Journal trmj's Journal: What's your story? 10
Mine is the story of a boy who failed at life.
It wasn't as though he didn't try, but he was always told he wouldn't amount to anything, and he was the scapegoat for any familial problems. The middle child in every meaning of the term.
It got to the point when one day he looked through a window and saw a boy who wasn't there. There was simply nothing left, a lost look that had no destination, only places that didn't work anymore. It hurt just to breathe. He wasn't anybody, he wasn't even concious of existance anymore.
And he realized that the boy was a clean slate. Because there was nothing left, he could shape the boy into the only truely good person he could imagine, an amalgamation of the bits and pieces of good in those around him.
So he stopped being for years, and simply studied every person he came in contact with, every action that took place, and every word that was spoken. Everything meant something to somebody, but what? Was it good or bad, and how would he judge what is good or bad? Did he even have the right to be that judge?
He would have to be, and he set out to study what, happening around him, made others feel good or bad. He superficially imitated these feelings when put in similiar situations, and guaged reactions. He did good and he did bad and he helped and he let go.
And he learned.
Mine is the story of a boy who built a person starting at the age of 16.
It took over two years before the person, finally able to join society and be considered human by its creator, to be ready for a test run. And he did the first outgoing thing he had done in over two years: he spoke to somebody as a person, instead of just as a robot who spewed information when questioned.
The boy had done well, as this person seemed to enjoy talking and quickly considered himself a friend. And then in time a best friend. And a business partner. And a confidant. And in time the friendship drifted apart, but the lessons were plenty.
The person was constantly refined. The past never mattered, all that mattered was who the people around him were and what the choices laid before him were. The hardest thing he had done to date was to see precisely what those choices were: anything at all. It scared him to think that at any time, he could kill the person next to him. Or he could care for them. Or he could leave. Or he could stay. He could do anything at all, there was nothing stopping him but the consequences of his actions and the goal of becoming the person he wanted to be.
And who was the person he wanted to be? Somebody others could look to as an example of a good person. Somebody he would have looked up to had they been around when he needed it. He wanted to be the person he needed because he didn't want anybody to have to go through that alone ever again.
Mine is the story of a man who tried, and you're all part of this story. And I don't think I've thanked you all for playing your supporting roles so well.
Thank you.
It wasn't as though he didn't try, but he was always told he wouldn't amount to anything, and he was the scapegoat for any familial problems. The middle child in every meaning of the term.
It got to the point when one day he looked through a window and saw a boy who wasn't there. There was simply nothing left, a lost look that had no destination, only places that didn't work anymore. It hurt just to breathe. He wasn't anybody, he wasn't even concious of existance anymore.
And he realized that the boy was a clean slate. Because there was nothing left, he could shape the boy into the only truely good person he could imagine, an amalgamation of the bits and pieces of good in those around him.
So he stopped being for years, and simply studied every person he came in contact with, every action that took place, and every word that was spoken. Everything meant something to somebody, but what? Was it good or bad, and how would he judge what is good or bad? Did he even have the right to be that judge?
He would have to be, and he set out to study what, happening around him, made others feel good or bad. He superficially imitated these feelings when put in similiar situations, and guaged reactions. He did good and he did bad and he helped and he let go.
And he learned.
Mine is the story of a boy who built a person starting at the age of 16.
It took over two years before the person, finally able to join society and be considered human by its creator, to be ready for a test run. And he did the first outgoing thing he had done in over two years: he spoke to somebody as a person, instead of just as a robot who spewed information when questioned.
The boy had done well, as this person seemed to enjoy talking and quickly considered himself a friend. And then in time a best friend. And a business partner. And a confidant. And in time the friendship drifted apart, but the lessons were plenty.
The person was constantly refined. The past never mattered, all that mattered was who the people around him were and what the choices laid before him were. The hardest thing he had done to date was to see precisely what those choices were: anything at all. It scared him to think that at any time, he could kill the person next to him. Or he could care for them. Or he could leave. Or he could stay. He could do anything at all, there was nothing stopping him but the consequences of his actions and the goal of becoming the person he wanted to be.
And who was the person he wanted to be? Somebody others could look to as an example of a good person. Somebody he would have looked up to had they been around when he needed it. He wanted to be the person he needed because he didn't want anybody to have to go through that alone ever again.
Mine is the story of a man who tried, and you're all part of this story. And I don't think I've thanked you all for playing your supporting roles so well.
Thank you.
No, you got it wrong. (Score:2)
You're wonderful (Score:2)
At least, there are parts that don't go here.
What is wonderful about you is that you are not just everyone's servant or everyone's friend, you are an active part in shaping the world that you want to live in. Perhaps now you understand why blinder and i took so heartily to you when we first met you, and would walk through fire for you if you needed it.
What you told us? We didn't know why, but we knew what. And we didn't know how, but we knew who.
And we love yo
woo (Score:1)
Well done!
Re: (Score:2)
Re:A heartening story (Score:1)
Tangential thought:
How does one pronounce trmj? tee-are-em-jay? or turm-juh?
Re: (Score:2)
Re:A heartening story (Score:1)
What does that mean? Acronyms are usually lost on me. Does it have something to do with LOL and those types of abbreviations?
Re: (Score:2)
Who am I? I'm Two Four Six Oh One! (Score:2)
I'm a little everywhere. I'm a little everything. I'm at once a figment of your imagination, and the figment of a once-13 year old kids imagination. I am Allen Zadr, and I don't exist:
/~Allen+Zadr/journal/67016 [slashdot.org]
The 13 year old kid hasn't been 13 for many, many years, but Allen Zadr was his pseudonym until he was 15. Allen Zadr made a new appearance, and now, he answers your questions.
The boy's parents were both heavy drug users. There was a very ugly divorce. There was a very good chance that t
thanks (Score:2)
nice, thanks for sharing. I sat a long time (many days) trying to think of something better and more profound to put here, but all I can say is wow.