This post was written to the instrumental of “Song Cry” by Jay-Z, so to fully understand it, play that track when you read this. Note: I DO NOT CARE IF ANY OF THIS MAKES SENSE TO YOU.
I know that if you dream then things can be achieved, I know that when things are achieved then your from your dream you’ve managed to succeed. See I know that in a way I’m already famous even if I’m not famous yet. I am somebody that people want to know, I am “Who I thought I was”..You get it??
My mind wonders all the time, about life about death about the good and the bad. I think about all that I’ve done and what I’m about to do. Is it so wrong that my dream is to be someone that others’ dream to be? Am I supposed to sit here and dream to be someone else? I want people to connect to what I have to say, even when what I have to say makes no sense. Everyone is so busy trying to keep to themselves yet I live for the attention of everyone around me, see I sit here and smile at what it is that I see in my head. I see all the things that I write now eventually being read by that “right person” that person being a risk taker. Someone who sees things the way that I do, who likes to make something out of nothing. That’s part of the “American Dream” right? Wanting to be rich, to have what feels like an endless amount of money. To know that I can by my children whatever they’d like, money – hmmm, money. Right now I’m looking forward to using the money that I have coming in on my family. Something that I hope will bring everyone together, something that puts the smile and warmth back into our lives. I dream of winning the lottery not so much for the money but for the joy of winning something SOO huge, I dream of what life WILL be like when I can do things for others, when I have a “story” to tell. Come on, someone somewhere has to feel the way I do right?? Or are my dreams a result of failure, a result of giving up?? Have I failed at so much and in so many things in life that all I have left are the dreams of a false reality? See that’s what I’m afraid of, what I’m afraid to let people know, I try to put a positive spin on everything that goes on in my daily life and I believe that others around me alter their lives just to suite me and my ways. Maybe THAT is the truth, maybe I am the negative to everyone else's’ positive. Maybe it’s all of the burdens that I’ve placed on myself, maybe I’ve done so many things to bury myself that digging myself out is damn near impossible. Perhaps then that is why I can only dream, perhaps all I have are dreams without ever seeing an absolute reality. I can no longer cover my mistakes, my faults, my wrongs. I am a person of poor qualities with the ability to put forth many faces, I expect good things to happen for me when I do nothing to deserve it. I blame my problems on society, I blame the world for my troubles for making me out to be the type of person I am. It’s the worlds fault that I never learned how to learn, the worlds fault that I never took in everything around me, the worlds fault for everything that I’m too afraid to do. It’s the worlds fault that I sit here everyday doing the same things over and over again, like a robot. The worlds fault that my every action can be broken down like clockwork, I live my live in a square box playing a square box. I pass thru at least 10,000 ideas a day and put nothing on paper yet I expect everyone to know. I write these blogs thinking(hoping) that the right person may read it and actually want to pay to hear my life's’ story, when what happens is you(if anyone at all) read what I write and laugh to yourself at how far I’ve fallen, how bad I really am doing. Maybe then it’s the Army’s fault, maybe all that I experience now is a result of everything that I experienced then. Maybe all that I suffer now is a result of what happened then, perhaps then that’s why I cannot remember any of what happened then…I know what I’ve been told and the few memories that I do have, not all of them bad yet very little good. Maybe who I am now is entirely different from who I was then, the person sitting here now an altered copy of the person before. Is there anyone around me who truly knows? Anyone who knew me before the Army that can tell me how I am different now?? Someone who is NOT afraid to talk to me, to tell me the negatives?? I can tell you that I wish I knew the old me, the young me. I think I spent so much time trying to be other people or the person that others’ liked that I lost who I was to begin with. I’ve spent so much time in my life trying to be that “other person” that that other person became me. To know the real me, the real person behind all the words all the actions is to want to fully understand, but I wonder will I be accepted?? Will anyone like who I really am? Would I be forgiven for all that I’ve done in the past if it meant really knowing who I am?? Would apologizes be enough? Is it wrong to wonder about things like that? I don’t think that anyone could ever really handle knowing all About Me…To know what it is that I’m truly thinking, wondering, feeling. I’m sure that I’ve given snippets to people, and if you took anyone who has ever known me you would get the complete picture, but would it be the same as what’d you get if you asked me? If you just talked to me?
Maybe I do need help, maybe I do need a “professional” to talk to, hmm…maybe this is me reaching out, asking for help. Or maybe it’s my start, maybe this is my path and everything before was just to prepare me for now? Will anyone ever know…Maybe when I’m dead and gone someone will read this and have an answer, or maybe what I have written will spark debate..Maybe this is my own way of self healing, but how could that be if even I don’t know what hurts, and I never really write down what is on my mind?? Why am I so afraid to read what I write, why am I scared to admit things that I’ve done to myself? Afraid that the true answers are in what I don’t say rather than what I do. What I really want to write is all that I don’t write. This isn’t a book, isn’t a story, isn’t something that I’ve made up for you to read. All that I’ve just written is just a part of who I am, whoever I am…
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