Lies and the Liars That Tell Them. By Al Franken.
I've been lied to a lot. That isn't to say that it's all bad and that I hate all of it, but I've been lied to. We all have. I guess the part about it that aggravates me is that it doesn't follow a pattern. I lie a lot, but it's strategic. I'll lie if it gives me an edge, or if I can benefit from it, be it directly or indirectly. But this isn't an entry about my lying tendencies or about the number of lies that I've told, be they little or life-changing , it's about what I've been told.
I'm in a rare situation, or at least that's what I was told. Growing up without a father figure in my life, I wasn't raised to play football or to do other "manly" things, I was told to use my mind and keep in touch with my emotions. My mom told me to walk away from things and to avoid conflict as much as possible, an error that I have since attempted to correct many times. That's awkward as a kid, and it doesn't do wonders for you socially either. Another kid will push you down or something and you won't fight back, you'll just take it; then you'll take the anger that the act caused and put it somewhere that it doesn't belong. That's dangerous. On top of that, it makes you a prime target for bullying, which is the main reason I'm here at Prout to begin with, all because I was raised to be a girl instead of a boy.
In psychology class, we learned that you are born with one of two personality types: choleric or... I forget. It doesn't matter, because I'm a congenital choleric. Being a congenital choleric means that I'm quicker to anger than those who are not congenital cholerics, put simply. This conflicts with what my mother tried to install in me, the pacifism that she tried to teach me clashes with agressive personality that I have. Have you ever seen someone have tears running down their face while they were winning a fight? Not actually crying, but just a constant stream of tears? Because there hasn't been a line drawn between anger and sadness, the two link themselves together. And putting those two emotions together is not a safe thing to do. It causes a snowball effect, I get angry and then I get sad, which turns into anger, causing me to be sad. I'm slowly breaking it, but that's a metaphorical scar on my being.
Since I realized what she had done, intentionally or not, I have made it my mission to "fix" myself. I'm afraid of bugs because my mother tried to protect me from them when I was a kid. I'm afraid of heights because my mother gets vertigo and she freaked out whenever I'd go to any high surface. But the lies aren't all linked to fear, some of them are more serious. Like that whole "you can do whatever you set your mind to" mentality, she still hangs on to that to this day. Hell, she even had me apply to Johns Hopkins University, and she told me that she thinks I'll get in. There's a line between hopeful and delusional, and she's lightyears past it.
There are more, but you've got to earn those.
I'm in a rare situation, or at least that's what I was told. Growing up without a father figure in my life, I wasn't raised to play football or to do other "manly" things, I was told to use my mind and keep in touch with my emotions. My mom told me to walk away from things and to avoid conflict as much as possible, an error that I have since attempted to correct many times. That's awkward as a kid, and it doesn't do wonders for you socially either. Another kid will push you down or something and you won't fight back, you'll just take it; then you'll take the anger that the act caused and put it somewhere that it doesn't belong. That's dangerous. On top of that, it makes you a prime target for bullying, which is the main reason I'm here at Prout to begin with, all because I was raised to be a girl instead of a boy.
In psychology class, we learned that you are born with one of two personality types: choleric or... I forget. It doesn't matter, because I'm a congenital choleric. Being a congenital choleric means that I'm quicker to anger than those who are not congenital cholerics, put simply. This conflicts with what my mother tried to install in me, the pacifism that she tried to teach me clashes with agressive personality that I have. Have you ever seen someone have tears running down their face while they were winning a fight? Not actually crying, but just a constant stream of tears? Because there hasn't been a line drawn between anger and sadness, the two link themselves together. And putting those two emotions together is not a safe thing to do. It causes a snowball effect, I get angry and then I get sad, which turns into anger, causing me to be sad. I'm slowly breaking it, but that's a metaphorical scar on my being.
Since I realized what she had done, intentionally or not, I have made it my mission to "fix" myself. I'm afraid of bugs because my mother tried to protect me from them when I was a kid. I'm afraid of heights because my mother gets vertigo and she freaked out whenever I'd go to any high surface. But the lies aren't all linked to fear, some of them are more serious. Like that whole "you can do whatever you set your mind to" mentality, she still hangs on to that to this day. Hell, she even had me apply to Johns Hopkins University, and she told me that she thinks I'll get in. There's a line between hopeful and delusional, and she's lightyears past it.
There are more, but you've got to earn those.
posted by Dylan at 4:56 PM
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