Peace be upon you all. Thanks admin for posting this, if it gets posted in despite of this little feeling in my gut that’s failing to hold me back and telling me not to type this up. Maybe I should just sleep, or just do literally anything else besides this, so I apologize if I seem to be all over the place. Forewarning: I suspect there will be a whole lot of “I” and “me” to follow and my residual self-loathe might seep through the writing.
I was born a reserved, robotic kind of thing-person. The only thing that’s new in the following three decades ish since is that I’ve managed to develop a more approachable public face. For the most part I’m still the same fumbling incompetent thing-person. I guess what I’m getting at is that there isn’t another human being to whom I dare tell any of this in person, as myself, hence my typing this up here for a wider audience to soon forget about. Hopefully. I just need to get out of my head is all and I’ll be fine, I always am.
As a child, I was never aware of how incapable I was to connect with people and make friends. The few friends I did have were extroverts who decided to adopt me. Ultimately I was such dull company that none of them could afford to keep me for long at all. And this was so long ago so I probably can’t remember it right, but I don’t think my parents ever thought there was anything wrong with me either.
There isn’t. I’ll say that now. We’re all weird somehow, right? Okay moving on.
I had had a glorious childhood, academically speaking. I hadn’t need to put in much effort if at all to stay above average in school. I even had one best friend whom I had stuck my dense self to through almost a full decade of schooling. It was the best days of my life. And man did I enjoy maths. There was just that bit about people’s approach to motivate me further that I guess I unfortunately hadn’t received well. See, I had put in virtually no effort and had performed well above average, to which people responded with “there, you see? If you put in more effort, you could be on top!”, and in turn my mind had heard “nope not good enough.” Unfortunate, yes, but there it is.
One day I guess my hormone-imbalanced teen-self radically came to this conclusion that there’s nothing I could ever do that would ever be enough. And then I went on to put this conclusion at the core of my existence and things just basically went downhill from there.
My brothers and sisters.
If you ever think that at any point in your life I urge you now to please, please, please book yourself a counselling session. To this day I still silently wish I could go back in time and do just that: get help.
Evidently I didn’t. On top of my natural tendency to keep to myself, now I’ve added this misguided notion that I could never be good enough. So for the next decade or so afterwards, I just spiraled. I’m sure many of us know how it goes: things stopped being fun or interesting. Soon you can’t bring yourself to bother anymore, I mean, what even is the point right? Then we get the good days and bad days. Then good weeks and bad weeks. Laughing one minute and crying the next. Probably both at the same time sometimes. You walk empty corridors or sit alone in unused classrooms, staring unblinking unthinking unfeeling at nothing. Some days every single person and every single thing about this world simply deserves nothing but your spite. Other days all that hatred is for you alone. Or every day. Probably every day. Definitely every day.
Some days I panicked realizing that I had to do something about it all. But then I didn’t, I stopped myself with thoughts of not wanting to burden anyone, especially not those closest to me even though they were exactly the people I should’ve reached out to. The mother who would be so, so sad. The friend who’s already spreading themselves out too thin trying to make the world a better place. I had rather rot away in my self-pity than bother anyone with this pain that only existed in my head anyway.
Guys that’s another red flag that I beg you to go talk to someone about. Your pain is real. Your loved ones WANT to help you. Sure, in the end your wellbeing is your own responsibility, but you were never meant to do everything alone by yourself. At least not in battling something so debilitating, I should think.
Again, evidently I didn’t so from there, I simply proceeded to actually believing that everyone would just be so much better off without me in their lives (see above; that’s another big red flag). It wasn’t a suicidal thought, I think, cause I only ever kept the thoughts of painting my ceiling with cranial matter inside said cranium. I had plenty of reasons you see, stemming from my not wanting to be a burden: that afterwards someone’s gonna have to clean it up, my family would have to come collect my things, then bury me, etc.
One couldn’t keep reasoning with a mind that unstable though, not for long anyway, certainly not without help. After a time I guess I just forfeited my capacity to reason. It was the lowest point in my life, suffice it to say I threw away every last bit of self-worth I thought I had had.
Then came this sort of plateau. I caught myself, took several huge steps back, and just tried to blend into the world as much as possible so as to become invisible. And I was content with that.
Unfortunately we’ve caught up to the present. Recently I’ve been getting this feeling that I’m just approaching the end of my longest “up” yet. It has lasted the past three years or so. Nowadays I’m randomly moping and bawling again like it’s secondary school all over again. And now I’m a hypocrite because as I tell every sad person I ever encounter to Get Help, I haven’t done so myself. I can’t think of a single person I’ve ever been nice enough to to randomly call up at this hour.
I’m sorry if this ending disappoints you. But thank you, really.
I think I’ll wait until it’s a respectable enough hour to be awake and call someone.
Yes, I’ll do that. I promise.
Peace be upon you, truly.
– Whatsername
Hantar confession anda di sini -> www.iiumc.com/submit