Thursday, March 18, 2010

for a minute there, i lost myself.

Somewhere along the way, I started questioning my value. I’ve been treated like I’m some sort of novelty… and I bought into it. I was something new and exciting… but a trinket or toy nonetheless. Like an exciting snow-globe or an array of items you’d find at a gift shop which always seem fun for about 20 minutes… and then it just sort of sits there collecting dust. You can’t really get rid of it, because it’s got sentimental value… but there’s nothing to be done with it.

It’s a slow sort of evolution. One too many ‘lovers’ and ‘friends’ taking advantage. You may even be their favourite little trinket… but you’re never quite good enough. There’s always something lacking. You end up doing all the giving, and find yourself bankrupt of anything more than a ‘position of honor’ on their shelf. Because you see yourself like this, you blur the lines between love and the ego-trip that is attention… and find people coming in and out of your life through some sort of revolving door. You’re the magic giant keyboard at FAO Schwarz. They come. They go. And they leave as quickly as they came. Which explains my insistent and genuine surprise when there are people in my life who adore me... in a healthy lovely sort of way, I mean. And you find yourself thinking almost aloud, “Surely they’re not coming back to play the keyboard again? Every day?”
Next thing you know, you’re sitting in your ex-manager’s flat after being out with a boy in Oxford… a good looking boy, and it causes quite a stir with the boy who’s left you. The boy you’ve just gotten over. The boy who’s clearly moved on to a couple of girls. Gosh, people are possessive over their toys. And you’re being screamed at down the phone and taking it on the chin, in spite of yourself.
Or the next thing you know, you’re all down and looking forward to conversation and a good time with a good friend… and they bail on you… again. It’s becoming normal, actually.
Or, next thing you know, you take the cold shoulder in stride… you take the silent treatment and everything that boy or that friend has dished out. You take it when they take it out on you, as though it’s your duty. As though you’re an emotionless object meant to be slung around. And all they have to do is sort of say sorry and look like they mean it, and in the revolving door they come… and out they go. Again. Again. Again.

I’m not a novelty.
I’m not a toy.
I’m not an object to be used.
I’m not a court jester here to entertain you.
I’m not a whore.
And I certainly wasn’t placed on this earth to serve your whims and be the personal masseuse of your ego.

I am most certainly far from perfect.

But, in the words of maya angelou -
"I'm a woman.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me."