Today I am thinking about how little hope people had for me when I was a kid. I gave up any hope of ever doing anything. From a very young age I realized that my dreams would never come true, and resigned myself to a life spent unchanging in a tiny town. When I realized that I could see my favorite author, Terry Pratchett, speak on youtube when I was 11, I was thrilled. I never imagined going anywhere special, or ever doing anything significant.
I always wanted to. I'd always pretend I was being interviewed for something that I had done that was amazing, like doing a good cartwheel, or even being interviewed for my knowledge and opinions on a subject or happening, like finding roley-poleys under rocks.
My mother always told me I would do something great one day, and went on and on about how special I was, so maybe the more she said it the less real it became. The more I realized that my mother was irrational, the less I listened to her as well.
I've never had the best imagination, so how could I imagine leaving life as I knew it? It wasn't possible. In pre-school I realized I had the shittiest imagination ever, and I wanted to remedy that. But I don't think I could have succeeded no matter how hard I tried. Maybe it's not imagination, though... maybe it's just a lack of curiosity for what I don't know. Because I wanted to be in interviews and be knowledgeable, but I never tried to be knowledgeable. Or if I did, I gave it up because that was too much information for a pre-schooler to take in.
Perhaps I learned not to be curious or worried about the world because I knew I couldn't learn enough or be smart enough or just be enough. I realized that I could never be useful, so I resigned myself to being nothing. I found life too hard, I never believed or listened to what anybody said. Instead I made mediocre grades, read during class and was put in silent lunch everyday, and I didn't care about anything. Not grades, not friends, not sports. But because I still had to interact with other kids, and other kids were mean, I became a bully who didn't care about my friends. I think the only thing I cared about was not feeling bad, so I would only bully people when I wouldn't get in trouble. Which meant my friends, new kids, and those vulnerable and weak. I would try to be charming about it, too. I was never popular, so of course I was bullied and then started bullying other people because of that. You know, the whole "hate breeds more hate" thing. When did this start.... Probably third grade. It lasted until around seventh or eighth. It escalated in fifth when my father died. Then in my abusive relationship in eighth it dissipated.
Being hopeless in life is damaging. It's damaging to you and to other people. I didn't even choose the college I'm at, I only went because it was recommended to me. I used to try to be whatever other people wanted, and I would think of myself as a dress-up doll that did whatever anyone wanted. So I had no ambition or hope or anything. And still don't.