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Something That Everyone Needs

Belief means something different to everyone. We all need someone or something to believe in, that keeps us fighting—waking up each day with a purpose. Most importantly, we need to be believed in. When people don't believe in our abilities, we tend to shut down. We isolate ourselves, lose hope, possibly even ourselves and abilities. 

Lately, I've been feeling like no one really believes in me. Working so hard on independence and projects that I've put so much effort and soul into, I can hear voices mocking me; voices of my mom, dad, grandfather, and uncle. Laughing as I can't finish projects or finish them with flaws and mistakes.

You are often your own worst critic, but family for me is worse. Not a single one of them has asked me what I've been working on. Not a single one of them cares. Having no friends, I feel almost forced to talk about what I've been working on, which is a shame because I'm very passionate about it. All of the scripts, all of the projects, all of the budgets. But since no one cares, I don't talk about them. I don't share, I don't have anyone that I feel cares, so it's not worth talking about. 

A hope for the future, trying to build my own sense of independence only to be interrupted, or not being able to get to the place where I can think and clear my head; an impossible tomorrow. I want them to ask what I've been working on, so I can show them and possibly gain my work space back. But they will never ask, so I will never tell/show them. I mentioned it once only to get mocked, so I shut down and retreated within.

When you mock a paranoid schizophrenic, it only makes us become even more paranoid and even more isolated, causing our hallucinations to worsen. The shadows that draw so near to us to expand and darken, having them reach out close to us—so close to full manifestation. I believe it's only a matter of time before mine fully manifest; slowly reaching and leeching from me.

Our talents and abilities gone unnoticed, or unappreciated causes us to retreat within—be it writing, singing, dancing, or athletics. We become alone—alone with our thoughts, our dreams, and our nightmares. No one to share our art or abilities with, no friends to vent or talk about our passions to—no one who truly cares. 

You become more and more lost in your own world, isolating yourself because you think the very world is against you. With no one to belief in you, you're forced to pray and believe in things and gods that you once thought you would never submit to; forced to create barriers and barricades so your mind doesn't collapse into oblivion. Unable to face the sad fact of reality that you are alone, and unwanted; worse, unneeded and dead to the world that once was. 

Journaling becomes unfulfilled dreams, unfulfilled goals. Speaking things into existence is the first phase of achieving them. I miss my friends, I miss my old life, I do not miss the old me. I'm better this way. More independent, trusting no one; I've become an assassin, who I was always meant to be.

One of the worst parts about this isolation, I have no one to spar with, no target to practice with. No one to show my work to. I tried to reach out to an old friend who I thought could help me with everything, who would be a vast improvement in my life. Someone who I could possibly train if he didn't know any self-defense or training. Someone with who during one of our sparring matches, I could express how I felt.

Only to be met with silence and a variety of unanswered questions. This assassin, works alone. This assassin, views everyone as his next target. This assassin, is out for blood. My mind keeps trying to think of other partners who I could spar with, but none of them seem to fulfill my desire. The one I reached out for is perfect, if untrained has the strength of matching my level, if trained we would be perfectly in sync. 

His best friend would work too. As an assassin, you're so used to thinking 10 if not more moves ahead. Constantly playing chess with invisible opponents. Even as I relax in my bed, I think of how I would move the knife to block, to repel, and to wound.

My mind has become weaponized, I have become a living walking assassin with no one to please, with no one to be proud of me. It's only a matter of time before I implode. There is never a dull or still moment in my mind, I'm always ready to defend, always ready to kill. My new identity has consumed me. With no safety net, with no backup, with no one to pull me out, my new identity will fully manifest and I will never be the same. For better or for worse, I am me.

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