I walked out the door.
Success. Oh, she's a conniving bitch. She's a chastity cage suffocating my heart. The more I want her, the tighter she squeezes. The sad part? I have the key. I'm just afraid it's not the right time to let her out.
Peace of mind. This one's like a sumo wrestler. He's big. He wears a mawashi, and no matter how hard you want to look away, your eyes always… Well, you get it. Pushes become shoves, and to him, you're not allowed in the same circle. Just when you get along with the big guy, he puts on his robe, you go out with him for a night on the town, and then comes the restaurant bill. Expensive, isn't it? A week after the date broke the bank account's back, he rushes you. He gives you a hug. Everything's fine. His embrace feels so welcoming and warm until he squeezes. Bear-hug, and not the cute, cuddly kind. About time I picked a chiropractor.
Lastly, individuality. I've hunted for years. Two decades, it seems. I don't know what it's like to be my own person. I know how to act in every situation possible, but when someone asks me to be honest? Sorry, don't got it. Between watching television, salesmanship training, and the retail industry preaching for me to be happy twenty-four-seven, I never had time to discover myself. In high school, I copied people's laughs to find my own, only to fail. If you asked me to impersonate my current laugh now, and then again next week, I doubt it'll be the same.
I tried to express myself with studio art. My fingers couldn't translate. Again with graphic design, but I came to the same conclusion. My brain moves a million miles an hour and I don't have the reaction time to change a brush or software tool. It's truly a kick in the gonads that I found writing many years after college. I never gave it a shot, and for that, I live with regret.
Regret, you devil. You lurk in my shadows. You linger while I work. The moment I do something that negatively affects another, you brand me. Things I've said, done, and even thought about doing… I swim in your sea. I'll never be able to atone for my actions. Shelby, I'm sorry for sixth grade. Mom, I'm sorry for tenth. Dad, remember that time you taught me how to golf? I do. It's burned in my memory.
Fear. So sick and twisted. You're the reason Success is still inside me. You're nothing but a warden. I don't speak because of you. I analyze because of you. Life is a fucking game of chess because of you! I think before I do anything, 'fore if I make a wrong move, you and Regret spit-roast me over the eternal flames of Hell with an audience of demons. So for now, I'll play your game because public sex is not my kink.
Time. What a fickle bastard. You repeat the same day, yet drain the life from me bit by bit. I work the same shift every day. You make my hair fall out. I exercise five times a week. You dampen my sense of sight. I want more of you. You give me yesterday.
My goals and inhibitions coexist, and I see their strings. They're tied at the same hitch, and I'm on their Saint Andrew's cross. Tied down with burning leather, I'm helpless. It's not consensual, but I wouldn't call it rape. I live with it all because they give me room to breathe.
For those who listened to my rant, I thank you. Genuinely. That wasn't one of my retail 'thank you' lines. I didn't want to write this. It just… came out. I unsealed something within me, and I feel like a better person doing so. Maybe my wants and needs aren't as important as I believe. Maybe the desires I have yet to discover are the true keys. I treasure the ones I've found. Noah, you'll always be my light. GA, you keep me moving forward. As for myself, I'll pursue more of myself. Did I say that right? Probably not, but I know what I meant.
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Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are based on the authors' lives and experiences and may be changed to protect personal information. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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