For three years I was blind and ignorant.
I was selfish. I was angry. I was pathetic. I was revolting.
I comforted myself with my own pity.
"oh woe is me, this wretched being of self disgust breathes yet again on this day"
My scars were created by me for me. They were my safety blanket. I knew of nothing else besides my own detestable qualities, that was easily hidden behind a few shallow self deprecating jokes. That's all I knew, that's all I know; how to make people laugh at me. But there is a certain power in being the one who causes joy, even shallow joy. I could give you a moment of complete bliss; stupid, meaningless bliss and I can take it away just as quickly with a single word, sometimes even less.
For two years I was a fraud and recovering.
I was carefree. I was careless. I was deaf. I was blissful.
I forgot to measure the amount of shallow joy to use, and it started to manipulate my own perception. For a time I thought all was well, I was happy now. The bitterness had passed. But slowly I realized that it had not passed. It was still there, waiting. Waiting for me to slip, to trip, to fall. I fought hard, and won a few battles. But there were some loses, big losses. Some to the point where I wanted to retreat far back so that eventually it becomes a surrender.
For one year I was aware and conscious.
I could taste the sweet lies I told myself. I could feel the grasp of idiocy that was on my mind.
My ears could hear and my eyes could see. Suddenly I understand so much more about myself.
And all I want to do is crawl into a hole, close my eyes, and scream.