To be honest and true with myself has become my primary goal. From beginning to end, I have been and will ultimately only be in the grace of my own company, and how dreadful it must be, how awful it really is, to not understand what that entails and to be resistant to what obligation you have toward yourself. The reluctance people have in spite of this pursuit and their refusal to acknowledge their own face in the mirror is what sets apart those who still feel warmth when faced with boreal winds and those who are unmoved when the sky becomes scarlet, for what appreciation can one have toward life when their own life is riddled with uncertainty and words left unspoken. This is the curious condition, which has ailed mankind since the dawn of time, continuing to fester like a rotten wound, a bitterness so deeply set within their hearts they don’t see love for what it truly is and what grace they truly deserve. How it gnawed at me, my every bone being chewed upon by this maw of darkness, only to be spat out; but of course, those marks remain. My soul, scarred as it was, was disbarred from embracing its essence, and instead forced (naturally, no matter how I spin it, this was all my own doing in the end) to break, crack, and reform into a shape unlike its own. And for what? To appear seemly, its brilliant color rendered so washed to blend in, but losing its luster in the process? Let’s call it for what it was: this was not just a surrender, it was an erasure. I let the world attach strings to my arms and my mouth, and the voice that came from me was not my own, those were not my words. I only did and said what I thought would be the most receivable. Do you see it now? When put like that, and even on the outset, it is clear how terribly dull and dismal a fate such as that is. I had lips which dismayed at their improper use, vocal chords which shuddered indignantly the way I rendered myself mute; or worse, as I said before, the way I spoke in a voice unlike my own. And, again, for what? Who was I trying so desperately to please? I couldn’t understand it. I wanted the world, in all its glory, to take me by the hand and behold me before an audience and their thunderous applause, the many souls standing before me, joyous only because I stood before them and what a gift that was, how fortunate a day that would be. Seriously? How mad I must’ve been! Yes, what I really desired was so simple: their validation. Goddamn it, I just wanted to be seen! But not just seen, but understood, and not just understood, but appraised highly. And I thought to myself and said, “Here’s how I’ll do it!” I’ll appease to them, I’ll distort the shape of my own soul to appear like theirs, and like a chameleon, I became so many colors, but it all came at a cost: who was I really? What was my own color like? I held myself in disdain. That much is self-evident, because after all, if that wasn’t the case, why was I so dishonest about my own identity and what I stood for? I wanted to be a king, instead I turned myself into a court jester, never serving myself, only others; could I really join in their laughs as I make such a mockery of myself? Loyalty is worthless when its at the expense of yourself. I lost myself in this befuddlement and though I felt their love, what use is their love when it sounds so far away while I’m trapped in a ravine of my own undoing? How horrible, and yet, how immersive. It became me, but so not like me, because it wasn’t me, and yet it appeared to be me for so long. And from a sudden shock, I became unraveled, truly in disarray, but it was from this tangled mess of self that I picked myself up, part by part, and from the pieces of essence that I held in my hands, I saw myself so clearly for the first time, albeit in fragments, and it moved me so deeply I trembled and cried so intensely, every waterfall in the world would shake their head in shame of themselves because what a glorious sight I was; so fragmented and yet so me, a human being who opened his eyes for the very first time. I faced myself then, gazing so heavily in the mirror my reflection might as well have reached out and held me, and how beautiful that would’ve been, to be able to hold yourself and find comfort in your own arms. Do not mistake that for narcissism, because for so long, I would look at myself in disgust, and yet in that moment all I wanted was to be him; I wanted to embrace the thought of being me. Do you get it? “When I had nothing” was a bold lie I had been trying to impose on myself because I’ve always had myself, and what a comfort that is, to be comfortable in your company. I exist in the center of my own universe. I am the world itself, flaws and all, and I now celebrate that. To be myself is the greatest gift ever imparted upon me. And so, the pursuit has become clear. How was I not gentle to myself before? For a plant to grow strong under the care of another, you must be patient, you must not neglect it, and you must not overwater it either. I tried to be nothing before, and when I tried to be better for myself, I ended up trying to be too much at once. Excess exudes from me, but that’s not too horrible, I just need to remain rooted in my approach. Why wouldn’t I cherish myself? This is beyond the incessant ramblings of a man; this is me expressing who I was, who I am, and who I am becoming. The most satisfactory answer I could give to any inquiry would be this: “Self-injury does not make a man out of anybody; for all that is known, you must learn to love truthfully in order to grow.” shortfin
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