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Botched and Beautiful - tri•bo•lu•mi•nes•cence
luminescence due to friction
Botched and Beautiful
Looking back on my younger self and... I don’t really like me very much. I’ve often mused that I was probably my best during my senior year of high school. I had a boost in confidence (thank you puberty) and just felt great. Yet at the same time I remember chatting online with a girl I went to school with and, of course, turning the talk sexual. I’d ask her a bunch of personal questions and have a a prepared set of rationalizations for if and when she objected to one of them.
”Have you ever done X? Did you and your ex ever do Y? Did you like it? Heyy, come on, it’s just a question. I don’t ask anything I’m not also willing to answer.” What a creep. And this to someone I had to face in class.
But that’s not the bad part. The bad part is I didn’t see anything wrong with it. I never felt awkward around her because hello! Exaggerated sense of self-importance! My stupid justifications weren’t just bullshit to elicit jerk-off fodder (though they were that, too). I believed them. I never saw myself as doing anything wrong. I was too stupid to feel ashamed. What a creep.
Looking back on my earlier journal entries, though, I’m kind of impressed. Sure, a some of it is stupid stuff I can chalk up to being young and dumb, and that exaggerated sense of self-importance is still there, but there’s some touching stuff, too. I don’t like me very much, but others have. Women have fallen in love with me—every one of them a better person than I am. Looking back I remember the feelings I had (most dark) but I can also see the glimmer. Every post is the hopefulness inside me wanting to get out. I can see there was a beautiful person inside, chained up and weighed down, but existing, at least. I can be a witty, snarky bastard. My experience in online communities (well, in Second Life, anyway) has shown me that when you remove the 360° presence of reality and can communicate through text, I’m a fast thinker and fast talker and extroverted as all get-out. So there exists somewhere inside this burnt and beaten shell a human being that, with a little help, can still make something of life.

tl;dr: I botched life but I could have been beautiful. And perhaps I still can.

(Thanks EB)
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