thisisthedevil (thisisthedevil) wrote,

okay so i put together a short biography type thing. whatever, i guess

I was enjoying one of the happiest songs I’ve ever heard; and then I heard a swarm of cop cars and ambulances. Perfect analogy of my life, you see. Beautiful tragedy.
I don’t know who this girl is.
I’m Ashley, and I don’t even think I can begin to dig deep enough to tell you who I am. If this were me a year ago, I’d have spilled my guts. I’d have told you what was wrong with the world, I’d have told you how I think everyone hates me. I’d have spoken of heartache, of being lonely, of wrecking myself. I’d have complained that there weren’t any real or nice or passionate people left. I’d have whined about my past, and my ‘problems.’ & I was always looking to be in a relationship. (I probably would have bitched and moaned about never having a boyfriend/girlfriend.) Anyone who knows me now would agree with me, too. Which is sad.
(This is not really happening. You bet your life it is.)
I can’t tell you everything. I’m sure you don’t want to hear it in the first place. I could tell you about how this afternoon I lied in bed for nearly two hours listening to the rain. I could tell you about how today, the stray black cat that hangs out at my house sat in the window while the rain poured, and how it took my breath away simply because the image, the situation was beautiful. I could mention how reality doesn’t exist. Regardless, I’m here, you’re here, and not a damn thing will change that fact. It angers me sometimes knowing that I can’t wake up and be a different person every day. Although… I feel it. Every morning I squint my eyes, smash my alarm clock, and my body wasn’t the same as it was yesterday. My thick hair felt thinner yesterday. The day before, I was bald. Next week I’ll have a head full of curls and smoke clove cigarettes. But today I’ll decide on being anorexic, cynical, deprived, misunderstood, detached, fragile, too nice, and I’ll laugh at you for being a pathetic human being while I daydream and listen to the same Tori Amos song on repeat for a few hours.
I can, however, tell you that there is no one else in the world exactly like me. I see things differently. I live inside of my head, and I create my own problems. I’m the best friend you’d ever have, yet your worst enemy at the same time. I don’t make lots of friends, but I do make lots of victims; lots of deities. I’m loyal, but a liar. I’m fucking crazy, but still have it together. Small things can break me, while crime scenes fascinate me. I’m random, and I’m sure you wish you were. My personality type is INFP. (Or the Idealist Healer/Poet.) I don’t care if it’s a lot, read it. You’ll understand me a lot more once you do.

