I have come to a decision.
There is something rotten inside of me, that cannot be fixed. No matter the work, no matter the length of time spent on it, the effort put into it, it cannot be fixed. I am rotten, deep inside of myself, and it’s just something I am going to have to live with. People will try and tell me otherwise, say things like “You’re not rotten, you’re just hard on yourself!” but no, rest assured, I am rotten. Some part of me, deep, deep down inside, is rotten and will continue to rot for the rest of my life. The sooner I come to terms with and accept that, the sooner I can move on perhaps.
To clarify, this rot doesn’t make me do anything. It doesn’t make hurt myself or hate other people, it doesn’t make me have terrible impulses or anything like that. No. It’s simply something that I can feel inside of me, that I know shouldn’t be there, that I know not everyone else has, if anyone else, and that makes me sick in certain ways and makes me look at the world in certain ways. This rot had to start somewhere, but where exactly is increasingly hard to pinpoint. I could blame my parents for it, but that’s become drawn out and tired, even if not at all untrue. Could blame all the people who’ve hurt me, but then others would come to their aide, screeching “But you need to take responsibility!”
I need to take responsibility for how shitty other people treated me, via their own decision to do so? Okay. Sure.
Do I want the rot fixed? Probably not. It’s how I know to cope and survive. The rot is a part of me. Sounds sick to say, but it’s true, and I am no longer in the vein of saying things that aren’t sick, because that’s what I am. Sick. Sick and rotten. Part of it I’m sure can be attributed to the fact that when enough people tell you for a long enough period of time that something is wrong with you, that you’ll believe something is wrong with you. Weird, right? Almost like peoples opinions on you has an effect or something. “Oh, don’t pay any attention to what anyone thinks about you!” As if it’s that fucking easy. You’re not rotten. What I am sincerely tired of, however, is being told I’m not rotten. People who aren’t me, who don’t have to deal with my problems on a day to day basis making computer desk medical analysis of a person they don’t even fucking know. You aren’t me. Stop fucking tell me what you think I am or how you think I work.
And stop telling me things will get better. There’s a difference between betterment and false hope. I’ve accepted that things will, in fact, not get better. I accepted that a long time ago, and accepting that reality doesn’t make me a weaker person. It makes me accepting of my limits and capabilities, forcing me to focus on the things I can actually achieve or accomplish. No. Things will never “get better”, but they may, with a little bit of acceptance and effort, become “ok”, and I’m fine with that. Stop trying to get me to believe things will get better, because when you do, you’re only instilling in me this false sense of security in the future that, when it never comes, as it never does no matter how hard I work or try, only makes me more crestfallen that before you instilled said false sense of security. Got it?
I am rotten, and I am at peace with myself being this way.
And I wouldn’t have it any other fucking way.
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I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!