This Thing We Live in Called Life
This thing we live in called life, where everyone is handed maps guiding them through the path of life. it seemed that i was the only one given a measly compass that only pointed me towards storms.
This thing we live in call life, where everyone is formed individually and unique. It's a strange thing that teaches birds how to sing, yet also teaching people how to grieve. It gives us hearts that are more fragile than glass and memories that linger in the back of our heads. Morning eventually overcomes the night, and the cycle continues.
In this thing we live in call life, the sea never tires of kissing the shore. The stars never exhaust until their final whisper. Life was maybe never meant to be understood.
But today, I couldn't stop thinking about how I hate living in this thing we call life. There's a single thought that continuously plagues my mind: no one really cares about me. I've been used to it, being isolated. My parents have always worked 8 hours a day, every day. Weekends were the only day they were home and free from work...not that they ever stayed home. My brother held much disdain for me as a child, but I was used to being left alone. After my diagnosis with depression, they progressively changed and have begun to show me love like any other family. But I could never fully recover from the childhood I so desperately want to forget.
Lately, I forgot what being cared for feels like. I was fortunate to make friends that cared for me. A brother-like figure that showed me what it feels like to have a loving sibling, someone who doesn't laugh at me for every small mistake, someone who helps me without secondary conditions. A friend who I can go to in real life, and have fun. But I've never felt so alone as I do now.
I've become too dependent on people.
My sibling is too busy to talk to me, and my friend is too shallow when I need help. I started to realize that this thing called life is tumultuous. What started to become familiar is gone before I knew it. What once brought me comfort, now brings me pain.
I miss my friends.
I know no one intends for it to be like this, but this thing called life really has its ways right?
I started to become too dependent on people. In the past, loneliness plagued me...and it has come back again. I have never felt more alone than I do now, and I can only assume that things will stay like this in death.
I can't recall the last time I left my bed ever since break started.
Well, there were a few times I had to leave my bed to go to graduation parties, but only for my close friends. There were many that I skipped, not because I hated the graduates, but because I was so inept to properly put on a facade and pretend like I was happy. But there was another reason.
I was angry. Not angry at the people themselves, no. But myself.
It's customary to show up with things like gift cards or practical gifts for the graduate. I was not fortunate enough to host my own graduation party, so I couldn't get anything like that. It made me think about how I always do my best to give things to my friends...whether that'd be meaningful crafts or just straight up money. I care about my friends a lot. But I can't recall the last time I got something in return.
Maybe I'm selfish for expecting something in return. I know I shouldn't.
But I graduated too.
It's always "congratulations" to other people, but what about me?
I feel irrelevant. I'm also a graduate, yet I couldn't even receive a card.
That question, "what about me?" has always selfishly plagued my mind.
Which is why I hate this thing we live in called "life". Where gifts are always expected, and the selfish human nature always shows up in retaliation when you don't get things in return.
Friendships were my only source of distraction, but lately it's only felt like a growing tumor of misery and self-deprecation. I wish I could go and confide in my family, but recently it's only felt like my brother has garnered the attention and support of my parents, and I got left with the short end of the stick.
I couldn't hide my sorrow recently, and my mom had asked me if I was okay.
Everyone assumed that I'm not depressed anymore, that my depression had magically disappeared. I'm still the same "me", just hiding it the best that I can. What a stupid excuse of a human being I would be to turn something like this into a big deal.
Sometimes I stare at the scars on my arm and wish I could cover them up. But today, they only remind me of my humanity, that pain is part of life. I haven't had new ones in a year probably. But sometimes I'm tempted to get more...because I'm mentally weak. I'm not strong.
The world will keep spinning no matter how gloomy I am. Winds will keep blowing, and stars will continue shining. I'm irrelevant to the course of the world...that I know. But sometimes I just wish that at least one person would look at me and tell me that they care about me. Everyone says it'll get better but they have no idea how many versions of myself disappear as they wait.
Why is it that my life feels borrowed? It feels like I'm surviving in it rather than truly living. The world has never been kind. But I wonder why people still persevere.
I'm jealous of that kind of perseverance.
If life is a gift, why was it wrapped in jealousy and selfishness?
I'm tired of pretending that I'm okay.
I've never felt more alone than I do now, and I can imagine that I'll be as alone as I am now even in death.
