who i am.

I have always been a man self-aware of his inner being.  I’m talking about the spirit inside of me. But I’m not speaking of the spiritual or religious phenomena, just the normal inner person who we really are. I’d like to say that I am more in touch with my emotions than I used to be because, as I’ve grown, I’ve paid more attention my spirit than my image, and I’ve communicated my heart in more honestly since then.

So, when I say I cry often people may take that I’m saying I have frequent breakdowns or such, but all that I am saying is that the little man who lives inside me cries a lot. I have gotten myself into this complex where I’ve paid more attention to the man inside me than logic sometimes. The man inside me says, “Say this.” And I do. The best way I guess I can put it is “earnest”.

The journey to get here was hard and I teetered over Niagara in the wheelbarrow for a little while there. I’d love to say I’ve always been generally honest and I have just been working harder towards it recently, but such is not the case. I’ve always generally been dishonest. And you wouldn’t believe what got me into the habit of communicating my emotions so vividly to everyone. It was my high horse.

Months ago, I decided that if I felt like I was gonna be a jerk, I’d better be one and not be a hypocrite who faked. Much has returned to slap my face, and the horse is corralled for the best part this day, but my honesty about what the man inside me wants to get out is still flowing through my veins.

Quiet, calm, and collective has been a recent development. I tried to start last summer when I began to disassociate with people (for my own personal gain: relief). I just began to shut up more I guess. As I began to slip out of select people’s lives (as I specifically want to leave chosen people in the dust) and slip into OTHER select people’s lives, I became minimally respected as someone who didn’t freak out easily. I just stuck to myself, in some comfortable and self-satisfying stubbornness.

Leaving school, scraping jail, and getting bombarded by Christian dogma only sent me running faster toward Quiet Hill, and now I can hardly convey my thoughts. But at least I still feel the dancing or fainting of that little man inside me. I’ve not been able to tell a lie to any person who’s genuinely asked and was genuinely paying attention to my given feelings.

Sometimes I wonder if people watching me think there’s something wrong. I hear a lot of cut-rate judgments from puffed-up adults about how they “can tell when something’s not right because look at the way he [or she] is dressed” and such. Makes me wonder if they’re Christian because it makes them feel wise. It’s awful hard to love them back when you know there’s things said about you.