One of the many reasons why I will never be happy is because I will never be one of the numerous women I envy. I have to work extra hard to look effortlessly cool, even if it’s for the shortest while. I crave the kind of love reserved for great novels but know I could not handle it or be worthy of it. I want a great many things but cannot put the work in to get them.
I have this ideal in my head; the woman I am supposed to be. A woman who is as far from my birthright as possible. Do not mistake me, I am not ashamed of my birthright, it just doesn’t seem to be me. I don’t fit in anywhere, even in the places I should. I am not comfortable with myself. I can however look in the mirror for over ten minutes but that is mainly due to my underlining narcissism.
This woman is surface perfect, she is strong and mature. She has impeccable manners and is incredibly intelligent, she is graceful and elegant. Underneath she has fire; she is cunning and a master manipulator when called upon. Her appearance is flawless and she rarely makes mistakes but when she does, she handles them with effortless charm. This is the woman I aspire to be. I am none of these things.
If I could just get out of my own head, I might have a shot at being her. If I could just stop being depressed, I might be worthy of a life. I want to live inside a movie and have everything work out perfectly, not just because there will be a strong yet insightful protagonist ready to catch me when I fall and tell me everything will be alright, but because I want, no, need to feel that complete faith in someone. I wish I could trust like they do in the movies, no matter how badly they have been hurt before they can still fall in to a K-hole of love. The last time I was blinded by love was almost ten years ago. I want it back. I want the all-consuming, all in, nothing else exists, dangerous love. Dizzy, sickening, fluttering, swooning, enveloping love.