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July 30th, 2004 - A bit about shame

 

Dear Journal,


It's awfully earlier in the morning. Well, it's 5:15 now, but not when I tried to get back to sleep thanks to my cat, Corvus, thinking it was appropriate to wake me up!! Darn cat! What's with his licking, and purring, and cuddling and such! How even I can manage to say no to that?! Still, where is the little bugger now? Bet he's back to sleep darn him! Life is so ironic that I would not be surprised of such an occurence. Oh! I'm afraid he was not. He's rather playing with my tea set which he has found quite fascinating for a week now.  Had to charm it with an unbreakable spell of course, the cat would not relent. And I hate to change my habits. My tea set remains where it is. It's not as if I needed the extra cups too often anyway. Might as well throw them away.

Alright! I'm dramatizing yet again. Maybe I'll keep two cups, that would do for the whole impressive number of people to ever cross the threshold of my den simultaneously. Yes, two is aplenty if not too exaggerated.  

Oh, here I go again, complaining about my lack of visitors. Do I even want visitors in the first place?! I doubt it. They grate on my nerves. Idle chit-chat, asking about the weather while everybody already knows the answer, commenting on the decor as if anybody cared, and then they start off on the most common subjects: "Is there anything new with your job?" (No, only more twits!), "Still alone I see?!" (Yes, very much so. Thank you for reminding me!), and then that last question's sidekick, "When are you ever going to settle down?" (When I have found someone who does not ask me those kind of questions to cover up for their lack of brains!), and so on.  Of course, I don't want any visitors here, though I often find myself wishing it were people not such dunces. Then, by all means, I would more readily accept company. But as reality goes, such an extraordinary shall never be! Hence, the only ones who shall visit will be Albus and Lupin. Great!  Oh, and sometimes Minerva comes over, too, for her sickening "Happy-whatever-holiday-it-is" greetings. Oh joy!

Corvus is going back to sleep. Not when I'm awake, oh no!! He's going to suffer like I am for waking me up only four hours after I had finally gotten in the Moon's arms as I like to say. If only that were true though. The Moon's arms! In my case the Moon is being quite uncomforting, really.  It's almost like being wed to her: nightmares from which I cannot escape. Yes, definitely like mariage!  

Alright, if I want to be truthful, I should say I'm in a "bad mariage" with the Moon while some have a wonderful one! Of which I am envious of course!  It seems my life is but an endless chain of envy and jealousy. Others have everything I don't and I can't seem to get pass that point. Hence, my miserable state of mind. Some would be happy to know my problem has been identified, but I am not. Identifying a problem means you have to do something to solve it and/or live with it. In which case, solving is not an option. You cannot change your inner nature, only learn to accept it.  Ah! Now I'm in for long and painful acceptance am I not!  Yes indeed, acceptance... Even when I extract my deeds as a Death Eater, guilt and imperfection still invade my mind. I was never perfect, can never be, yet I crave for it like a moth does a flame. It shall be my end, too.

I was told to loathe imperfection, to feel guilty about it.  That was my education, but also a part of me was always like that I'm sure. So I always strive to attain perfection while it was but an illusion, is an illusion to which mankind is forever bound. But my mind, my hoping restless mind will not accept defeat so easily. I grew up thinking it was possible, that I would do it... but all in vain, each time. It's always in vain. All that we touch is doomed to imperfection by our very nature. So why, even knowing this, do I still crave and try for more?  Why do I loath myself so much for my own imperfection that is in fact inconditional to my being alive?  Because I was ingrained with it by my education? I wonder.  It must take root in my education, the so-called childish desire to act as according to one's parents even though they ask you the impossible. There are a lot of painful memories associated to that very question that come forth. But not just from when I was young, also from school. When my parents were not there, all that was left was to impress my teachers. And a 100% is achievable at school while not in life.  Maybe it is why I was so bound on performing.  The only way to achieve perfection in this world was through these tests, still is the only form.

Is that why I feel so angry and loathsome at my own mind and soul when faced with less than perfection when faced with situations or people I have no idea how to deal with? It makes sense. Why do I hate meetings and such if not that I feel a total moron, a socially misadapted moron who can barely scrape a 20% in Human Relationship life's class. It's the same process as getting a bad grade on an exam for which you tried to study so hard: you get frustrated, you call yourself an idiot, you fear others will look upon you and try to make fun of your grade, you sweat, you feel like you're the worst student ever, but worst of all, you feel deep shame.  Oh yes, am I a close acquaintaince to shame. "Shame on you, Severus" my mind reminds me each time I feel at loss in a crowd or in a group. Shame on me for not being able to achieve a modicum of sociability like the others. Shame on me for being incapable of even a single niceties. Shame on me for it all. Then I feel trapped, observed and forgotten, too. I wish someone would just come to me with a subject I am proficient at, something not trivial, cold hard facts. But no, it rarely comes.  The discussions always are more personal, about ideas and opinions I do not share or see the point in. Hence, all I am left to do is listen and pray nobody will ask me. The scary bat persona comes in handy there. They know they will get a rebuke, so they don't ask.  Except for my closer acquaintance who often try to include me, against my will and everybody else's. Do they not see how shakily I feel? How ashamed and misadapted I am?  Why force nature to bend in a way for which it was not meant!  In such occassions, I rarely find anything good to say but sarcasms. Protectful sarcasm.

Well, it seems my eyes are going back to sleep on their own now. I should do as much. I'll write more on that seemingly endless subject at another time.

Severus