there's a post i stumbled upon once while i was scrolling through the personal vent tag. it wrote, as i can vaguely recall "if someone offered me a box and told me to crawl inside, no matter how small, i'd do it. I'd tear my limbs to fit inside because fitting in was never an option for me, there's a part of me that always feels the need to— like instinct." i forgot the username of the person who posted it, but god .. did this stick with me.
loneliness is like a reoccurring cut on my skin. each time it returned felt like that gaping wound was sliced over and over again. i wanted friends, i wanted connection, i wanted the warmth that movies and books reiterate you could feel through relationships. but i have been so unfortunate as a child to have only been exposed to other children that i either just couldn't get along with or that the time we had wasn't enough to form a deep, meaningful bond.
all i ever did was blame myself, that i wasn't like them enough, and that i wasn't the friend they wanted to have around.
i think this insecurity was prolonged and left to fester in ways it shouldn't have. i was unbelievably lonely and suffering internally because of it. i had to change. but how? how do i rip this out of my body? if i'm to blame, then surely if i changed then i would be liked, finally be liked enough that people would want to speak with me and stay.
i did my best to make friends, to cure my loneliness during my early teens but the feeling remained and unchanged.
but eventually, i figured something. i carefully built a person that i thought the majority would like based on the people I've observed before. someone unserious, approachable, open, easy, loud, lighthearted, but obnoxious, unbelievably gullible, and intrusive. a character with imperfections that are easy to mold right by others.
but it was a performance, it was sick. to think i made friends with interests that was so unlike my true ones. this persona was established online at first for years, then went on in real life for two years. eventually some characteristics would bleed into what i really was, or the lack of it now really. i had spent my adolescence, not studying, or preparing for my future, but attaching band-aids on a cut that needed to be sewn shut. i had spent my adolescence living as someone else, and forgetting myself completely. none of my interests were able to grow, i wasn't able to grow. i was incredibly stagnated.
now, i'm all broken limbs in a tiny box, i'm living a life of consequences. it all weighed down on the guilt i already feel. i don't feel connected to the people that feel connected to me. none of it worked.
i learned so late that i was fine the way i was, i learned so late that being alone was okay, i learned so late that being different and unlikeable by the rest was okay.
i was so afraid of being hurt and alone, that i never once stopped and think that maybe i wasn't the problem, maybe i just haven't gone out and met more people my age who were just like me.
it's so upsetting. i have missed out on a proper development, prioritized the wrong thing for so many years. it's upsetting. it's so upsetting.
why did i have to be so different from the rest? why couldn't i just be like everyone else?
it's ironic that i chased normalcy obsessively in search for a cure to loneliness, and in the end i was pushed back and remained different. it's laughable.
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i am so exhausted, so frail, and heavy-limbed. i have so much to do, so many ideas to bring to life, and so many little goals waiting to be crossed off the mental list. i don't enjoy being aware of my exhaustion because i need to function. i only ever succeed to get things done by believing my feelings are secondary to the feelings of others.
uugghmmnnghghhgggguuuuuiiioggjgj need to get up. i need to get up.
i feel really bad for lying about my current disposition to a friend who trusts me and tells me everything about their life.
when you really think about it, the trust is incredibly one-sided in the context that i am allowed to worry about a friend, but they cannot do the same for me. it's me saying that i cannot trust them to handle me. which feels and, to me, is popularly perceived as unfair and unforgiving, selfish and dishonest.
i wish i could come here and say i'd like to change that, that i'll finally tell them how i am, and how i'm struggling. however, in my mind, by doing so, it'll be me willingly pushing stress, worry, and pain onto others when i am certain i am unchangeable and gross.
it'll be nice to be honest, to have built a relationship, and to be trusted and to trust. but i simply don't think i can do that to people i want to see happy and well. it's borderline selfish and selfless.
i remind myself constantly, throughout the day, that i am undeserving of feeling light whenever i get ideas of doing anything that serves only to please me.
it's an internal dialogue fueled by guilt and shame. while understanding and being aware that this is cruel and unforgiving, and that this isn't permanent, i have believed for some time now that limiting the goodness in my life is appropriate for a girl like me.
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hachiware (my son) and me. i finally showered today, so i let myself hug him. i ate today, too. i want hachiware to know i am taking good care of myself. i might place him on my bed instead of my desk once i change my stinky bed sheets. TT
i never wanted to admit that it took a toll on me. by agreeing that it had power over me, would be surrendering to the idea that i can't do it, or perform good enough for it. but because i have to do it, i refuse to admit the consequences of keeping it.
i had rather blindly believe it couldn't hurt me while pushing through, than believe it's eating me and have that echo continuously in my body until i am nothing but this echo.
to make it all miserable, this mindset has kept me going. if i were to believe the latter, i would be burning in hell right now. to make it more miserable, i am going with the latter now.
for me, i stopped caring about my weight and appearance because i understood then that it couldn't change the bitterness and all the rot happening deep inside of me. that vanity, obsessing over it, and gaining it wouldn't fix me.
it would simply be money pouring down the drain when i buy products to sustain it, especially when my mind decides it's not worth it at all. now, i'm a fat thing existing only to inspire people to feel abhorrence.
recently, i've pondered if by means of suicide, i would successfully instill in people an understanding of the heavy weight i have carried with me for years. i've realized now, that i am constantly oversimplified and understood only by projection. it's painful to exist, and explain over and over again only to be met by another question, or be accused of blaming.
there is only guilt in my body, and i am constantly torn apart by believing i could do better and believing that no matter what i do, i'd turn my heel so it wouldn't amount to anything.
