Wandering with the Wind...

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

I'm tired, so so tired. Why can't I get anything right? Why am I never able to get anything right, by myself, with myself, for myself?

I can't help but think I've become horribly retarded over the years. There's got to be a problem when you stare at a math question and your brain just won't BUDGE no matter how much you will it to; it's like walking in a quagmire and every step you take sinks into the mush and pulls you down, and time ticks away, and the remaining questions in the paper stare at you blankly, oppressively, imposing their aching incompletion upon you, until you feel like you're about to lose your mind. And you sink further, further and further, and no one but yourself laughs hauntingly at you. What IS the problem? What IS my problem??

I didn't come into this school as the brightest kid, I was pretty much below average when I started off at a mere one mark above the aggregate score. I ask myself many times, so many times, what the hell am I doing here? The moment I came here the only thing I did for myself was to have my parents' expectations raised and my own confidence and self-respect thrown to the floor in rags and stamped upon. Now I don't even know who I am anymore. What I'm good at, what I'm born to do, what I wish to achieve. It's all gone, like someone had blown it away while I wasn't looking, like blowing off a candle flame, blowing away my life.

I hate typing "I". It's such a shame, such a despairing thing, to be me.

I've given up on using the rubber bands. Even if I deliver the pain with the excuse of punishing myself, what I'm doing in the end is just relieving stress and nothing good comes out of it. I'm just giving myself a chance to evade like the coward I am. And yet I crave it, I feel as if somehow that stinging pain has become a float of sorts that can carry me back up to the surface when I'm about to drown; short, sharp stinging pain, better and more refreshing than the dull lifeless and timeless throb when you remain under the surface for too long and lose the will to breathe. But I'm too much of a coward to use a knife anyways. I wonder how those people do it...maybe I will too, one day, when my condition continues and I can no longer hold it anymore. It's just a matter of time.

I hate myself. Now I'm scared of people too, because they won't care, they are so faraway even under the pretense of being near. They give you fake smiles and fake hugs and those are to deal with obligations and expectations. Nothing you get is real...they're all a means of dealing with things! These people laugh, they laugh because they don't care, they laugh because inside they're all poor souls who are too desperate to belong that they laugh all the same! I hate myself, I hate being in this fucking crowd of entities wearing masks. I can't wait to get away from people now. I eat lunches alone, watching them fool around, watching their blissful countenances, all the while listening to Linkin Park's "Numb" in my head like some kind of haunting background music - because that's the way it is, isn't it? We all know of a sorrow within, but we numb it, we're numbed by it.

There must be something wrong with me. I don't get just what the problem is, because sometimes I can be social, sometimes I just withdraw away from people altogether. I don't fucking get it because I'm neither here nor there; I'm neither autistic nor social and outgoing, and it sticks me in this hard position that makes me deal with expectations from both sides.

Why can't I just be who I am, whether I hate it or not? If I hate being myself already, why do you want to make me hate myself more by allowing myself to be changed by others??

Aurinya blogged at 10:30 AM

Roaming the Winds