Things never work out for me. I am the forgotten one, the unlucky one, the one that walks in the shadows behind the others. Good things happen to everyone else, never for me. Everyone is out to get me, the Earth wants me to fail. I will never achieve my dreams, for they are not meant to be.
I cannot tell you how long my mind was wrapped up in those thoughts; for how long I was tied down with the belief that I was a target to some mysterious sniper. The wind picked me up at the break of each day, carried me back to the ground. Somewhere along the line, I accepted the role of the victim; I accepted that I had no control over my life. And somewhere along the line, I lost all hope. Nothing would ever work out for me, and I acted accordingly. I threw years away. I threw five years away.
There came a moment, a brief one that I almost missed, when I looked myself in the mirror and asked, “Just who exactly is out to get you?” My first instinct was to answer, “My family.” I do, after all, feel the most judgement from them; I wrap myself inside of it. But the reality quickly shifted the system I had used for years; if that were the case, if certain family members were out to get me, that would mean that they sit on their couch every single day with some device that controls the forces of nature. They sit with this device and use it solely to devastate my surroundings. To believe that they were out to get me, meant to believe that their lives revolved completely around me. And the belief that my family was out to get me, dissolved.
I walked out onto the street, passing children on their bicycles, “So then who, if not your family, is out to get you?” I thought, “These people,” and I looked around at the blur of faces passing by. Yes, these people, the billions of people, all know who I am. They know my hopes and my dreams and they know my weaknesses. A man, born on the opposite side of this Earth, wakes up this morning thinking, “How can I sabatoge Loony today?” To believe that they were out to get me, meant to believe that there were meetings and deadlines and even prizes for who could fuck my life up the most. And the belief that the people were out to get me, dissolved.
I laid down in bed, pulled the blanket up to my chin, “Tell me now, who is out to get you?” I closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath. “The universe,” I whispered, and pulled the blanket completely over me. I was swallowed up in the darkness. Yes, yes it had to be. The universe, whatever god may be, is out to get me. I, me. My singular soul on this Earth is that important. I am watched, hated. I was born to be destroyed. The powers care not for the rest of the lives, no, only mine. To believe that the universe was out to get me, meant to believe that I was so crucial that I was never allowed to succeed. And the belief that the universe was out to get me, dissolved.
Who then was left?
Me. I was left. My family, everyone else, the universe itself, were not out to get me. I, in a beautiful way, was not that significant. The only one left was me. I was no victim of life, I was no hostage of a cruel joke.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
* Images linked to their rightful sources // Quote by William Ernest Henley.