Or: how I ended up careening off the rails in only nineteen words
Alternately: Because I'm me, a mostly-not-relevant David Byrne moment:
How did I get here?
A person's self-image is the mental picture, generally of a kind that is quite resistant to change, that depicts not only details that are potentially available to objective investigation by others (height, weight, hair color, gender, I.Q. score, etc.), but also items that have been learned by that person about himself or herself, either from personal experiences or by internalizing the judgments of others. A simple definition of a person's self-image is their answer to this question - "What do you believe people think about you?".
Well, I actually have to start somewhere, so I'll start at the beginning. Not the beginning of this story (*I'll get there though*) but at the beginning of where the story starts.
Inane's wonderfully witty sass
sass (ss) Informaln.Impertinent, disrespectful speech; back talk.
tr.v. sassed,
sass·ing,
sass·esTo talk impudently to.
Seems pretty innocuous. Compliments are good. Lots of people, smart people, have rapier-like wit. An ability to see to the heart of an issue combined with endless world-weary sardonicism.
God I fucking hate those people.
I've always prided myself on certain things. Honesty. Loyalty. Not making excuses. Being there for anybody who needed somebody. Being a good brother and a good son. An endless, overflowing ability to believe that things are gonna work out no matter what. (*I've had to, it's kept me sane through some crazy shit*)
And at some point I ended up pretty far away from that. Like, really far. After that, I did some soul searching. And stuff. This isn't very well thought out, but bear with me. It will make sense. Or it would, but now this post is too long. Oh well. >_> Sorry.
Comments
You have my bow word.
☭ B̤̺͍̰͕̺̠̕u҉̖͙̝̮͕̲ͅm̟̼̦̠̹̙p͡s̹͖ ̻T́h̗̫͈̙̩r̮e̴̩̺̖̠̭̜ͅa̛̪̟͍̣͎͖̺d͉̦͠s͕̞͚̲͍ ̲̬̹̤Y̻̤̱o̭͠u̥͉̥̜͡ ̴̥̪D̳̲̳̤o̴͙̘͓̤̟̗͇n̰̗̞̼̳͙͖͢'҉͖t̳͓̣͍̗̰ ͉W̝̳͓̼͜a̗͉̳͖̘̮n͕ͅt͚̟͚ ̸̺T̜̖̖̺͎̱ͅo̭̪̰̼̥̜ ̼͍̟̝R̝̹̮̭ͅͅe̡̗͇a͍̘̤͉͘d̼̜ ⚢