Life is not fair.
I hear that so often, how can it not be true? And when has life ever proven everybody wrong? Or just me? Maybe to be fair means something different than what we always wanted it to mean, what it must mean for that phrase, that Life is not fair, to be what it is. The last word. Maybe meant to make us feel better. Because Life is not fair, not Life isn't fair for you.
Maybe to be fair means life has to be evenly balanced. An orphan is accepted into Julliard and given a full scholarship. A well-off socialite is convicted of a DWI and given jail time. Even, balanced, with equal measures of incredible, mundane, and awful thrown in.
If that's it, life is fair. But let's assume for a moment that we've all had it right all along. Life is not fair.
So I shouldn't be surprised when it isn't, should I. When everybody else seems to have everything, and I struggle to remember that I don't have nothing. When I have to remind myself, constantly, that it'll get better, that it'll get easier, that eventually I won't have to give up because it won't be so important to me.
Why does everybody peddle this crap that I just need to be myself? Be yourself, because nobody likes a poser. Except you've all been eating up my pretending for the last year. Except I know, I know, you will not like the myself that is waiting underneath this posed smile for someone to call me out, to notice that something is wrong, to care enough to ask what I mean by "It wasn't just the movie." "How are you?" "Okay." Because that myself isn't smiling, she isn't laughing, she doesn't want to stay silent about being left out, all she wants to do is scream until somebody hears her, because how else can she be sure anyone is listening?
IS ANYONE LISTENING?
Would anyone care to listen? If I told you how hopeless I feel, what would you do? If I said it's all I can do to keep from crying all the time, would you let me cry on your shoulder? If I showed you how I spend my time, wrapped up in anyone else's life to avoid thinking about how much I hate mine, would you tell me it's going to be okay? Would you help me to see the beauty in the life I've taken for granted? And what would you do if I said you're full of it, that you don't understand, you can't understand? Would you give up on me? Would you let me give up on myself?
Would you even take me seriously? Would you tell me that everybody feels this way? Would you remind me of those so much less fortunate than I am? You have a mom and a dad, a family who loves you, a roof over your head, and food in the fridge. You are alive. You're in America, home of the free. You can be anyone you want to be, practice any religion, bad-mouth your nation's leaders without fear of being killed, do almost anything without fear of being killed. Would you tell me I'm being ridiculous, that I have no right to ask you to feel sorry for me. There are so many people who deserve that more than I do. How selfish am I, even to think this way while there are orphans in other parts of the world starving to death.
Would you be exactly what I need? Would you be a friend?
Maybe to be fair means life has to be evenly balanced. An orphan is accepted into Julliard and given a full scholarship. A well-off socialite is convicted of a DWI and given jail time. Even, balanced, with equal measures of incredible, mundane, and awful thrown in.
If that's it, life is fair. But let's assume for a moment that we've all had it right all along. Life is not fair.
So I shouldn't be surprised when it isn't, should I. When everybody else seems to have everything, and I struggle to remember that I don't have nothing. When I have to remind myself, constantly, that it'll get better, that it'll get easier, that eventually I won't have to give up because it won't be so important to me.
Why does everybody peddle this crap that I just need to be myself? Be yourself, because nobody likes a poser. Except you've all been eating up my pretending for the last year. Except I know, I know, you will not like the myself that is waiting underneath this posed smile for someone to call me out, to notice that something is wrong, to care enough to ask what I mean by "It wasn't just the movie." "How are you?" "Okay." Because that myself isn't smiling, she isn't laughing, she doesn't want to stay silent about being left out, all she wants to do is scream until somebody hears her, because how else can she be sure anyone is listening?
IS ANYONE LISTENING?
Would anyone care to listen? If I told you how hopeless I feel, what would you do? If I said it's all I can do to keep from crying all the time, would you let me cry on your shoulder? If I showed you how I spend my time, wrapped up in anyone else's life to avoid thinking about how much I hate mine, would you tell me it's going to be okay? Would you help me to see the beauty in the life I've taken for granted? And what would you do if I said you're full of it, that you don't understand, you can't understand? Would you give up on me? Would you let me give up on myself?
Would you even take me seriously? Would you tell me that everybody feels this way? Would you remind me of those so much less fortunate than I am? You have a mom and a dad, a family who loves you, a roof over your head, and food in the fridge. You are alive. You're in America, home of the free. You can be anyone you want to be, practice any religion, bad-mouth your nation's leaders without fear of being killed, do almost anything without fear of being killed. Would you tell me I'm being ridiculous, that I have no right to ask you to feel sorry for me. There are so many people who deserve that more than I do. How selfish am I, even to think this way while there are orphans in other parts of the world starving to death.
Would you be exactly what I need? Would you be a friend?
(Written 6/2014)
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