Self Portrait

Have you ever thought of painting a picture of how you see yourself, in your head?
I have, both how others may see me and how I see myself. Well, actually, how I
believe others may see me according to how I am towards them.
 
Here’s an example, one of the kids I have been involved with, I see myself as
a teacher to and a distant aunt that she can talk to when she can’t say what
she feels, to her parents. That’s how I think she sees me, my portrait, the
one I paint in my head, in regards to her, is of the character, of the little
old lady that lived in the shoe that had so many kids she didn’t know what
to do, cept love them.
 
That portrat doesn’t stay the same for everyone I have had the
fortune, or misfortune, to chat with over the years.  Sometimes,
a few times, I have been dead wrong with how some of the ones
I had become close to over several years time, actually see me. It’s
not wholly my fault, I mean the relationships always start off
with, ‘be honest, say anything, I like it when people are honest.’
That’s how they always start off, but what I find out later is
not every relationship that I covet or the people I love
unconditionally, are prepared to love me the same way.
 
It’s like this, when we talked for many hours and laughed
for many more, and while we were in the heat of ‘friendship’,
the things we said to each other was okay, it took everything
we was to each other to another level, like peeling an
artichoke to get to the heart. Then years later you find your
heart was revealed but theirs, not so much. All of a sudden
the words you used caused sadness, all of a sudden the
words you used caused pain and hurt, all of a sudden the
words you used was poisionous.
 
You find out you were suppposed to hold back, ‘see
no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil’, the part of your
character that did was unwanted and therefore bad.
 
Not everybody can love unconditionally, more importantly,
not everyone wants you to. Anyway, there was this kid that
painted a ‘mama’ portrat to me. I didn’t ask her to, she
was bound and determined to no matter what I said. When
we first met, she was in a bad place both in her heart and
in her head, she cut, she was heading towards anorexia, she
was not clear on what the future held for her. Now she is like
night and day, she has done well for herself, she has a
handsome, little boy and from what I know (it isn’t much nowadays)
she’s pretty happy and her future is lit up like her smile. Now I’m
poison to her, according to her, but I do get pictures and updates
every now and then. It’s appropriate, pictures are just images
with no depth, which is what our relationship has turned out
to be. The thing is, once she revealed my heart it stayed
revealed, so I still love her the same, but contact with
poison is limited. I am left with the words, ‘there’s new
pictures.’
 
So it has occured again that someone else has revealed to
me that the portrait of me that she sees is harmful, poisonous.
For her, the portrait wasn’t of her as a kid, or me as ‘mama’. I tried
to keep it just as ‘someone’ over the internet, but I didn’t, so
a portrait was formed, I always thought she saw me as a
librarian, she would come use my thoughts when they
were useful and when they weren’t, silence, basically. My feelings
aren’t important at this point, I think both view me as having none,
other than hate. Anyway, I was given the portrait she painted of
me, and it was as a ‘hope killer’, she’s a dreamer, so I am
probably a dream killer too. Sometimes, I think to be nice, some
people feel that not saying anything is better then being
blunt or upfront, it’s more polite, but actually, if your
actions are already saying it,  it’s not my choice and hurts
just the same, no, I’m wrong, it hurts a lot more. And again,
I am left with the words, ‘there’s new pictures’.
 
I painted another portrait of myself in my head, and it
is of a window pane with rolling raindrops running slowly
down the window’s pane of glass. Raindrops because it’s
the closest things to teardrops to me.
 
As a warning to others, you may wanna avoid me too
just in case I become just as poisonous to you. It is what
it is, love means not looking after your own interests. It’s
like if I was gangrene, which is poison to the body, you
would cut away the limb to save the body. I regret that
this is how someone I care deeply for sees me, but I
don’t regret anything I’ve ever said, I’m sorry they do.
 
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