Monday, 26 April 2010

Expectations.

In hundreds of years time, people will point up at statues and say, 'that's Rebecca Condron. You don't ever see a representation of her without a LION ON HER HEAD.' I'll be like Robert Burns and his pigeon (now I Google him, I can't actually find an image of a statue of him with a pigeon. Maybe I dreamt that. But the sentiment STILL STANDS so shhhhh. Be quiet, like a terrorist), but not because I am fitter and lions aren't vermin.

I don't ever want to be forgotten, I want to be... Something. I want to be someone. No, that's not right at all- I want to be more than that. I want to DO something. I want to bring positive change and, and... IMPACT. For life, for lives. It's by no means even the main reason why I want to do something humaitarian, but let me tell you- being forgotten is one of my biggest fears. It ranks up there with MILK and BEING NORMAL. Oh, and jeans. Jeans are somewhere up in the list, along with- No, wait, I'm not going to go into a list of my fears. I'll save that for another day, it's a fascinating list, much like my list of OAPs who I'd like to do (ahem) and things that makes me want to set fire to my skin.

With some things, I want to be anonymous. I want to be invisible usually when i'm out of the house and sometimes when I'm in. I can't stand being visible when I've eaten that day. And when I die, I want to decompose into the earth- I want to be fertiliser and worm food and to forever be part of the earth and the wind and the sea and the food cycle- I want to be breathed in by the great and the good and the lovely, and to be a part of everything. I want to be eaten by little creatures, that get eaten by bigger creatures, that get eaten by even bigger creatures. I want to be absorbed by trees that grow 100m tall, and a part of... I want to go around and around and for my presence to be there in something, for it all and for ever.

But that's what I want in death. In life, I want to get out there- into the real world. Or maybe I want to want it. But either way, I can't. I feel so, so cheated that everybody seems to have given up on me, but at the same time I can't handle people having any faith in me. I find pressure everywhere, and the tiniest bit of perceived pressure pushes me right back. To the point that when I need to go get a prescription or something, I spend hours beforehand in a literal quivering mess of panic attacks, because I HAVE to go out; it's an expectation that somebody, somewhere has- that I'll get that presciption. I find it so, so hard to leave my house. Actually, I find it hard to leave my bedroom, a lot of the time. I push myself, I can't explain how hard I work, and I DO go out a few times a week- usually not for anything social, because I get too panicked to handle company. But I do try to go out, because I can't give in any further to this. I'm so desperate to break out and I'm so ambitious. But I'm at my limit- I can't push any further. I'm barely holding it together right now. I'm a waste and a parasite and I feel disgusting for it- I do nothing and so I AM nothing, because I can do nothing. Except hide- I hide. I'm stuck. I'm caged. I'm... I'm raw.

But I feel like I could explode with the potential I know I have because the thing is, I'm so sure that could be someone. I now have that pissing Tracy Chapman song in my head ('And I-I-I had a feeling that I belonged, And I-I-I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone'), but that's ok because I DO have a feeling that I could be someone. But even just typing that is making my heart race and breathing quicken. No expectation, no expectations.

I need people to have the faith in me that I don't have, but to expect nothing. It's a paradox- how to be invisible, but not forgotten; how to be somebody and be nothing; to run but to never go outside- and it's selfish. I need you to carry me, and I'll always be sorry for my weakness.

I expect so much of people, I know. But as a representation of how these stupid disorders get in the way of life, how I've been condemned to squander any potential, I wanted to blog about the election (erection, hahaha) and politics and... everything. I kick arse in politic-y fights (almost literally, the fight I had with a poor Tory door-knocker in Dumfries was excellent, a type of excellence only matched by his reaction when, after a good 10 minutes of tryin to argue with me, he was told by my grandma that I didn't even live within that constituency) so I have plenty to say. Type. Say. And I haven't said anything about anything that I care about, that I can argue my case on, because I'm too busy trapped in my head.

I DO expect so much of people, but I expect even more of myself. Just please, God, don't expect anything of me.

1 comment:

  1. I can't wear jeans. NO NO NO NOOOOOOO. Jeans have the tendency to make my cry. Damn them...AND I was completely obsessed (about 2 months ago) with that Tracy Chapman song...AND I think you have the potential to do something big and changing, one day I'll be sure to be looking up at a statute of you.

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