I don’t want help. I feel ashamed when I need help.
I hate being seen in a helpless situation.
It goes far.
I don’t want to be seen waiting to cross a street. I’d rather walk along the street as if am going somewhere else, and then when the street is empty I cross.
I don’t like asking for services.
Maybe my real anthem should be ‘Serve the Servants’ by Nirvana. Just for the title. I’d rather serve in some capacity than be served. Like teaching is in many ways being a servant. You are in control, but to make it go smoothly you have to cater to the needs of the student.
Odd, because I’m a spoilt only child. I’m very used to having people do things for me.
I always use the same taxi service and the same drivers. When I’m familiar with someone I mind it a little less awkward that they are doing something for me. Absurd because I am PAYING the taxi driver.
I can’t be seen as weak.
I’d rather pretend I’m flegmatic and easy-going so people won’t know I care. If you’re defeated but people think you didn’t care, it’s like you weren’t defeated. Inside I care enough to get me my first heart-attack somewhere in the not too distant future. Inside am a total control freak. I can be spontaneous, but it’s studied spontaneity. It’s just looks like spontaneity.
I walk around and my entire body is tense. There’s a strain on my bones. I feel like I can be attacked at any moment. Not physically, but verbally. Not so much attacked, surprised. Be surprised and look silly.
Every day I manage to make my life into a crazy exercise in looking sort of normal.
One of my biggest fears is coming across as impolite or disrespectful. Of course, you can’t please everyone all the time. Having to deal with waiters and waitresses turns me into a blob of revolting nervousness.
When it comes to teaching am never satisfied. When students don’t progress fast enough I blame me. If they are bored I blame me.
I give, because I feel just being is never enough.
I suppose it’s because
1. I felt I didn’t live up to my father’s expectations. Those were so high and so diverse and often even in opposition of each other that it was impossible. But still, I feel like I could have got closer.
2. We grew up in poverty, and even though I personally was always swimming in cash somehow because working class people are FAR, FAR more generous than people in the middle or upper classes, I was mad at the world for rejecting us.
Knowing the root of your problems is not the cure.
There’s this myth that when you finally know WHY you (mal)function, you will suddenly become a different, cured, person.
Well, no. You just know that’s all. You do the stuff you know is crazy, except now you know why you feel the way you feel inside.
You can’t undo your childhood.
I can’t even say I had a bad childhood. I personally was spoilt, but I suffered, I suffered because my father suffered, and even as a 6 year old I was frustrated because I wanted more from girls than they were willing to give, and when they were willing, I got scared.
I really have the mental framework to suffer even circumstances are quite promising.
Not that there aren’t things that can bring me out of this state, little things, almost always connected to people, no matter how dissapointed I get in life, an act of kindness can still shock me out of my morbid state.