Lasciate Ogne Speranza, Voi Ch'intrate
Prologue
My name isn’t Dante.
It’s actually far from it and maybe that’s one of the reasons I like it. Not that it matters though.
I call myself whatever I feel like. Whatever can hide, or better yet erase, the actual me. This pathetic excuse for a human being. This vessel of fears, hopes and emotions. All that I am. Everything I wished I never wanted to be.
That’s right. I wish there was something else I could dream to become. But all I am is me – a constant plea for anger to erase the pain and fear. I’m angry and I want to be; although it’s pitiable. It’s just that anything else is too much to bear. And I’m not strong enough to rise above it all. Therefore all I can do is to grasp for such a basic emotion, holding on for dear life. Because whishing for something better doesn’t help.
So let’s just stick with Dante. It’s easier.
I’m not depressed. I’m not an addict. And I’m not an alcoholic, though I occasionally do drink I bit too much I’ll admit that. I don’t see it as a problem. I’m a teenager and we don’t know what’s really good for us. I’ll grow out of it, you just wait and see.
I’m not a cutter. Scratches don’t count even if they bleed a little. I couldn’t cut deep; I’m scared of scars. I’m scared of dying. I’m not a cutter.
You can spell my life ‘tragedy’ if you like. If you don’t mind clichés of course. But I’d rather have you keep from summing me up with just one word.
You don’ know me.
But you’ve already figured me out, haven’t you? Made nice assumptions, categorized me, labeled me. You’re just like the rest. Just like all the kids at my High School. Or are you better than that? Above that? Hypocrite. Admit: you already have a fine image already. And you just can’t let go. The question is: are you going to judge me based on you assumptions, or are you going to give me a fair chance despite them? It’s up to you.
It’s actually far from it and maybe that’s one of the reasons I like it. Not that it matters though.
I call myself whatever I feel like. Whatever can hide, or better yet erase, the actual me. This pathetic excuse for a human being. This vessel of fears, hopes and emotions. All that I am. Everything I wished I never wanted to be.
That’s right. I wish there was something else I could dream to become. But all I am is me – a constant plea for anger to erase the pain and fear. I’m angry and I want to be; although it’s pitiable. It’s just that anything else is too much to bear. And I’m not strong enough to rise above it all. Therefore all I can do is to grasp for such a basic emotion, holding on for dear life. Because whishing for something better doesn’t help.
So let’s just stick with Dante. It’s easier.
I’m not depressed. I’m not an addict. And I’m not an alcoholic, though I occasionally do drink I bit too much I’ll admit that. I don’t see it as a problem. I’m a teenager and we don’t know what’s really good for us. I’ll grow out of it, you just wait and see.
I’m not a cutter. Scratches don’t count even if they bleed a little. I couldn’t cut deep; I’m scared of scars. I’m scared of dying. I’m not a cutter.
You can spell my life ‘tragedy’ if you like. If you don’t mind clichés of course. But I’d rather have you keep from summing me up with just one word.
You don’ know me.
But you’ve already figured me out, haven’t you? Made nice assumptions, categorized me, labeled me. You’re just like the rest. Just like all the kids at my High School. Or are you better than that? Above that? Hypocrite. Admit: you already have a fine image already. And you just can’t let go. The question is: are you going to judge me based on you assumptions, or are you going to give me a fair chance despite them? It’s up to you.