Help me, I’m a shadow and I lost my person

2021.09.17 21:59 poloniumpoisoning Help me, I’m a shadow and I lost my person

My person used to be… there’s no word other than lively, but that was a long time ago.
She had a difficult upbringing, but she was hopeful. She believed that things could not get worse, only better, and it made her move forward. The thought that one day she’d be the master of her own destiny consoled her on the nights her mother sent her to sleep without dinner – not even because she had misbehaved, but because she was the oldest of four siblings and the less human of them.
The one who was born to care. The one who was born to give. The one who was unwanted, so her miserable existence had to be justified by being forced to look after others.
She ran away after her last day of high school, right after being old enough that the law could not force her to return; carrying her whole world in a plastic bag, she stayed here and there, snuck up on busses she had no ticket for and begged for rides and odd jobs.
Working 12 hours a day, she managed to afford her first bed – an apartment shared with some unsavory girls who had come from around the same complicated background as herself. All the furniture was old and uncomfortable, but she was overjoyed to be allowed to use them. It was more than she had until then anyway.
All those years living with her mother, she was never deemed human enough to be given an actual bed or actual furniture. Her few clothes were kept inside old cardboard boxes, constantly wet from the ever-dripping ceiling and often attacked by cockroaches. Not only because they were poor, but because she wasn’t important. Whenever her mother was able to give someone a sob story and get them to borrow her some money they’d never see again, she bought nice things for the three younger kids.
While my person could only vaguely dream of owning something nice – she had to guess how it must feel, probably the opposite of the scorn and humiliation she felt for only owing trash.
For almost two decades, she slept on an old mattress left by the living room floor, with no bedding or pillow. She was always the first one to wake up, either from being screamed at for being lazy or from the merciless sunlight coming from the ripples and the thin sheet that made for a sad excuse of a curtain.
She grew to hate and resent sunny days, and it was in the dim living room, smelling of cheap greasy food and kid’s sweat that she noticed me – her shadow.
At night, the room was lit only by the cars and trucks passing on the street, the sound often keeping her awake, alone with her own thoughts – a dangerous thing to be when you’re led to believe you’re subhuman.
The lights they cast made her see me, coming and going as the beams moved along with its vehicles. She distracted herself with it until sleep mercifully came, allowing her to dream of leaving and of seeing a world brighter than the one she had been throw into.
She dreamed of being an average girl with an average life, who has average parents who give her average things. They live in an average house and every now and then travel to an average beach. A girl who has average meals, average siblings, average family fights.
Not the hell that she was put through for the simple reason that she was born at the wrong time and from the wrong people.
But she didn’t think these thoughts. She didn’t know her life was that bad until she finally saw what life was supposed to be, and that even her own reality could be a little better. She was often told to stop whining, so she did.
It’s unfair, but the smallest bit of normalcy gave her more anxiety than solace.
After getting used to having a bed, she started feeling suffocated by thoughts of “now what?”.
It took her 21 years to manage to have one thing that normal people can have effortlessly. Why did she have to fight for every single thing? Why did she have to work so hard for every shred of human dignity? Where could she get in life if she had to spend all her time and energy just trying to afford the bare minimum for existence? How could she grow as an adult when just now she was starting to process all the abuse and neglect in her childhood and adolescence?
Being at the bottom is easy. You know exactly what’s above you. It’s effortless, to an extent – everything is an ordeal, so you barely notice being through it. If there’s no other choice, you have to brace yourself somehow.
She was born at the bottom, so the blue sky above was just a pipe dream.
When she was at the bottom, she had a goal: to leave the bottom. But once she dared to decide she’s not going to be at the bottom forever… then what’s next?
When you start climbing, your arms and legs are sore and weak and you still have such a long way to go to the top, so you start having second thoughts.
“Maybe I’ll never leave the well.”
“Maybe I belong here with the human trash after all.”
“It’s impossible to make it to the top starting from this far.”
“By the time I make it near the top, I’ll have no strength to keep myself clinging to the wall, and I’ll fall.”
“What’s the point? Why am I just making my fall more painful? All this effort to get as high as I can before I inevitably fail is stupid.”
“And it is inevitable, because people like me – people who belong to the bottom – were meant, destined, born to fail.”
She was taught she didn’t deserve to be happy, and she never knew happiness. So the mere thought of one day getting to be something close to happy made her panic. She only knew how to be miserable and abandoned; anything else felt like going through an unnecessarily long process just to set herself to fail more spectacularly.
She was taught to conform, to obey, to let other people trample over her because they are worth more than she is. Because she’s so insufferable that she had to be content if others allowed her to be near them, even if it was to use her. What a cruel idea; her mother told her over and over that she’ll never be happy, and she’ll be even more miserable if she wastes energy fighting against unavoidable unhappiness.
“People like you will never be happy. Only good people can have good things” is the first thing she remembers being told as a child, and she would hear it over and over almost every day until she was 18.
Day after day, she dragged herself through life. Painstakingly slowly, she could afford clothes or a haircut or pizza every other day. Little by little, she found people who saw her as more than a slave. People who didn’t want her to apologize for existing, people who didn’t make her compensate them for having to put up with the horrible person she thought she was.
She craved closeness, but at the same time she didn’t think she deserved it, and she didn’t know how to open up. So she politely pushed people away even while desperately dreaming that someone one day would save her.
(From what? From everything. Maybe someone knew how to fill the ever-growing hole in her soul where the memories of her formative years should be.)
More time went by. She was able to afford a dentist appointment, a handbag and even a small vacation. Her job was tiresome and took a heavy toll on a body that wasn’t that young anymore. Every day was an ordeal, an ordeal she knew very well to be going through, which made it worse.
Sometimes she hated that she had to take care of herself the whole time and all alone – to make herself wake up, shower, take the bus, work, have lunch, take the bus back home, make dinner, clean the kitchen, clean the dishes, clean the floors, clean the bathroom, dust the house, prepare the lunchbox for the next day, take her meds, pay her bills, decide what to get on the supermarket, control how much she spends, call the landlord when the pipes get clogged again, wash and fold her clothes, brush her teeth and her hair, change the bedsheets, check the weather so she can dress accordingly, make sure to not get fired, make sure to save money in case she gets fired, make sure she eats and sleeps properly, make sure she gets some exercise and drinks water, make sure she’s locked the door and turned off the lights, make sure she doesn’t get sick so she won’t need to miss work, make sure she leaves at the right time so she doesn’t miss the buss, make sure she watches a movie or a TV show sometimes to take her mind off things and have something to talk about with other people.
Every day.
Every time.
Every second.
Until she’s old and can barely do those things.
All of this so she can crawl slowly to the unreachable top. All of this so she won’t be like her mother – a bitter narcissist who trusted men too much and was careless around them; a selfish asshole who popped kids left and right in the hopes that it will make someone stay, or at least someone take pity in her; a lazy and incompetent person who can never keep a job or clean the house enough to make it livable; a loveless woman who messed up her kids so badly that they would have no choice but to stay by her side and serve her, unable to face the rest of the world.
All of this so she will be a little better by the end of her life than she was by the beginning.
It came as no surprise when she learned that her mother had been murdered by a man; the idea of a crime like that was horrifying, but she wasn’t fazed by this one in particular. She couldn’t bring herself to feel anything – not pain, not regret, not happiness, not relief.
She had cut all contact with her mother, siblings and other relatives long ago, but the news forced her to come back and deal with bureaucratic duties.
She hated it. She didn’t want to go. She knew that just one wrong step and she’d lose herself, she’d lose everything she’s been struggling so desperately for.
Other than berate her for being single and childless, the other relatives called her selfish for leaving for 20 years and not even calling so they could make sure she was alive.
Like they cared. Like any of them did anything all the times her mother made sure that her body was within an inch of her life, and her spirit was completely shattered.
Regardless, she persevered. Regardless, she fought for normalcy.
They didn’t matter. She smiled to herself, because their venomous words hadn’t shaken anything inside her. Despite having to build her life over a black hole, she was making it without falling apart.
But she didn’t expect that from her siblings.
She should. She had to know better. But considering how much she was forced to give away to make sure they were as pampered as poor kids can be, she thought they would be grateful, or at least not hate her.
Her siblings destroyed everything she gave everything for in a second with such hateful words. They had been trained their whole lives to blame her on their failures. To believe that she was the reason everything bad ever happened to their poor, fragile mother. To tell her she abandoned them when they were her responsibility.
She didn’t have the strength to realize they weren’t – she had been trained to feel like shit when she didn’t serve people with everything she had, and old habits die hard.
It was like all those years she spent improving, working, climbing never existed. Like she was a helpless girl again. She was falling back to the bottom.
Everything she had been building, never daring to strive for too much so it wouldn’t crumble, disappeared in one second.
Fat.
Ugly.
Dumb.
Failure.
Unbearable.
Evil.
Selfish.
Aggressive.
Paranoid.
Unstable.
Cruel.
They called her everything she had been called by her mother – it was like the woman didn’t die, she multiplied.
My person barely had the strength to keep holding on. She trembled, her limbs were so weak.
She managed to go back home somehow, and swallowed her sleeping pills, five at a time, clumsily letting the glass slip and break and not stopping until the pain diminished.
I don’t know exactly around when I lost her, because it’s been so dark since then.

