1/30 - Learning Curve
2 April 2012 01:00![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skonen_bladesYou see me as a fellow victor but I don’t see myself that way.
I am an insecure person.
The parts of you that you are proud of
are the parts of me that I’m ashamed of.
The way I like power, for instance.
My self-assuredness. I feel like I make my worst decisions when I fully trust it.
The belief that what little talent or intelligence I have makes me better than other people. I hate that feeling floating around in me.
But those same feelings give you a feeling of superiority.
And, as they’re saying these days, a sense of entitlement.
You sense a fellow being in me but you are wrong.
You talk to me with a sense of collusion and it makes me uneasy.
But I am silent.
I am a diplomatic person.
You see that veneer and assume it hides something similar to what’s hiding in you.
You may be right (in the grand sense that all people hide a monster).
The difference is that you are proud of yours.
And I hate mine.
I believe that we are equals (in the grand sense that all people are equals) but I don’t believe we’re similar.
When you talk to me like we have a deep bond, I feel like I’m committing a small social crime by playing along. When you say you trust me, I feel bad about keeping you at a distance that might not be apparent to you.
I’m scared of you so I recognize the advantage of being your friend.
It’s easy to be a compassionate person because you are so broken that it is easy to feel compassion for you.
But this is what gives you the keys to so many houses.
Houses you’ve left burgled in the night.
And that is a metaphor for sexual assault.
I’m starting to think that my relationship with you is the relationship you have with most of the people you know.
And it’s then I realize that I have conspired with you.
By pretending to play along, I have actually played along.
By seeming to give you license, I have actually given you license.
And now all my meals taste like sand.
tags
I am an insecure person.
The parts of you that you are proud of
are the parts of me that I’m ashamed of.
The way I like power, for instance.
My self-assuredness. I feel like I make my worst decisions when I fully trust it.
The belief that what little talent or intelligence I have makes me better than other people. I hate that feeling floating around in me.
But those same feelings give you a feeling of superiority.
And, as they’re saying these days, a sense of entitlement.
You sense a fellow being in me but you are wrong.
You talk to me with a sense of collusion and it makes me uneasy.
But I am silent.
I am a diplomatic person.
You see that veneer and assume it hides something similar to what’s hiding in you.
You may be right (in the grand sense that all people hide a monster).
The difference is that you are proud of yours.
And I hate mine.
I believe that we are equals (in the grand sense that all people are equals) but I don’t believe we’re similar.
When you talk to me like we have a deep bond, I feel like I’m committing a small social crime by playing along. When you say you trust me, I feel bad about keeping you at a distance that might not be apparent to you.
I’m scared of you so I recognize the advantage of being your friend.
It’s easy to be a compassionate person because you are so broken that it is easy to feel compassion for you.
But this is what gives you the keys to so many houses.
Houses you’ve left burgled in the night.
And that is a metaphor for sexual assault.
I’m starting to think that my relationship with you is the relationship you have with most of the people you know.
And it’s then I realize that I have conspired with you.
By pretending to play along, I have actually played along.
By seeming to give you license, I have actually given you license.
And now all my meals taste like sand.
tags