“Not all demons are bent on the destruction of humans.”
I talk about myself in detail often, but a lot I still only skim the surface of. I wanted to try and write about something that I often think about.
Previously, I could blame a lot of these ways of thinking on things like self-hate, and self-harm. That I only thought in such odd ways because I wanted to believe I was as bad as people around me said I was. But I don’t think I truly hate myself anymore. The more I get to know others, the more they open up to me, I realise that, I’m not all that different in what I was lead to believe was wrong. We are all that way as humans.
But I’ve always wondered about myself; why me? Why do people want to get close to me? Why do people I do no more than say “hello” to randomly message me on Facebook for advice? Why do strangers open up about their lives, and why do others want my attention?
I have always called this ability a curse of mine, to where as my mom calls it a gift. A special ability of knowing. My strong sense of intuition. Knowing one’s own feelings before they do. Sensing grief behind a person’s smile. Etc. Etc. Just as those types of people open up to me, I find myself attracted to that type as well. Something in me so desperately wants to help others.
Since coming back to America, I’ve struggled with this ability. I’ve previously allowed others to become close to me knowing I will only be caused pain. And I’ve also allowed people to become close to me knowing that I will cause them pain. And I still haven’t figured out if that’s right or wrong of me. To help others in the grand scheme of things at the sake of their emotions or my own.
When I was little I believed that I was a demon. Parts of my family attended church typically twice a week. My cousin was my best friend at the time, so I always wanted to follow him along. Then the day for me to become baptised came. They took me to a room where the priest talked to me about what would happen and the questions they would ask and what my answer should be. I remember thinking that even if I was a demon, I could go to Heaven now. But I also had a lot of questions. Getting baptised made me think more about who God was supposed to be and why the world was the way it was and why kids like me saw and went through certain things, and worse.
But church never had those answers. And I found myself believing that if I couldn’t even trust God, then I truly must be something awful. So I stopped going. I was weird to my family. I was weird to people at school. And my only redeeming charm to the public was that somehow, something in me seemed good and easy to trust. Why would people feel that sense towards something so destructive as myself? I still wonder that.
So the quote from above, I heard that today. And somehow felt reassured. That maybe I am awful, but it’s certainly not my intention. And for a lot of people, intentions are supposed to be what matters. I didn’t mean for this to turn out as religious sounding as it does, but truthfully, I’m not too concerned about it.
Even if it’s chaos, thus far at least I can say I have helped others.
Also, not to all of you, but to a you, I felt like writing, I love you.