I’ve lived my life as a stranger to myself.
I woke up as me,
but what did that mean?
I went through the motions,
raised my hand when my name was called,
but when I got home,
I didn’t know who I really was.
You’re beautiful, talented, and smart – I was told;
but when I got home, I just felt alone and cold.
Cold, so I hurried into my bed
to hide from the world,
but mainly to hide from myself.
Sleep was my vice;
sleeping meant I didn’t have to think about my life.
Day after day, I hid from myself.
No happiness shone through my tired eyes.
I was miserable at best.
-I apologize for my prolonged absence; life has been
a living hell difficult as of recent.-
I have countless things to say, but no words in mind to express those things.
I will let my thoughts flow.
I am filled with sadness, worry, guilt, anxiety, apathy, and anger. I feel as though I am a voodoo doll and some higher power has a vengeance against me; my body has been set ablaze and my energy has been drained. My mind, well, might as well be noodles for someone to feast on. I walk around feeling displaced and drunk, but yet I am completely sober. I worry about myself, about my father and mother, but what good does that do? Nothing. I lie in bed, drained, depressed, sick. Why?
Since childhood, I have longed to be happy. I have never been like the others I see around me. The others are happy, upbeat, charismatic, optimistic, giggly, and excited for the next part of their day. I feel more than them. I see more than them. Their auras, their personalities, their demeanor.. I can feel it. I meet someone and see their smile and hear what they tell me, how they want me to see them, but I see so much more. “It is both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so very deeply.” I am blessed to be able to experience the world in a way that the others can not. I am cursed because the world is overwhelming to my senses; a typical day is exhausting. But, I do not wish to change.
I would rather be aware than to be ignorant and happy, like the others.
I start my day by daydreaming of when my day will be over. I force myself out of bed, still exhausted, and start to make myself look like the girl I want others to see me as. Tired has become a permanent part of my personality. I pick out my clothes, furiously, because nothing looks good on me. So many clothes and I despise all of them. Can I wear all black forever? Makeup, hair, perfume. No part of me cares, but at the same time, every part of me does. When I can smile and know that my cheeks are rosy and my lipstick is on, somehow I feel better. I feel better knowing that everyone around me sees something more than just ‘me.’ The real ‘me’ is sad, anxious, quiet, awkward, withdrawn, exhausted, and somewhat hateful; the real ‘me’ wants to do nothing more than sit inside, alone, for days at a time. The real ‘me’ also wants to get drunk, have sex, spend lots of money, paint, binge watch Netflix, cry, and write things most people deem as depressing. None of that is helpful. So, here I am. Twenty-three years old, going on twenty-four, and I’m a wreck. I’ve accepted it, because frankly, I don’t see that changing any time soon. There are things that are out of my control that make my life a million times harder than it should or needs to be. Can I be carefree and enjoy my young adult hood? No way in hell. So, I will continue to wake up every day dreading everything. I will also continue to do my makeup, fix my hair, wear clothes that I sort of like, get my nails done sometimes, and smile until I feel better. Everyone needs something to get them through the day.
-I started writing this and had no idea where the post was going. It ended up being about makeup, which is something I’ve never written about before. Weird.-
I hate you
I love you
I need you
I despise you
I crave you
I loathe you
I fear you
You engulf me