The story we weave

If you read my post “i am alien” and have your head screwed on straight you will have noticed the childish nature of that post. So much so, i’m embarrassed to leave it up, but it genuinely reflected how i felt in the moment as it’s a feeling that reemerges in my mind and it just happened to land again when i was at the keyboard. It’s a dumb and immature feeling but a keyhole into a the part of me, albeit mostly illusory.

We all tell ourselves a story. It’s the story of “me.” And it’s almost always formed through trial and tribulation. Even if you were born a prince, with all manner of privilege and accolade laid at your feet, that prince will have a story about their struggle through life. It would be about how princehood brings with it all manner of struggle and that it’s all because he was born a prince, in a specific place, in a specific time. We all have our victimhood story and we are constantly seeking to confirm it through the events in our life. So much so, that those that invest too much emotional energy into it, will only see the aspect of their life that confirm it to be true and will find ways of shaping their life around it.

The “story” is often characterized by how life has inflicted upon us a series of events and circumstances that we have no control over. This ranges from your ethnicity, economic status, your parents, family members, etc. Those are all things you have absolutely NO control over, and they are almost ALWAYS the key anchors to your story arc. And the reason for this, i believe, is because we have a victim gene (read my victim gene post for more on this). It’s such a powerful aspect of what it means to be human, that it’s fundamentally what inspires much of our actual storytelling, in movies, books, comics, etc.

The oppressor and the oppressed – that pretty much sums up our story as humans. It’s pitiful, and we each need to work hard to shake it. We are living in the freeest time in human history and we will take ourselves right back to serfdom if we don’t rid ourselves of these ghosts that echo in our brian. Again, even if you were borne a privileged prince, you’d wallow in tears because of how mean your daddy (the king) was by spending so much time at work and not with you. Grow the fuck up you pitiful little child! Grow a pair and fucking blaze your own trail. And don’t do it by fucking people over like you so adamantly have convinced yourself to be the victim of. It’s your own fucking story that is bringing about trauma in others and furthering it in yourself.

Let it go, and shake it off! If you won’t listen to me, then at least listen to your pop stars. They are your new royalty after all.

Written by soliloquiesonlove.wordpress.com © 2017

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