If I'd written this a few days, no, a few hours ago, perhaps the words you're reading would've been spelled differently. Isn't that the difference, a few letters, scribbles, consonants and vowels , change what I'm saying? No, not really. Letters, scribbles, chicken scratch, sounds, all they do is serve to translate and transcribe the drums in my head into something coherent. And compared to a few hours ago, my mental drumbeat is entirely different. It's a new composition. Perhaps they fired the conductor, perhaps they finished playing the previous piece.
It's become a fact of my life - to be with someone I must change. It's been drilled into my head by every boy, every lover, every one, all the time. I, as I am, am not good enough. I'm flawed and wrong and that's wrong and. No one wants flaws. It's like throwing a ball of steel wool at a toddler and rubbing it raw. No one wants their innocence scrubbed away, not by my mass of angry, violent, ever shifting never still entropy. So I have to change. And I always consent. It's a bit strange, considering how hard headed I can be. Ask me to do something, and I'll most probably do the opposite. I'd hold my breath til death do us part of someone commanded me to breathe. But, what with my minuscule sense of self and ridiculous self-esteem deficit, any time a boy I like bats an eyelash at me or leaks out a kind word, or -heaven help me- touches me like he cares, I am useless. I will do whatever you want, don't leave me! And of course I'm flawed, yes, I am, I'll fix it just stay, love me, I'll fix it I'll change I'm sorry I'm me, I really am, I can't apologize enough.
For once though, it would be nice to be with someone who wanted to be with me, and not this idea in their head of what I could be. It would be nice for someone to see my steel wool soul and think hey, that's cool.or even, I could live with that. But that's never going to happen. It's a slow suicide, being me, and anyone who wouldn't mind that would be perfect to fall into oblivion with me. I have never met anyone so ready to collapse inwards as me before. I suppose relationships are full of promises, the biggest one is of a future together and my current state barely guarantees a tomorrow. I like it that way, I'm comfortable that way, I'm comfortable being me, and my way is that way. But I understand how no one else can stand it. I understand it's wrong and flawed and of course, so genuinely me (therefore I am as well. Of course. No surprise. I knew that already. I'm sorry).
But I'll settle for second best. And that's not to say I'm settling in any way for what I have now. I phrased that wrong. I did something wrong again. The wall is getting full of chalk marks to account for all my misdoings.
For the first time, someone asked nicely. And then felt guilty for asking. And I am all turned around like licorice inside since this has never happened before. There has never been a doubt or a smidge of anything but sureness in anyone who has asked me to change. Because! Look at me! I'm a mess. Of course I need to change. I need to change who I am, I need to change what I enjoy, I need to change what I do because it's all WRONG WRONG WRONG I am essentially wrong I am a huge mistake, a miscalculated bomb that didn't go off when it was supposed to so now I'm just a shell waiting for an explosion, something to blast me out of the water and initiate my end.
So when C came over when I was sick and sad and he listened to me and he asked if I wanted to change, which no one has ever done before I wasn't even aware there was anything but ultimatums at the start of relationships, I melted. My eyes, already molten from the fever, sank back and dripped into my skull and my brain has lost all its wrinkles because of the heat. I lie pathologically so I started a new one - one so convincing I'll even hoodwink myself! - yes. Yes yes yes I'll change I want to change I'll do it for you, it's not because you asked, but because I want to enjoy this, enjoy us, enjoy kissing you and I know you don't like the taste of smoke. I've repeated it enough I believe it and it's no longer a lie, it's the truth. I've suppressed any bad thoughts, I'm very good at that, at burying the dead and the bad and the irrelevant, I'm very handy with the mental shovel. So it's true now. And I'm not lying when I say it. Anymore. I want this. I really do. And if it means killing who I am, well, aren't I suicidal to begin with?
I'll make this work. Even if the 'me' I'm talking about here is still up for debate. 'I'll' figure it out.'I' really, really, really, want this.