I have not vented in a while, so bear with me. I love telling stories so my “vent” will be in a story form:
Once, there was this unembellished young girl. She was raised in a humble home with hard working parents that loved her, two younger brothers that looked up to her, and a German Shepperd dog to watch over her. Her friends had loved her, trusted her, and depended on her so much that she was seen as a motherly figure: nurturing, caring, kind.
In reality, she had no reason to complain and she never showed signs of wanting to. She has more than enough in her life, a loving family, twenty-first century luxuries, and more than enough food, clothes, and shelter.
Somehow, this bright young girl found ways to be unhappy.
Her family and friends who craved her happiness, longed to see her smile again, yearning to hear her laugh. But the young girl lost her energy, her spirit, and her voice.
Why? What happened?
A young girl with such a privileged life should be strong. An older sister should be a role model.
She was so bright, that she was always expected to be. She was always there, so she was always expected to be.
But inside this girl, who read books for fun while her friends succumbed to Netflix and chill, had tasted adventure and yearned for more. She did not want to be a motherly figure. She did not want to be a role model. She wanted to be free, as free as the characters in her adventure novels.
But when she realized this, she felt the pang of reality. She grew morose at the thought of abandoning all those people, whom she loved as much as they loved her. She grew bitter, for she saw her reflection and glimpsed selfishness and greed. She grew disgusted with herself for ever bearing such thoughts.
There was no one else who believed that, of course; everyone loved her.
But she saw how horrible she was inside. She felt she needed to face some consequences but there were none to face, like a criminal bracing for execution only to find that the executioner thinks they are innocent.
She hurt herself. She made sure she was punished for her crimes.
No one knew of this internal battle, no one needed to know.
The battle scars have faded, the echoes have become whispers in the wind, but she feels its impact as if it were a burden.
She carries it around inside with no clue as to how to let it out.
Do not be mistaken, she finds joy in the simplest of things. She smiles, she laughs, she shares wonderful times with her family and her friends.
She merely has yet to relinquish self-loathing.
You see, she cannot fathom how everybody loves her when she cannot love herself.
She loves so much, she loves the whispers and the gusts of wind against her rectangular windows, she loves to create culinary wonders with her hands, she loves to watch beings of nature simply go about their lives like dragon flies dancing in the air, deer feeding on greens, birds singing in the mornings, and rabbits racing each other to thrills. She loves to go to a place beyond reality, where no one can touch her.
She loves to dream.
And because she knows how much suffering comes from self-loathing, she promotes self-love to her peers.
One may call that hypocritical; perhaps it is, perhaps not.
Perhaps she is like a lonely star in the cosmos completely unaware of the stunning constellation she is a part of.
That is my vent. I’m sorry if some of it makes no sense, I kinda just wrote down thought after thought.
I also may have used a thesaurus for some words to make myself seem smarter