"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts…"
I started writing a couple of days ago with the hope to come to an understanding not of myself, but of where I am right now. What part I am playing? But the unthinkable happened: writer's-fucking-block! It is –in my opinion- the intellectual equivalent of blue balls. You want to get there (the release) but somehow, you simply can't. Luckily today, I feel more inspired, therefore I shall go on…
All the world is a stage they say, I agree. We are all playing a part in this very improvised play, we get to play many even. We play and change characters as we go. Some days we play the lover, others the bad guy, the dreamer, the narcissistic, the victim, the disappointed, the winner, the proud, etc. Some days we're consumed by sadness, some by fear, sometimes we're kind and even considerate, sometimes we're not. But to have the ability to play many parts is what makes it so exciting -to be part of this, the ultimate play.
I say this –to myself- I have played many parts. I still am. Every time someone throws me a curve, it changes the course of my "very own" character. Sometimes it's not even a person, sometimes just a situation –believe me- I've been in many awkward ones. I'm starting to think, awkwardness is my comfort zone. Mood changes and passive-aggressive behavior: hallmarks of my very own character. Am I happy with that? Fuck no, but then again that's me.
How unpredictable life is? People ask as well… Funny I ask myself that very same question. And I ask again: unpredictable? Hmm? Sometimes I feel like I've been living an experience twice-which sucks! Why didn't I learn my lesson the first time around? Why do I have to wait for the second, third, even fourth time? And when I think about it, I believe maybe it's just a pattern, my pattern. I'd hate to think I follow one though, but maybe I do. I guess not so "unpredictable" after all. Ultimately, I just want to find my home, whoever that is. I want to stop knocking on random doors but more often than not, when I feel I'm so close to the one, so close I can reach for the knob, I feel like I'm living another fucking déjà vu and the door is way too familiar...And then I do something that puzzles me, I turn around and walk away. Why ?
Will I ever let somebody love me again?...My fear is that no one really knows me, and they can't love me unless they truly know me. I want them to love me for who I am, the whole fucking package, with all my flaws. Maybe they try and I'm just too hard to understand…That is when my intimacy issues kick in and I acknowledge I have many. Yes, I am still a fucking mess. I do wish someone would come along, shake me up and say: STOP ALREADY! I do love you, you fucking mess!! I just want to finally believe them.
But this I know: I strive everyday to gain more knowledge, not just about me- but the role I'm playing. I crave to know more, and little by little I do –in fact- know more, but sometimes I am horrified to realize I've been walking around with what I only thought were clean underwear….until someone always points them out to me and once again I say to myself…Oh FUCK!
"And when the crowd becomes your burden
And you've early closed your curtains,
I will wait by the backstage door
While you try to find the lines to speak your mind
And pry it open, hoping for an encore
And if it gets too late, for me to wait
For you to find you love me, and tell me so
It's ok, don't need to say it…"
*DISCLAIMER: I do acknowledge that this may not make sense to anyone else but me, well maybe one other person. Then again this is "my" outlet. Mine, alone…but perhaps yours too…