Fragments of a Hidden Soul

My mind is a ceaseless void, thoughts adrift with no sense of direction—yet I still find myself trying to understand my true intentions as if they were lurking under my skin. There are times when I, for some reason, am misunderstood. I can't say that it doesn't bother me; in fact, it makes me question my own perception of reality, to the point where I cannot distinguish whether I am good or evil.

I feel as though I am a mirror, a mirror which reflects people's actions and words back to themselves. But why is it that, when their own actions are reflected back to them, it is deemed intolerable?—Why is it unacceptable when I am just giving them a taste of their own medicine?

I grew tired of explaining myself knowing that my words are like gusts of wind passing through people's ears, it reached the point where I couldn't care less about how people would think of me anymore, be it a good friend, the worst foe, a worthless child, a manipulative liar, or a traitor.

I believe that most people judge only based on what they see, thinking they can comprehend the whole story from a brief glimpse. This tendency often leads to false assumptions. When the main character of the narrative they've constructed discovers this, it takes an emotional toll them. In such moments, it's a "kill or be killed" scenario—a metaphor that can also mean: fight back or get stepped on. For me, if I were to choose between those two options, I would prefer to be stepped on, not because I'm hesitant when it comes to defending myself against phony speculations, but for the reason that I find pleasure in making my opponents think of me as a pitiful human. I know it makes no sense as I sound like a lunatic beyond means, though I believe it is the optimum verdict for the sake of making them think highly of themselves.