Every breath I take is a nightmare. I am hated by all, and I hate all. When I try to do good, I am met with scorn. When I try to hurt others, I am given respect.
I was born evil. My mom said so, ever since I was a child. I was born evil. All the other babies in the hospital were crying, but I never cried. I just stared, uncannily. I never blinked. All the other babies were born bald, but I was born with a full head of hair. I had the devil in me.
And so it was, and so it has been, all my life. I have seen much. I have tried to escape my fate. I’ve fallen in love, and others have loved me. But that love has always turned to hate, repeatedly, over and over again. I keep telling people, “don’t trust me, don’t trust me. I’m a pessimist. I’m a misanthrope. You can’t trust me.” I tell them, even if I’m falling in love with them. I tell them even when they’re falling in love with me. But they smile, and ignore my warnings, and I can’t help but reciprocate. I act on instinct, driven by affection, “love”, desire. I flirt. I smile. She flirts. She smiles.
My halfhearted words fall on deaf ears. She thinks I’m being melodramatic. And this “she” is not one “she”. Over and over again, the pattern has repeated. I’ve tried to fight myself. I’ve tried to warn her. I’ve tried to dissociate from her. But it never works. We fall in love. We become a couple.
I’m sick. So sick of that expression she gives me, when she realizes I’m evil. When I betray her. When I choose myself — and I always choose myself. How could I not? I don’t believe in humans. I don’t believe in love. I came this far on my own. I’ve let a lot of people go, and I’ve lived on the edge all my life. It’s how I’ve survived. So I always choose myself.
I’m so tired of seeing the loving smile turn to shock, anger…but fear. Mostly it’s always fear. I don’t blame her. She sees the monster. The one I’ve been telling her about all this time. She sees the monster and she is terrified.
I was born evil.
Every good thing I have done has backfired. When I’ve tried to be kind, I’ve been kicked. When I’ve tried to be peaceful, I’ve been abused. When I’ve tried to be loving, I’ve killed.
My only success has been in stepping on others. In hurting them. In killing their dreams. In getting ahead. I’m good at it. I’m good at being the villain of my own story.
I was telling someone a few days ago about how I don’t like to choose — I like to observe. She looked at me with some concern, and asked, “if you keep acting like that, you’ll stop being the protagonist of your own life.”
I didn’t tell her, I’m not the protagonist. I’m always the antagonist. I’m always the enemy. I’m sick of being the enemy. I’m sick of standing as one person, always against groups of two or three or four or five. The number doesn’t matter, but it’s always many against one. I’m used to being alone. If I’m in a confrontation, I know everyone and their dog will be against me. That’s just how it is.
But I’m strong. I’m no sheep. I’m strong. I’m a survivor. I protect myself. I’m for myself. I act in my self interest.
And I should never, never try to act any other way. Because if I try to play the good guy, I always make the wrong choice.