Aware writing

I’ve been rejected from social interactions since the very begging of my life, until 14 years old I didn’t had any friend. It was painfull, It was numbing, it didin’t made sence, I was friendly, why everybody wa calling me a wierdo, and told me to back up. Children were meeting with me because their mothers were asked by my mother to invite me, and they…

I could go really long, and really sad, but the saddest thing about it is that I didn’t knew how to cry. All I was doing was eating, playing video games, and lived in sadness. I couldn’t really see any meaning in all of that, that was a real nightmare. There was no one to be my friend, I was just closing myself more and more, and there was a day, that I crossed road, on red light when I was around 13 years old, it was summer, and I was going to by some soda, just because, and a bus almost killed me, I felt how it went by my shirt. I was so numb, and felt so worthless, that when people were screaming at me, trying to talk me to sence, I just waved my arms, and thought to myself:

Why would you care If I would be gone, no one would care.

That is a sad story.

But it is just a story, a real one, but not really that important. Nothing is important if you don’t care. No one cared about me is not true, my parents did, of course, but in my mind, no one, because I just felt so alone, and a mistake, that my parents did. No skills, no friends, no will to live, he just plays video games, So I started to look for friends online, some PBF ( play by forum) kind of game, where there were posts, about countries or something, and I just got more rejection online.

Another sad story.

Life is full of stories

Stories are made of words putted in a nice way. Approachable, digastable left to right, this alphabet, but not all journies can be described with words. There were a lot of stories that made me who I’m but it was the people in it who made the real difference. No one wanted to listen to me, so I started to listen to myself. I noticed that I repeat the same stories all over again, the same words, and at some point friends that I made helped me understand it. Maciek you keep repating yourself.

Making a victim out of myself, diving into self pity, crying about past, I was a prisoner of a certain kind of stories, and I didin’t knew how to change that, I tried a lot of things, to procces my stories, with many people, I was looking for help in many places, but no one could help me, because they were not specialists. So I went for books, all sort of them, but, didn’t finded answers there. But I did founded hope. I was so soaked with sorrow and sadness, that reading books were giving me hope, that maybe someday, I will be someone else.

I was wrong, I was always myself, and I wasn’t meant to be someone else, just a different version of myself.

First pages that I wrote in my life - not in school, or essay, the first real pages in my life.

About what I feelt. It was so heavy that It took me 3 weeks to spill out 17 pages of everything that I was keep repeating to people, and with all the dirts that I founded there, I was wondering in all of that, can I change?

And I think I did.

Here is a little story, about change, that happened, thanks to decisions I’ve made…

Once upon a time…