_____________________
Pre-order my book today!
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2021.09.17 21:59 Stikybandit [LFH] [PC, PS5] [~$200] [USA]

Budget? - $200-ish (will spend a little more for the better headset if necessary).
Also I prefer wireless if possible for couch gaming but I understand wireless still has not caught up to wired in terms of quality, which seems odd to me in 2021, but I digress. I dont need the best audio quality in the world (I dont have that kind of ear) or noise-cancelling but directional/positional audio is important for them sweet sweet footsteps. Must include a mic as well.
Country? - USA
Platform? - Mostly on PC for Warzone and some other FPS games but will occasionally use on PS5 for ARPGs to not wake the old lady (so super amazing sound quality is less important on the PS5 if that makes a difference)
Motherboard if on pc (or other audio gear)? - Z370-A PRO (MS-7B48)
Sound Signature: Comp FPS
Open back or closed back? - no idea. whatever is best and most comfortable.
Any other gear you own(if important, like headphones or headsets)? - I have the arctis 5's right now and they work ok but trying to get something more competitive. I also have a lot of Logitech gear (mice, keyboards, speakers, etc etc) if that matters at all.
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The World of Forms
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Anyone have any input?
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The Australia Defense Minister announces that the new partnership will also include increased numbers of US bombers and airplanes being based out of Australia. submitted by Civobot to civocracy [link] [comments]


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http://dekoma.ru