I Want Truth
Well screw jobs. Cuz I don't have one.
Technically – I suppose – I have two, but they don't quite pay the bills. I just want to work, but I don't know how to market myself. I don't know how to tell people that I'm awesome – and I'm pretty awesome. I am excellent with the grammar. I am savvy with the math. I am comfortable with the programming. I am familiar with the poetry. I am experienced with the teaching. I am bold with the leading. I am fast with the learning. I am motivated with the morale. I am smooth with the talking. I am persuasive with the customers. I am resolving with the complaints. However, I suck at the finding of the jobs of the variety that suit my various skills.
Screw that.
Some people call alcohol their self-medication. I chose video-games as mine: similarly as expensive but much less hard on the liver.
I still like alcohol though. Nothing crazy. Just a fine beverage.
I have a book that's half-written. I have a million games that are partially designed. I have degrees that are barely compelling. I'm not half bad as my father would say. Daddy issues. I don't think that's the sum of my troubles, but I am sure it plays no small part.
It's like passive voice: "not half bad." There's no commitment in the evaluation. Empty. Meaningless. Bullshit. That is the legacy from which I wish to break free. Most of the time, I just wish to silence the hurts that plague me. I just wish to silence the aches, the pains that say it won't work.
I have worked so hard to become creative, sharp, bright, intelligent, whatever you want to call it. The infamous they told me to be good at English and math. I'm great at both, but they won't pay me. I don't know what they want. A slave? Somebody who does all the crap for little/no money? It's a joke. Along with church. Oi. Don't get me started.
Church. Jobs. Games. Emptiness.
I've tried so hard to work so hard to be . . . useful? Bleh. Blah. Beer? Nah.
Video-games? Just as useful.
Fatigue.
I don't know why I write. I feel the need, but it seems to go nowhere – just like everything else I do. Once upon a time, I hoped to give voices to the voiceless. Now, I just feel unheard. I feel like a broken child screaming in a soundproof corner. A black hole. Not even light escapes. Silent. Unseen. My two trophies.
I hate rewards. I've gotten a lot of rewards throughout my academic career. Most of them have felt like insults: great job at being just exactly what everybody else has been. I was in the international honors societry? I don't know what it's called because I hated it so much. In high school, I was in some sort of honor society for something. All I remember is sitting inside a classroom full of students at desks. I remember looking across the room: he's not honorable; he's not honorable; he's dastardly; he's not honorable. I felt insulted. I was specifically chosen to be represented among a bunch of dishonorable students – under the title of "honors society."
I've gotten a bunch of rewards since then. Most of them have felt like insults. Two rewards have meant anything to me so far.
Technically – I suppose – I have two, but they don't quite pay the bills. I just want to work, but I don't know how to market myself. I don't know how to tell people that I'm awesome – and I'm pretty awesome. I am excellent with the grammar. I am savvy with the math. I am comfortable with the programming. I am familiar with the poetry. I am experienced with the teaching. I am bold with the leading. I am fast with the learning. I am motivated with the morale. I am smooth with the talking. I am persuasive with the customers. I am resolving with the complaints. However, I suck at the finding of the jobs of the variety that suit my various skills.
Screw that.
Some people call alcohol their self-medication. I chose video-games as mine: similarly as expensive but much less hard on the liver.
I still like alcohol though. Nothing crazy. Just a fine beverage.
I have a book that's half-written. I have a million games that are partially designed. I have degrees that are barely compelling. I'm not half bad as my father would say. Daddy issues. I don't think that's the sum of my troubles, but I am sure it plays no small part.
It's like passive voice: "not half bad." There's no commitment in the evaluation. Empty. Meaningless. Bullshit. That is the legacy from which I wish to break free. Most of the time, I just wish to silence the hurts that plague me. I just wish to silence the aches, the pains that say it won't work.
I have worked so hard to become creative, sharp, bright, intelligent, whatever you want to call it. The infamous they told me to be good at English and math. I'm great at both, but they won't pay me. I don't know what they want. A slave? Somebody who does all the crap for little/no money? It's a joke. Along with church. Oi. Don't get me started.
Church. Jobs. Games. Emptiness.
I've tried so hard to work so hard to be . . . useful? Bleh. Blah. Beer? Nah.
Video-games? Just as useful.
Fatigue.
I don't know why I write. I feel the need, but it seems to go nowhere – just like everything else I do. Once upon a time, I hoped to give voices to the voiceless. Now, I just feel unheard. I feel like a broken child screaming in a soundproof corner. A black hole. Not even light escapes. Silent. Unseen. My two trophies.
I hate rewards. I've gotten a lot of rewards throughout my academic career. Most of them have felt like insults: great job at being just exactly what everybody else has been. I was in the international honors societry? I don't know what it's called because I hated it so much. In high school, I was in some sort of honor society for something. All I remember is sitting inside a classroom full of students at desks. I remember looking across the room: he's not honorable; he's not honorable; he's dastardly; he's not honorable. I felt insulted. I was specifically chosen to be represented among a bunch of dishonorable students – under the title of "honors society."
I've gotten a bunch of rewards since then. Most of them have felt like insults. Two rewards have meant anything to me so far.
The Thomas Award was given to me by the drama director from Plumstead Christian School during my senior year of being an actor at Plumstead: "Thomas, while dubbed as the doubter, was known for so much more. He was chosen by Jesus to serve and continue his ministry. Thomas loved the Lord. He asked questions to lead him to a deeper faith. I have had the privilege of being involved in many conversations with Nathan. He is truly someone who seeks to have a deeper relationship with Christ, continually seeking and searching until he arrives at correct answers from the Lord. We have enjoyed his depth and his heart." — Mrs. Koch
Mrs. Koch cared. Mrs. Koch knew her students. The ETS Recognition of Excellence is kinda a bit of a joke. However, it was the government, so they didn't have to say I did well, so I guess it's alright.
Mrs. Koch was the one person who ever gave me an award in which she knew and cared. She knew, and she gave me an award. I have spurned so many awards.
I'm not sure what I'm saying anymore. For too long, I have just wanted people to know me truly. Sadly, most have only pretended to know me. I am tired of that. I am calloused because of that. Can I formally place the blame on anyone else? No. Even so, I am calloused because of the endless pretending. I am so tired – so very tired.
Truth. I want truth. I want sincerity. I want honesty. I want accuracy. I don't care about the special name that you give it, but I want truth.
I am tired. Stop giving me lies.
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