Rossi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deathpixie) wrote2001-06-05 06:27 pm
deathpixie) wrote2001-06-05 06:27 pm
Confidence and Paranoia.
(The Dwarfers among you will recognise the title)
Let me introduce you to a couple of "friends" of mine; Confidence and Paranoia.
I think of my Confidence as the "Rossi" part of me; she's the creative, happy one, the one who is warmly welcomed into chat rooms and who dispenses hugs and virtual Tim Tams and words of comfort nad (hopefully) wisdom. She's clever, she's bright, and she has the energy to do anything and everything she wants. Confidence is cheerful, makes naughty jokes, dances in pubs and doesn't care what she looks like; she's everyone's friend.
Paranoia doesn't have a persona per se, but essentially she is my high school self, the clumsy, unattractive, shy and prickly person who couldn't seem to work out how to get along with people and who spent a lot of her time shut away with a book. She is the one who looks on the dark side of everything, finds the hidden agenda for any act of kindness or word of praise, the one who awaits the day that people find out what a sham she is. She tells me that I'm weak if I cry, in denial if I don't. She is the voice that tells me I'll never be loved again, that I'm a terrible person, and that I might as well throw in the towel.
Y'see, I'm old enough to know that I need both these sides of me. Without Confidence I'd never have the courage to do anything, and without Paranoia, I'd get a horribly swelled head and become unbearable to know. So I don't wish them away. But sometimes, when Paranoia is sitting on my shoulder, filling my head with negative thoughts, I'm ready to look for the nearest garbage disposal unit, I can tell you.
I wish I was dealing better with things. I really do. I hate being like this, so damn edgy and over-sensitive. I'm a strong person, or so I've been told, and I want to be strong, but it's hard to be strong when you find yourself feeling envious whilst looking at pictures of happy couples. It's hard to be strong when the crappiest, soppiest love songs on radio make you pause. When you want to smash the TV the next time you see someone get lucky. When you hear your ex talking sweet-talk to the girl he dumped you for, or watch him making a fool of himself in a way he never did over you.
I can get through this. I will get through this. But in my own damn time, and in my own way. Twelve years doesn't just disappear over a cup of tea and a packet of Tim Tams. And no-one wishes that wasn't the case more than I do.
Let me introduce you to a couple of "friends" of mine; Confidence and Paranoia.
I think of my Confidence as the "Rossi" part of me; she's the creative, happy one, the one who is warmly welcomed into chat rooms and who dispenses hugs and virtual Tim Tams and words of comfort nad (hopefully) wisdom. She's clever, she's bright, and she has the energy to do anything and everything she wants. Confidence is cheerful, makes naughty jokes, dances in pubs and doesn't care what she looks like; she's everyone's friend.
Paranoia doesn't have a persona per se, but essentially she is my high school self, the clumsy, unattractive, shy and prickly person who couldn't seem to work out how to get along with people and who spent a lot of her time shut away with a book. She is the one who looks on the dark side of everything, finds the hidden agenda for any act of kindness or word of praise, the one who awaits the day that people find out what a sham she is. She tells me that I'm weak if I cry, in denial if I don't. She is the voice that tells me I'll never be loved again, that I'm a terrible person, and that I might as well throw in the towel.
Y'see, I'm old enough to know that I need both these sides of me. Without Confidence I'd never have the courage to do anything, and without Paranoia, I'd get a horribly swelled head and become unbearable to know. So I don't wish them away. But sometimes, when Paranoia is sitting on my shoulder, filling my head with negative thoughts, I'm ready to look for the nearest garbage disposal unit, I can tell you.
I wish I was dealing better with things. I really do. I hate being like this, so damn edgy and over-sensitive. I'm a strong person, or so I've been told, and I want to be strong, but it's hard to be strong when you find yourself feeling envious whilst looking at pictures of happy couples. It's hard to be strong when the crappiest, soppiest love songs on radio make you pause. When you want to smash the TV the next time you see someone get lucky. When you hear your ex talking sweet-talk to the girl he dumped you for, or watch him making a fool of himself in a way he never did over you.
I can get through this. I will get through this. But in my own damn time, and in my own way. Twelve years doesn't just disappear over a cup of tea and a packet of Tim Tams. And no-one wishes that wasn't the case more than I do.