a coping mechanism @ejdjjdjdjsjdjsjdjdjddj - Tumblr Blog

somedays im 16 again, id give anything to be anyone else

nothing is in our hands but everything is on our shoulders

I fell to my knees in the middle of the road. It is 10 PM, I am on my way home, alone. It has been raining, and I am certain it was the puddle that stood up and jerked its foot forward to trip me on purpose. I am wearing my favorite jeans, and on my way down, I feel my arms move forward to stop the concrete from kissing my forehead, and I kind of wish it did, a short smooch of its coarse lips on my coarse skin. Instead, my hands find themselves pressing into the uneven gravel; they never build the roads right, and now their roads are cutting into my beautiful, smooth palms. It is dark out, and I vaguely remember the light being green. There weren't that many cars, though, and if you were me, you would have decided to walk to, and I could have made it out of this situation had I not picked a fight with myself in my own head. I'm sure it's my fault; it's what you'd tell me anyway. And so before I even realize what's happened, I decide that if I make it out of this, I will not tell you about it. I am tired of only being responsible for the bad parts of my day, accused as though anything good I achieve is merely a coincidence. What a horrid way to go about my day, to believe that the people I love will love me the way I want them to, what a silly thing to hold on to a person, especially when you have the concrete just itching to hold you. Oh right, I'd fallen- my main concern was my jeans, I don't like spending on clothes, and I was terrified I'd have to spend money on a new pair, or have these cleaned. I don't like to waste money, which is to say I don't like to spend it on myself. As I fell, I thought about my bank account and non-existent health insurance. I think back to the time my dad told me not to tell them when I have problems because they can't do anything to fix them. Sometimes, when I really truly need a shoulder, I like to imagine everyone I have ever loved saying those words back to me, over and over; I was always meant to do it alone. So when I fell, I assumed this was another thing I was meant to do alone. That's when I hear it, the bus blaring its horn, I turn to it, angry- how dare it interrupt my internal monologue, does it not know this is the only time I get to speak for myself without feeling guilty about it? I wonder how the driver would react if I didn't move. If I left a stain on his bus in revenge for the stain on my jeans, but I wouldn't want to waste his time, so I slowly got up. There is no one around to help me, not even a stranger who would ask me if I was okay. I hold a hand up to the bus, as if asking it to wait- although it did not slow down, the other cars drove past us unbothered, and I got the feeling that I was heavily inconveniencing this bus driver. The headlights were too strong and I couldn't make out his face. I held my scratched palm up at him and made my way to the other side of the road. I did not stop walking, I did not turn around, I walked home as if nothing had happened. I wonder if I did the right thing by getting up or not, wondering if I would have gotten up if I didn't care for the driver.

i fell to my knees in the middle of the road in front of a bus.

It was raining, and I was trying extra hard to be careful. On the way back home, I was thinking about how I'd narrate this incident to my friends when I got back. I saw the bus coming but convinced myself i'd make it across in time. While crossing too, I looked it's headlights in the eye right before i tripped. i was on my knees and in a memory I couldn't remember. I think the bus honked, i don't remember the sounds- all I remember is getting up, showing my now black palm to the driver as an apology, and then walking off. i did not pause, I did not turn around.

All I could do the rest of my walk back was ask myself why I got up. In that moment, it would have been easy to stay there; it would be too late for the bus to stop, and no one would know anything went wrong. My parents I'd already spoken to for the day, my friends would have assumed I went to bed, and my family here wouldn't have stayed up waiting. By the time they notice I'm gone, I'd be too far gone.

I'd be easier to love then, wouldn't I? I so dearly want to be loved unconditionally, but I don't think that's in the cards for me.

the problem with indians, ive decided, is that we don't hold hand enough. and when we do hold hands- we're too shy to do it for more than a minute because if someone sees someone else holding hands, they put on a bitter 'wtf how sinful' look on their face. Chaces are the security guard at the mall is explicitly told to ask people holding hands to tone down the PDA

you dont hav to hold hands romantically though- when was the last time you held your mom's hand while walking with her? have you stopped since you grew taller than her? what about your sister, or father, or bother?

All thsi cringing will get you no where. LET PEOPLE HOLD HANDS IN PEACE!!!1

HOLD AND BE HELD FOR FKS SAKE

there are days when the library is empty. My footsteps are the only sound until I pull the chair back. creak

There is no one here besides the books that surround me. Correction: The only other people here are in the books surrounding me, but I don't mind this crowd as much. They do not wish to talk to me but invite me to listen in on their conversations.

Sometimes I hear them say I look much older than the last time they saw me, and I want to apologize that I never came to visit them. it is quiet when I whisper poems to myself I read when I was 14.

And then a woman comes and smiles at me while she sweeps the floor. Good morning, she says. I ask her how she's doing, and she says maja ma. Unsolicited she tells me about her kids and their achievements, and I say congratulations. She smiles. She asks me why I come here so early if I live so far, I say if they've built this library, I ought to sit in it. I tell her I'm keeping the books company, eccentric on my part to believe I'm more interesting company than what's on the next shelf over.

