I love the person I’ve become
Some people don’t like me. Some people for good reason, and some for no reason at all. The latter are my haters, and I especially love them because they just reassure me that I’m always going to be better than them. But guess what, people? None of that matters in the big picture. Also, in some cases I agree with you. I hate things about myself too, but at least I have the mind to strive towards improving those flaws. In case anyone ever wondered, here’s what I think of myself.
I love my big heart. I love the idea of love. Love stories, people I see in love, whatever. I love hard, and that’s been a blessing and a curse for me. I’m too loyal. I stay in situations I don’t deserve. I’m the one always really really believing I can make it work when it hasn’t even been worth fixing. I just hate change. At first, that is. Change is so scary but it’s so amazingly awesome and equally necessary in life.
I find myself at a crossroad lately, and I’m just dangling here like “what the fuck do I do?” I feel like I already know the answer, but I don’t like that answer. I just tighten my grip and continue to hang there uselessly. The problem here isn’t me, but in a way it really is. I hate that about myself. If I took my own advice I would have a perfect life. (Sigh.) I just don’t know sometimes.
I love my sense of humor. I love my quick wit and my effortless sarcasm. I feel like they are almost a talent, and part of what define me as a person. I need the laughter and the comedy around in my life. If you can’t take a joke, then… well, frankly, you’re fucked and doomed to live forever in misery. I like that I’m not one of those people.
I hate the way I’ve handled other relatonships within my family. I don’t like that I physically have a sister, but emotionally we both see ourselves as only children in a way. There was never that spark, that bond, that all other siblings have. I don’t understand it, and maybe I never will. Perhaps I’ll figure it out when it’s too late. I wasn’t always the best sister. I was actually a rotten, awful, horrible older sister. I look back and remember things I’ve said or done to her and I just cringe.
I do love my creativity. I love that I can write, I can paint and sketch, I can sing, and I love my imagination. I have come up with beautiful artwork, I have written things that have impressed me years later.
I hate that I have social anxiety nowadays, and I don’t like to go out anywhere for fun. What the fuck is that? I don’t like to go anywhere fun. And then I sit around and wonder where the time goes, and I wish I did this, and I wish I did that. That really sucks about me. That is something I need to work on like, immediately. Life is too short for these silly “weirdnesses” that I come up with.
I think my favorite thing is the Shannon I’ve become just in the last couple years. The old Shannon went through hell for a very, very long time in almost every aspect of life. The new Shannon knows why, and has accepted responsibility. I have learned from mistakes, and I’ve made more. I’ve gained an incredible wisdom that some people will never have. I appreciate the bad because it makes me appreciate more of the good. I’m that girl who literally stops to smell the roses, or just pauses on a walk and looks up for awhile.
I find myself taking it all in, because these are the things that matter most. The love, the nature, the gratitude of others, all of it. I love that I have learned to think the way I do now. I hate what I endured in order to realize it, but I appreciate the journey now, and I think that makes me a great person. So that’s what I think. I think I’m a fabulous, damaged, hopeful human being.