“my legacy is the times i got mad”
i have a good mother, she sometimes comforted me when i got mad,
or when i got bullied (which is when i got mad), or when i got bullied online (which is also when i got mad),
or when i was inconvenienced by the tiniest thing ever (which is when i got mad), or when i felt that nobody cares that i’m mad (which is also when i got mad),
she sometimes comforted me, 「別生氣」，she said, or “don’t be mad” for all you illiterates.
and she said that i’m like my father,
he was also mad, he was also sometimes comforted,
i told my mom to divorce him before i could even understand what a mental disorder is,
and all i remember of him are the times he was mad, his legacy, a trauma.
and she said that i’m like my father,
i’m also mad, i’m also sometimes comforted,
i told people to leave me alone before i could even understand what an isolation is,
and all i think of myself are the times i’m mad, my legacy, a ———.
and i’ve known a lot of people,
i can’t call them friends because it implies i was worth their time to be around them,
they have mental illnesses, they have personality disorders, they have depression, they have anxiety,
they have autism, they have adhd, they have disabilities, they have whatever else psychiatry has come up with,
they have chronic pain, they have EDS, they have POTS, and they have a bunch of other things i can’t quite name right now, whatever else medicine has come up with,
they have genders, they have sexualities, they have political ideologies, they have thoughts and feelings,
but none of them ever quite get mad like i do,
none of them fail to regulate their anger,
none of them ever get angry,
and they fear when i,
when i get mad,
i get mad,
i don’t want to get mad,
but i’m just like my father,
and if love can’t see it through, if 5 decades of life can’t see it through,
how am i meant to believe that anyone would still want to be around me ever again,
when i get mad like i always did, when i fail to regulate my emotions yet again, when i yell and break down and isolate,
even when i try so hard to be better,
even if i just slip once,
i feel the reaper on my neck,
he whispers,
“your legacy, a trauma.”
“introspection is for people who can’t cry”
and i think i’m depressed.
i qualify for the psychiatric definition of “being depressed,” though i do not qualify for clinical depression,
and i’m probably anxious all the time,
but i also don’t qualify for clinical anxiety anymore,
but even then,
all these words,
all these labels,
all these descriptions,
all these categorisations,
are just there,
because introspection is for people who can’t cry,
and maybe i cry really hard sometimes,
but it’s always because i can only spend my time introspecting,
i can only spend my time thinking about the past,
i can only get stuck on all the things i’ve been through and all the things i’ve done,
because i know if i don’t keep doing it,
then tears will be what’s left of me,
and people will leave me crying on the floor,
and tell me “i can’t keep doing this,”
and leave me to think,
“then why do i keep doing this,”
“then why didn’t i kill myself when i was 14?”
and yet i know it’s a fantasy,
because as long as i have the mind to think,
i wouldn’t allow myself to get close to people,
i wouldn’t allow myself to hurt more people,
if i just purely exist as the sweet and kind image i project out,
the façade of a squeaking mouse,
the image of an angel, so strong and caring,
then at least,
at least, even if i get mad,
the image is only broken for a select few people,
and the portrait i hang on people’s walls won’t be stained,
and they might remember me when i die,
and they might remember something other than the times i got mad,
and they might remember me beyond the flaws that i have,
and they might remember me more than i ever do,
that they might, when the reaper whispers, remember,
“their legacy, a ———,”
just please be anything other than “trauma.”
“but maybe if i pretended to be a good person”
and i said this year has been mostly good so far,
and i said i stopped being suicidal,
and i said that i’ve been doing better than ever,
and i said i’m glad to be alive.
but i never say the bad parts of the year,
but i never say the self-destruction thoughts,
but i never say what i’m comparing against,
but i never say i’m happy.
and i tell people all these things about me,
these facts and tidbits,
these thoughts and philosophies,
these principles and narratives,
the positive things, the actionable things, the sensible things, the sane things,
but i never tell people that it’s all a lie,
it’s all a character i’ve mad up,
it’s the electric signals in my brain that lies to itself that it is real,
and i’m not real, none of this is real,
i’m a fraud of the most literal sense,
i forged my entire identity,
and i fooled people with it,
i fooled people enough that they fell in love with me,
but they always eventually figured out all my little lies and deceptions,
i fooled people enough that they trusted me,
but they always eventually got betrayed by what’s actually underneath.
and i can’t help but notice,
why would you keep reading this?
if you read the above words, then you must still be reading,
and you’re still just reading an image i’ve put up for display,
you still don’t know the real me,
words can only describe,
i can describe my past and present,
i can project them into my future,
you don’t know me, you’ve never talked to me,
you’ll only ever talk to the figure i puppeteer,
until my tricks eventually fail me, and you eventually leave,
and although i hope you never know the real me, my conscience wants me dead,
i can’t keep up the act,
i don’t want to be a villain,
but if all i wanted was care and love,
and my choices are between “hurting people (and i’m dead),” and “hurting people (and i’m not dead),”
maybe i should choose the option where i’m still alive,
even if all so selfishly.
“that i could end the story on a happy note”
i always tell myself to end the story on a happy note,
or at least a meaningful one,
or at least a message,
or at least a lesson,
because all i know about being alive,
is learning,
and observing,
and introspecting,
and thinking,
and being quiet,
and not talking in class,
and doing my homework,
and grinding alone,
and failing my classes,
and trying again,
and failing the systems that mould me,
and cogs falling out,
and it’s all going wrong,
and observing,
and introspecting,
and thinking,
and being quiet,
and not talking in class,
and doing my homework,
and grinding alone,
and failing my classes,
and trying again,
and failing the systems that mould me,
and cogs falling out,
and it’s all going wrong,
and observing,
and introspecting,
and thinking,
and being quiet,
and not talking in class,
and doing my homework,
and grinding alone,
and failing my classes,
and trying again,
and failing the systems that mould me,
and cogs falling out,
and it’s all going wrong,
and observing,
and introspecting,
and thinking,
and being quiet,
and not talking in class,
and doing my homework,
and grinding alone,
and failing my classes,
and trying again,
and failing the systems that mould me,
and cogs falling out,
and it’s all going wrong,
and observing,
and introspecting,
and thinking,
and being quiet,
and not talking in class,
and doing my homework,
and grinding alone,
and failing my classes,
and trying again,
and failing the systems that mould me,
and cogs falling out,
and it’s all going wrong,
and observing,
and introspecting,
and thinking,
and being quiet,
and not talking in class,
and doing my homework,
and grinding alone,
and failing my classes,
and trying again,
and failing the systems that mould me,
and cogs falling out,
and it’s all going wrong,
and observing,
and introspecting,
and thinking,
and being quiet,
and not talking in class,
and doing my homework,
and grinding alone,
and failing my classes,
and trying again,
and failing the systems that mould me,
and cogs falling out,
and it’s all going wrong,
and observing,
and introspecting,
and thinking,
and being quiet,
and not talking in class,
and doing my homework,
and grinding alone,
and failing my classes,
and trying again,
and failing the systems that mould me,
and cogs falling out,
and it’s all going wrong,
and observing,
and introspecting,
and thinking,
and being quiet,
and not talking in class,
and doing my homework,
and grinding alone,
and failing my classes,
and trying again,
and failing the systems that mould me,
and cogs falling out,
and it’s all going wrong,