Beginnings (Shortcomings)

Details about myself are probably unimportant from your position because it is a decided fact that those who hope to get to know me never will; this is due partly to the fact that I'm an insecure person, and that I'm often quite picky when it comes to deciding on which people I can legitimately consider a friend. This is often interpreted by my peers that I'm merely an unpopular, and perhaps even an unlikeable person, and while these simple token descriptions are adequate in a commoner populace, they're much too simple to describe me, and shouldn't even be considered until the end of this measly post is absorbed.

First and foremost, the description of "friend" must be properly examined—not as the popular vote sees it, but as I do - or, at the very least, as I tend to. Any person can examine a dictionary and nitpick a definition when describing something, but when it comes to matters of personal preference or of mental emotions toward another person in general, the subjectivity can be quite overwhelming. Anyone can place the title of being a friend on another person, by nearly any means of positive relativity or any semblance of a common preference of their company, but it takes a contemplative mind to carve out their own meaning to this extension of association.

For me to explain to you what it means to be my friend would require a lot more time than I surmise you're willing to sacrifice in order to read the entirety of this post, and as such, let me try to sum it up as quickly as possible so that I can move on to more important subjects: to be a "friend" of mine, as I've always perceived it, requires for you to have some kind of consistent behavior, attitude, or feeling toward me. While this has an outward appearance of being a very generic trait - which, it very well could be - I should point out now that I don't necessarily choose my friends so much as they just happen. With this in mind, I am often liable to befriending someone who will have nothing to do with me; this often succumbs with disastrous results.

But that's the thing: the only way for me to befriend someone is for them to have a consistency in their attitude, as I've mentioned above. This is because my subconscious tends to judge people in absolutes, and their mannerisms, behavior, and any other factors literally become ingrained into my thought processes to such an extent that I can apply judgment. This judgment ends in a ranking system of sorts: friendship being the highest, then acquaintanceship, general neutrality, and finally, general dislike. As much as my highest merits are accompanied with a strong respect, and often an ordained admiration, all of it can be harshly questioned with something as seemingly-minuscule as a foreign change in personality.

I wouldn't call it a fault of mine so much as it is a mannerism, but what this means is open to any interpretation, as is the definition of being a comrade itself. Something I reckon might be interesting for you to know is that, for the longest time, I didn't comprehend my own personality. This, like many things about me, can be associated with a lot of people—but, as I'll clarify, I used to want desperately to fit in with my peers. For over four years, it was as if I were in a continuous, perpetual state of depression that was only comforted with my occassionally-forgetful mind, but - just as the tide on the shallow end of a river tends to get higher - so did my depression; coming to this wave of realization, a few things hit me at once: I was like a leaf, floating down a dominant stream, and I let the statements and opinions of people I shouldn't have even cared about envelop me in such a way that my emotions were rampant and swirled together like the unleashed potential of a before-dormant typhoon.

These people . . . devoid of the emotions that I experienced, had managed to do something to me inside that I never realized was possible. I saw the error of my thinking, but still I couldn't manage to shake neither the guilt of the lingering experience or the requirement in my own perceptions that I had to fit in. And, shamefully as I admit it today, I started doing the one thing that I now despise. Like a chameleon adjusting to its environment, I willfully changed my personality in an attempt to adhere to some self-perceived 'popular code of conduct' that surrounded me, and, as a result of that, I got lost in an amalgam of falsified character traits and the crushing impact of a thought processes' worth of sundry emotions.

It was only recently did I come to the realization that none of those people mattered to me in any sense of the word more than the few friends that I had garnered. In these friends, it became apparent to me that I had a secure deposit box of sorts to place my frustrations, the whole of my thoughts, and basically anything else that would seem inconsequential to anyone else by any other means; I knew this would have to be done intelligently, as anyone would, because, as I've pointed out, my true friends can't be chosen. At that point it was up to my own judgment alone to select who to confide in, if anyone, and I ended up doing so. As luck would have it, and much to my surprise: hitherto at least, I have not regretted doing so.

But, with that now far gone and aside, the question must be answered: who am I? While I realize that would take a vast amount of time to answer, again, I'll try to sum it up as briefly as possible, utilizing the base amount of vocabulary that I know in doing so. Now, before I describe who I am, there needs to be some kind of order involved; "where do I begin?" is a cliché statement often referred to by people in this generation, writing in this type of medium, but the question to onesself is warranted when you have no idea of where to begin to describe yourself.

I'm not to be taken very seriously most of the time. In fact, most of the time, especially when I throw jesting insults at people, it is usually out of respect, or, at the very despicable, an attempt at humor. There is a stark difference in a jesting type of insult and a specifically brazen, hateful insult with an intention of hurting ones' feelings—and this difference must be discerned if one has any hope of remaining my comrade, by any means. While it can be misconstrued as an unnecessary requirement, what I'm referring to is that it must be discerned for, at least, other people, as I won't change my ways (again) for the benefit of people I don't care for. So, to make a long story condensed: if you are my friend, and if I begrudge someone I don't like, get over it. And if you do one day become my friend, those people are much more lenient to my behavior, and I would graciously accept holding off on doing something unsettling for them, more than likely.

More about me? What else is there? I'm not a particularly complex person, and some people might argue that I'm not even an intellectual. I do not claim to be either, and I do not pretend to be either - at least, as I'm making this post, on the day of Monday, December 1st, 2008. One thing that should be accentuated about me, in my new understanding, is that I have a fondness for hearing of negativity about myself - specifically the kind that isn't accompanied by evidence. What do I mean by this? It brings me a great joy to know that I've gauged some kind of reaction out of someone, for I would rather be hated than nothing at all, and it's only a plus that the baseless, rage-fueled feedback brings some humor with it.

What do I look like? How old am I? When is my birthday? My favorite color? All of these simple questions and others give you no insight into the workings of my mind. These outward appearances and minute tidbits about me wouldn't bring you any closer to me than examining a chipped-off piece of a clay sculpture would bring you to an understanding of the sculptor's intentions of the statue, or the inspirations that may have been derived in creating it. And while these questions may be good stepping-stones in forming a relationship by any other means, these shallow, impossibly inconsequential aspects about someone do not interest me.

Who am I?

You really wanna know?

. . . I'm Spiderman.