The woman leaves. I put on my headphones. I am all alone here. There is no joy, no sadness in this room. There are no friends, no families, and almost no myself. If a tree falls in a forest, does it make a sound? If no one sees me here, am I there?

After a few hours there, I almost convince myself I don't have to leave. There is no world beyond this world surrounded by worlds.

maybe im not a people person but not a peoples's person

i need a little kindness from someone else, I'm tired of being kind to me if no one else is- I don't want it anymore

my mom is asking me to not be upset at them. she says please don't be upset- do something else, go visit a new place.

its not often that your family asks you not to visit them, and to not be upset that they don't book your flight to them.

i read somewhere that home is the first place you learn to run away from. While that's true, I think home is also the house you keep trying to build repeatedly, despite your best efforts. home is the first place you learn to run away from, and the first place you run back to. except, I haven't run back in a long time, and slowly I begin to feel as though home doesn't look at me the same way I look at it.

My mother says they're trying to make extra expenses. you see, this wasn't a problem when she and dad were making impulsive trips, delaying and postponing their return tickets- it wasn't an extra expense then. But now, when I ask, I beg to be called home- its an extra expense.

when i speak to dad on the phone, he has nothing to say to me. when I speak to my mother she's always apologizing. i just wish when something stopped wanting you- you could magically stop wanting it too. i wish there was a name for this feeling so that I might write it down in a journal and be done with it.

im tired. i feel like shit. i need a little kindness from someone else

i am the but of every joke, and I can hear them all- laughing.

but i cant complain can i? i did pray for them to be happy didn't I?

i do feel like shit but i dont think it matters. i am for the most part idiotic, incapable and naive. i waste my time, energy and potential- and then I do it over and over again. i can never make up my mind and I keep looking for reasons to justify my indecision. i feel not myself, but I don't know how to not feel that. sometimes I hear my dad's voice from my mom's phone and suddenly my heart is in my throat and I would do anything to be gone. and I think that's so stupid of me- but its not- its trauma, but if no one can understand it, and I don't have it in me to explain it to anyone, is it still real? or am I just making excuses again? i should be following my dreams, except I don't know what they are or where they're going.

i can never describe to anyone what it was like living in that those during those years- I can't talk about it and I can't give it a name for the fear that it might call me back. Im scared that makes me a horrible daughter and an even worse sibling- except I cant help it. Thats so unfair too- that I have to be the one questioning myself, when the circumstances were unfair to me. It wasn't my fault, except it is now. I want to curl up in a ball and be sucked into a earth for a little bit tonight. Perhaps that's the only thing that would hold me and I not feel the need to justify why I need it.

This whole opening up business feels like a sham, until I see my sister cry alone and refuse to tell me whats on her mind- and then this opening up business I would do anything to invest it.

I want to be swallowed whole- I want to be picked apart for bones- let the scavengers be the ones to tell me how valued each part of me is. i have an exam tomorrow, but I cant study cus I'm too busy being sad- see, another excuse.

the thing about sharing your emotions as someone who's always suppressed them and not shared things with people- is that you only open up when you find people that make you open up or make you feel seen.

but you see, the troble with that is that when these people fail to understand you, or see you, or cannot relate to you- you wanna crawl right back into your hole. makes you wonder if things would've been better if you hadn't opened up in the first place.

what if sharing my feelings or what I care about is just a burden to others. what if it doesn't bring you closer to people but actually farther apart. what if the only reason people liked u in the first place is because they didnt know anything about you.

it's like when they get to know you- you've broken their bubble. you can never live up to the version of you in peoples heads. no matter how badly you want to. you can never be who they want you to be, and they can never understand you fully- and it hurts when it feels like they don't try, when you do.

it hurts when poeple don't remmeber things you remember. it hurts to be the one who remembers. it hurts when people push you away. it hurts when people would rather step away form you to 'get better', or 'work on themsleves' as if you're a burden to their growth. and dear gosh if I really am a burden to your growth at least have the courage to tell me in person.

if we cannot communicate our feelings, at least don't act high and mighty when ppl ask me to communicate theirs

I haven't posted here in so long, balke this social media has probably seen more of me than prolly the people i even know irl. This page got me through some of my worst moments. It hurts to read through some of the posts on here. Thanks to past me for pulling through.

i think they're waiting for me to become someone im not. I think they love some other version of me that I'm not right now, and every time they realise it, it dissapoints them. But they'll never say this to me. They'll never admit it. And even if they feels differently, they don't express it. I can't read their mind, maybe that's my fault. I wish they would just talk to me. And I wish they would just listen sometimes. Abd if their expectations are a priority, I wish they'd just admit it. Instead they say they understand, when really they don't. Not becuase they don't try but because they don't relate to my thoughts. I just wish we were both open with eachother about what we want and respect how much the other person can give. Idk man

I think it doesn't matter half as much who we're praying too, as much as how well we can hear one another.

we go to a bookstore and i recommend to you all the books I know you'll never read, just so I can exasperatedly explain the plot of each one to you in extreme detail <3

ejdjjdjdjsjdjsjdjdjddj

"Idk what love is, but if I've ever loved anyone- its been you, always pathetically even, it may have been you. "

ejdjjdjdjsjdjsjdjdjddj

i told him.

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a coping mechanism