But is it supposed to be? I've found that the easy thing isn't worth it. If it were easy to be me, why bother? You don't play chess against someone you know you can beat (unless you're teaching them). You don't play quake on godmode for more than a few frags just because you're bored.
Even so, there are some things that are so hard that you can't keep up the effort indefinitely, and I think being yourself is one of those things. You inevitably slip up, you will fail. Life is one failure after another. Sometimes it's one success after another. It doesn't matter, it's all beautiful.
Someday, someone comes along and by virtue of who they are, it suddenly becomes easier to be who YOU are. And THAT is beautiful. It's also love.
I look back at things, and I find that there have been two people who have done that for me, not couting those that I knew in my formative years who helped make me who I am (Apples, Tim, Eric, Sean, and all of my other Tri-Mount buddies). One I am priveleged to call my Love, my Dulcinea, and that is Amanda. The other I am priveleged to call a friend, despite the unkind things I've said about her in the past. Thank you Beth.
I'm starting a story too. Don't know how well it's going to turn out.
This story is true, in the important sense of the word.
I can remember back to my early days. I'd always known I was different. Little smarter than my peers, little faster, little more perceptive, more aware of stuff. More of a dreamer too. Never really good at dealing with people on a normal level. I think that may be why they hated me so.
In middle school.... I can still remember the "Human Ping Pong." It became a daily occurance, and started off innocently enough. I was reviled at my bus stop, and while we were waiting for the bus one day, they kids circled around me, and started bouncing me around between them. No real malice in it, and I was acctually having fun. We all laughed, and it was a glorious day for me when that started. After a day or two of this, everyone was taking a turn in the middle of the circle, though I still was there the most.
How long did that acceptance last? Not very long. One day, I was in the middle of the circle. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Then, something changed. I don't know exactly what happened, but first it was a rougher push that sent me careening into someone else. They threw me back, and the first person changed the direction of my fall- with thier fist. All of the sudden it went from friendly childish pushing to an all out beating.
Something snapped in me then. I don't think I even noticed it at the time. They heard the bus coming, and let me up. I stood, shaken, battered and bruised- and angry. I was full of hate for them. All of the niceness that any of them had ever shown me, not just the human ping pong, but the rare showings of human kindness that they had ever exhibited vanished in an orgy of violence.
That almost completely sums up middle school for me. Beatings. Tauntings. Other various forms of abuse and ostracising. I'd spend my days fantasizing about various ways of killing them. I didn't just want to get them back, I wanted to make them pay dearly, and suffer completely. My bus stop. The bullies in the halls.
It peaked in high school. I was actually equipped to bomb the school. Not blow it to kingdom come, but most certainly people would have been hurt. It didn't happen, but I honestly must say- not because of any recognizance on my part. I came close to being caught, and that's why I stopped.
That day though, is when things changed for me. I was fifteen at the time. I can vividly remember walking home from school that day, my tracks covered cleanly, the evidence disposed of. In my funk of anger, rage and that inner sadness that I just could never shake, I walked right out infront of a truck. I can still hear the sound of the grill slamming into my skull, and the grotesque popping that I was sure was the sound of my neck snapping. I catapulted backwards, and as I was falling, I remember thinking to myself, "Thank god, it's over!" My head cracked into the pavement, and bounced. Once my body came to rest, I layed there, waiting for the death I knew must be inevitable, preparing to welcome the escape from the pain of my daily existance.
It never came. I was unhurt. Not a scratch on me. Not so much as a goose egg where my head hit the asphalt.