In my Heart...

         Why the fuck do I feel the need to be better than others. Why do I feel as though when some marvelous act befalls another I must circumcise it and triumph it with my own envious greed, deep inside fighting myself and the anger that boils my flesh. I don’t know why I’m like this, my lover calling me jealous and speaking of how I “need to get over it” makes my skin crawl and brow firm to the point where I throw anger tantrums, fists flying through nail and wood with an vicious scowl laid out across my face. Whenever someone is better at me in something I take interest in it makes me depressed, a feeling of eternal jealousy lays into me.
         What am I? I’m an overall kind person; I care deeply for those around me, and embrace life. Yet, when someone mentions playing music, or skills that are deeper and more refined than my own I get eccentrically jealous. I hide it well. I hide it with contempt and laugh it off usually; speaking badly about the one who has these skills and who had these things happen unto them. Oh my sarcasm hides my green face. I try to appear superior, what kind of complexity must I have to put myself in such a position? I attempt to shrug it off, no big deal right? Wrong. I’m being held against my will by an emotion, nay a demon, which slices the back of my skill wide-open for those around me to see and hold in my arms as my body falls to the ground lifeless.
         Perhaps I feel like this because I lack the discipline that I see around me. Many people comment to me how good I am at something, how wonderful it is to have SUCH A TALENT. What talent? What good is having a skill when it’s toyed with so ever often? I start music, I begin projects, I commence art, I might as well be playing with fire, and at least the fire eventually goes out.
         I write this in a state of anger, a state of melancholious desire to be good at something. To finish something, and at this point I’m considering closing this document and forget the whole thing has happened. Going on living this life a lie; hiding from everyone my envious nature. Yet, if I close it now it will just be another work unfinished, unpolished, left in the dust, the rubble, the darkness of my bittersweet soul to rot in the damnation of all the fires in the world.
         I wish to finish things. I really wish I could finish things. I either start projects or get to the middle and wade out like a half-dead fish flopping around on land, you know it’s going to die, but it tries to flop back into the water anyway.
         Is it hate that drives me? Me? Someone who abhors the word, who tells people not to use it? Am I really the one that holds so much hate in my soul that I would go the lengths to cut myself off from all human interaction to better myself and pretend I am a god dancing around in shining armor?
         Narcissistic you say? No. Not quite, I don’t give two shits less how I appear to others. It’s a show-off battle between me and the world; I wish to prove my knowledge and skills to everybody. Is it so wrong to want to belong? Hell, I can’t even keep friends long enough, they talk to me for about a month and I suppose they loose interest. Nobody talks to me, nobody calls me, nobody invites me anywhere, and I am truly a loner in this iridescent world. I guess that’s something else I can’t finish, friendships.
         I suppose I should wrap things up, it’s getting late here. My eyes are sagging and my heart is beating slowly, the emotional cramps of this demon batting at my being. I don’t know what to do anymore, tonight was a turning point in my life. Now everyone knows my true nature, I need help. Someone help me.