I present a calm, pleasant face to the world and am seen as reticent and even shy. Although I demonstrate a cool reserve toward others, inside I am anything but distant. I have a capacity of caring which is not always found in other personalities. I care deeply - indeed passionately - about a few special persons or a cause. One word that captures this type is idealistic. At times, this characteristic leaves me feeling isolated.
I have a profound sense of honor derived from internal values. I am the Princess of mythology, the King's Champion, Defender of the Faith, and guardian of the castle. Sir Galahad and Joan of Arc are male and female prototypes of me. To understand me, my CAUSE must be understood, for I am willing to make unusual sacrifices for someone or something believed in.
I never seem to lose my sense of wonder. One might say I see life through rose-colored glasses. It's as though I live at the edge of a looking-glass world where mundane objects come to life, where flora and fauna take on near-human qualities
I have the ability to see good in almost anyone or anything. Even for the most unlovable, I have pity.
My extreme depth of feeling is often hidden, even from myself, until circumstances evoke an impassioned response.
I seek unity in my life, unity of body and mind, emotions and intellect. I often have a subtle tragic motif running through my life, but others seldom detect this inner minor key. The deep commitment of me to the positive and the good causes me to be alert to the negative and the evil, which can take the form of a fascination with the profane. Thus I may live in a paradox, drawn toward purity and unity but looking over the shoulder toward the sullied and desecrated. When I believe that I have yielded to an impure temptation, I may be given to acts of self-sacrifice in atonement. The atonement, however, is within my mind who dose not feel to be compelled to make public the issue.
Of course, not all of life is rosy, and I am not exempt from the same disappointments and frustrations common to humanity. As I tend to have a sense of failed competence, I struggle with the issue of my own ethical perfection, e.g., performance of duty for the greater cause. An friend describes the inner conflict as not good versus bad, but on a grand scale, Good vs. Evil. Luke Skywalker in Star Wars depicts this conflict in his struggle between the two sides of "The Force." Although the dark side must be reckoned with, I believe that good ultimately triumphs.
At work, I am adaptable, welcome new ideas and new information, am well aware of people and their feelings, and relate well to most, albeit with some psychological distance. I dislike telephone interruptions and work well alone, as well as with others. I am patient with complicated situations of fact, but seldom of values. My career choices may be toward the ministry, missionary work, college teaching, psychiatry, architecture, psychology - and away from business. I seem willing and usually am able to apply myself scholastically to gain the necessary training for professional work, often doing better in college than I did in high school. I have a natural interest in scholarly activities and demonstrate remarkable facility for languages. Often I hear a calling in the world to help others. I can make an outstanding novelist and character actor, for I am able to efface my own personality in my portrayal of a character in a way other types cannot.
II live primarily in a rich inner world of introverted Feeling. Being inward-turning, the natural attraction is away from world and toward essence and ideal. This introversion of dominant Feeling, receiving its data from extraverted intuition, must be the source of the nature of these usually gentle beings. The "object," be it homo sapiens or a mere representation of an organism, is valued only to the degree that the object contains some measure of the inner Essence or greater Good. Doing a good deed, for example, may provide intrinsic satisfaction which is only secondary to the greater good of striking a blow against Man's Inhumanity to Mankind.
That is me to a T. Yes, I’m a bitch most of the time. Yes, I like to think I’m better than everyone else. Although, I can get along with mostly everyone, even random people shoved in my face. I’m the youngest person at my job – everyone else is above the age of thirty. Yet I seem to have a blast at work every day, even though none of the people hang out with me outside of work. Just because I would never hang out with any of them outside of work – but they’re nice company to have while on the job. Yes, I was abused during a large portion of my life. Yes, I heard my dad beating up my mom when I was little. Yes, I started writing and drawing at a young age – vague escape from what I was living in. Take a seven year old, throw in some pencils, a snow white bed spread, lots of books, no friends, toy horses, and that was me. I used to press my ears against the floor to hear my neighbors’ music at night, and most of it was jazz & oldies. Hearing it relieved the pain I carried as a burden from witnessing abuse. It didn’t happen to me until I was older. Ten years old, maybe. Harsh, stringent abuse. I’m surprised I’m here to type this.
Raped repeatedly at fourteen, I was homeless more than three times before the age of seventeen. I just started getting my life together a few months ago. I don’t have to look at the keyboard to type and I type probably faster than any computer programmer to exist. It’s because for a long time, I’d go to school, come home, and sit online all day. It was the same as it was at age seven, except I was typing to friends on a monitor rather than sitting on my floor writing ‘I hate me’, ‘why’, over and over again on a sheet of colorful stationary. (Most seven year olds were probably playing with barbies or singing along with Mariah Carey.) I wish.
I’ve seen hell. No, I’ve seen it. Breathed it. Stepped across the bridge of life and death – I’ve seen myself in more than a mirror. I’ve seen myself dying. Age thirteen, about to die from loss of so much blood. Age thirteen, the day my belief in God began. The day I lied in a cat scan for hours upon hours, bleeding. (The day a brick gate met my face.) This is why I hate bicycles. No, I won’t talk about it in further depth, either.
I see the world as a disgusting middle school lunch tray. Something I wouldn’t ever want to consume, yet something I want to make better. I’m afraid of people loving me. I’m afraid of fucking up. I’m a perfectionist, everything has to be right. Not for you. I could care less about what you think. If it’s not done a certain way, and if it’s not target, it’s unacceptable. At the same time, I love simplicity. I’d rather have someone bring me flowers from someone’s yard than order me a dozen roses.
I'm manic depressive, and bipolar. I deal with my imbalances myself. Medication creates zombies.
I was arrested six times before the age of fourteen. I’ve lived in many places. (Many countries.) I listen to all kinds of music. There’s no limit to such a savior. From Billie Holiday to Stone Temple Pilots, from Tegan and Sara to the Smashing Pumpkins, from Tori Amos to Moby, I love music. It’s saved my life, and healed my heart. It’s not the numbers that count. It’s the significance.
I feel asleep most of the time. Other times I just feel numb. I want more. I want out of here. This town is too fucking small for me. I want to be out, I want to be helping. I love volunteering. I love being a vegetarian, and I love vegan/vegetarian cooking. I love contributing acts of improvement to such a dilapidated wasteland. I want new friends. I want beautiful friends who will understand me. Friends who will shoot tea out of their noses with me, and almost instantly can speak of ancient philosophy over lattes in a dark café somewhere with me. Seems hard to find.. especially in a place like this.
I want to be a psychologist for children. If I had a choice, I’d work in an orphanage. If I were a millionaire, I’d donate to charity, definitely. Well, I already do donate to charities and foundations, but I’d just donate more if I had the money. I’m a firm believer in disguises of God. If you come across a beggar on the street; it could be God waiting for you to prove your loyalty to humankind. If you see a stray dog walking across a busy street, it could be God waiting to see your actions. Do you stop? Or do you continue to drive & hit the dog? ‘Dog’ backwards is ‘God’, anyway. The world is a pattern.
There are signs. All you have to do is look for them. Look harder.
My favorite movies are Great Expectations and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. For many reasons. Great Expectations is beautifully filmed, beautifully captured. Everything about Fin is how I feel; except I’m not in love with a coquette, I’m in love with the world. (The world breaks my heart. Can you feel it?)
You probably think I’m insane by now. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re just like everyone else, and you’re more than likely not even reading this. Go do something useful, for once. I’m saving up to move far away. Far away with constant rain, snow, gray skies, busy streets, sleepless buildings, crying children, subways. Somewhere I can be myself. And be appreciated for it. I’ll send a postcard when I’m there.
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