Myth Reid: personal

TO MY SARCASTIC LIL BOY

By Myth Reid - August 17, 2017

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Why am I here? How did I get here? The cleverest excuse would be because it’s 1:00 A.M. In the wee hours, our neurons go wild that we tend to do or create things we normally just dodge when we’re fully awake in daylight. But do you know something? I probably just made that up.

What I believe is that, sometimes, in the day, while we’re hustling along the other front-runners of the animal kingdom, something happens. Something happens that would make us think things. Something happens that would make us feel. Something happens that would keep us woke at night.

I’m usually wrong when it comes to a lot of things. Or so I’d like to think. Therefore, I could be wrong in that premise, too. Most of the time, I would tend to shy away from the world too afraid to make the mistake that would betray myself, or my dreams, or my good intentions. How do I survive? I survive by feeling. I survive by telling the world how I feel. That’s why I write, where writing both means blogging, or simply, venting out on social media.

In the past, my mouth was unstoppable. Webster would describe me as candid. People who know me would go for tactless. And I am hoping that’s no longer true now. Of course, there are occasions when I would rant on Facebook, but that’s only because I am feeling. Sometimes, when our lives run out of love, anger just spurts out from holes we could not cover. That’s my truth.

The reason I don’t worry about what other people will say about the negativity they’ll think I’m spreading is because I have lived at least half of my life suppressing truths because I thought the lies would save me. When I realized I had been wrong, I spoke my truth every chance I got.

What were the lies? Why do I think too much? Feel too much? Why isn’t this your truth? I could only wish it were so that you’d understand me better. That would be a terrible thing to wish for, however. The thing is, I’m not someone who grew up with adults telling me, “hey, you’re fine,” or, “just let that go,” or “be happy.” I had to figure all of that on my own. I woke up every time the sun would peek the tiniest bit through our house while everyone's still asleep and snoring so I could observe my surroundings, and prove to myself that everything that’s happening in my life wasn’t just a nightmare, and that they were real. I had no one to share those discoveries with because it wasn’t like a box of chocolate that everyone will be happy about. Yes, I had to figure out how to be fine on my own. I climbed guava trees to write my poems down. I stayed up late until i-FM’s midnight playlist drowned the noises in my head out. I had to find a way to survive. To date, here I am, still trying.

What brought me here is the fact that people are trying to get me to shut up. And I do get where they’re coming from. It’s hard to deal with people who have a lot to say, especially those who say the negative ones. They’re pains not only in the neck, but all the way down to the spine. However, there’s this thing Psychology calls coping, and these people you hate could just be doing that, and you’re taking that away from them just 'cause it’s ruining your own peace of mind. If you got so lucky with your lives so that you have nothing to complain about, then good for you. If you got lucky with your lives so that everything just instantly becomes sunny as desired, then good for you. If you got lucky with your lives so that you can only talk about the cool, the positive, and the lovely things, then good for you. But please, just please, with all humility, I ask you to leave the drama queens alone, the pessimists, the ones ensnared by depression, the poets who are lonely, the ones who prefer the sunset, or everyone who’s just trying to live their lives in the best way they know how.

‘Coz do you know something? You’d only know how a pebble hurts someone’s feet until you put on his shoe.

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personal

Wreck Me

By Myth Reid - July 11, 2016

I am a wreck!

I tried thinking of a euphemism to make you guys imagine me better than what I believe or better than what I actually am. I decided I can't do that because I really am a wreck.

I am those plates you broke because you were unwilling to do the dishes. I am the shards of a glass that fell off your grip because you were being dishonest. For moms, I am the mess your kids have made. Better yet, I am your babies' little piece of sh*t.

An article I didn't really read said on its title that it is unhealthy to call yourself ugly. I'm guessing ugly can be translatable to anything bad we can call ourselves. Albeit the article was left unread, I believed the title. We should not allow ourselves to think of ourselves as somebody we're not or somebody lesser than who we honestly are.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. If I believed the article, I would not have been calling myself a wreck. Why am I doing exactly what it tells us not to do, then? The answer is simple. It's because I am a wreck. Unsatisfactory, right?

Well, if you grew up being made to feel that way, it's hard to help it. Of course, I can say, 'I grew up being made to feel this way so you can't blame me,' but I'm not saying that 'coz I don't play the blame game any longer. It was really just hard to help it. Slowly, one desperate and painstaking step at a time, I chose to be who I am now. Growing up being made to feel that way, and the absence of emotional support system, or the lack thereof are just some of the factors. The main reason I am who I am now is because this is what I allowed. They say that teenagers are highly inclined to choosing the worse things for themselves but each time I take a little glance over several people I know, I see that they had all these sort of problems at home which if I compared were far worse than what I've actually gone through, yet they're all doing a good job. You might find that as oversimplification but if we adjudge their lives using societal eyes, you'd agree that they all seem to have gotten their sh*ts together. So, even if it was normal for teenagers to struggle through this stage in their lives, something remains inside a teenager that would light his way out of the dark tunnel. I don't know what that something is but rest assured, that's what I didn't have. Or wrong, I may have had it all along, but it was something I have been missing the entire time. Perhaps, I wasn't the teenager in this story; I was the dark tunnel.

That's it. Nothing very mysterious or epic. It was just me losing my way in the journey, losing the spark that would've enlightened something internal so that I could've redeemed myself from what seemed to be some train accident. But no, if there's one thing about the story I've been casted for, it is that it's no fairytale.

So, I have basically made peace with the way life molded me. I accepted who I am and tried to be as creative in my ways as I can so I could deal with it in a breathing manner. (If you know what I mean.) A lot of people have attempted to fix me, and to say that they had a hard time would be an understatement. I thank them though for even trying. But maybe, I do not need fixing. Maybe what I need is acceptance. Maybe I need understanding instead of judgment. A hug instead of an advice.

I AM A WRECK. My shattered pieces serve a purpose, and there's reason behind me being broken. What people can do about it is just shut up and fry their own fishes. 'Coz damn, I'm Phoebe Ryan, and there really is a gold in this wreckage. I don't give a flying fart if people don't see it.

To be fair, though, let me just say that perhaps, I am not beyond repair. I might just be needing the repair that takes time. 💚💙