Tracing The Past of an Arm Once Harmed

Looking back at the various fragments of my memories that are in pieces large enough to make sense, I often find myself questioning just what exactly has caused me to allow myself to be as emotionally slightly out of place as I am now. I don’t find myself to be particularly one dimentional, sure. Most people don’t and I would like to think most people aren’t as well. But I doubt that with so many citizens of planet earth, I am of a unique flavour.

I see the world in a way that simply does not require a larger force at play to entertain, please or pity me. Everyone else is everyone else, I am me. I expect ignorance from the universe, anything else would be a surprise. Considering statistics at least, there are certainly those who are better off than I am, and there are certainly those who are much worse. Being part of the spectrum just makes me as normal as anyone else. So long as one does not reside at the ends of said spectrum, one could easily fit in.

However when I look into my skin which writes a past, I begin to wonder just how far off a societal accepted norm I am. In terms of external manisfestations at least I’m sure I’ve got most of it pinned down, but my thoughts remain the same. It is only my action of which I have chosen to change, in this case, my decision to not take action. Yet considering the world once again, there are those who are far more south than I am, and it is not strange to note that I am in fact, reasonably normal in such a comparison.

The sum of my experiences may have molded me to think in a way that deviates slightly from one who would have had a different experience, but given that if they had experienced what I have, would they not be any different from me?

I sit on the shoulders of the giants I can reach, in the shadows of those beyond me, and I see the world in a way I don’t find uncommon. It has the good, the bad, the ugly, not unlike what any other person would think. My considerations on the matter often does not stray much from most others though I do often tend to have a more pessimistic and sadistic view of the world, but that stems completely from my sense of selfishness. As would for most others once they would come to accept this as fact I’m sure.

Growing up, I’ve learned to let go of many trains of thoughts. Regret, blame, and pity to name a few. Too often too many humans waste their time and effort wasting away at exercising their rights to these emotions and actions, when one could just as easily be a little more self critical and solve many more things. Yet at the same time I find myself simultaneously giving up hopes, dreams and happiness. To stop pursuing that which I would see then as also being a waste of effort and time. It would seem nowadays I still mostly hold on to this, as much as it might seem a negative quality to many.

Perhaps the most influencial tool I had from my upbringing was the capacity to be self critical. On the one hand, to see oneself as being fallable gives plenty of room for improvement. Though on the other, it did lead to, in my case at the very least, a lot more self blame than most humans would probably encounter. Probably.

The undeniable fact about this however, is that it has given me a much higher willingness to learn, and a much lower self confidence. That is not to say I have not noticed or done anything about it. Emulating confident behaviour is not something particularly hard to do and actions can in fact help invoke the proper thought process, but it is something that does not reflect what I am. That said, if one behaves confidently, speaks confidently, and is capable of putting up a display of confidence, does a cowardice thought process still makes one a coward?

When I think of the fragments of my past that has left its traces onto me, I sometimes find myself being awefully aware of the effect it has given. An almost tingly sensation as my arm starts to feel almost uneasy, almost, waiting for more.

I can’t deny that the idea has crossed my mind time and time again for the past several years of my life. Though substitutes can be imagined and applied, there is nothing quite like it. To simply take all the frustration and anger and uneasiness and discomfort and sadness and despair and loathing and just erase it, just like that. Or having been brought to life out of the cold and numb and repetitive and dead world.

To have such an instant and efficient solution for feeling overwhelmed or fading into nothingness, it seems almost a shame I had willingly kept myself from it.

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