If I could do it again, I’d probably do it again. I tell my story in reverse because it hurts.
I have been feeling very weird lately, as if my life has slowed down. I feel an emptiness inside of my gut that has been bothering me for a while, but I don’t know what exactly was cause of it is. The biggest fear that I have is that I am “lost” again. I haven’t used that word to describe myself in a while–in a long while.
I guess I should give a brief background as to what I mean when I say this. When I was in high school, I started to notice back in freshman year that I really didn’t know why I was doing the things that I was doing any more. Everything. Why had I been struggling so much and facing so much internal problems, and even hatred, with everything–all the anxieties: academic, social, and even that which stemmed from my family. I couldn’t pinpoint what it was that was burdening me and I suffered greatly from it, but as usual, I hid everything that I was scared of revealing to anyone. I suffered in silence and managed to get by, and that’s why I thought I was lost. I basically felt that I was aimlessly doing things at everyone else’s whim.
Thus, my very beleaguered 13-year old self, being the little philosopher that I was, came up with a somewhat grim perspective of myself, or more precisely, people like me, and everyone else on the contrary. In my mind, there are two types of people in this world: those “destined” for some type of happiness, or fated to have happiness in their lives, and those like myself–mere acquaintances to those destined for happiness, whose “fated” purpose was to assist others in achieving their happiness, so they themselves had no claim to their own happiness. I firmly believed that I was one of those people. That I had been feeling lost because there was no use in trying to find my own happiness. That I should just stick to what I know well and not stray away from that because the world does not conspire in my favour in the first place.
So afterwards, I felt like I learned to live with this mindset and accept the fact. I did so comfortably and for a while I felt okay. I felt that I had finally found my identity–I actually had something to feel and cling on to, and even though I basically proposed a terrible life for myself, at least I wasn’t lost. At least I had something else than to feel empty, because feeling emptiness is a terrifying thing. I reached the conclusion with myself that it was better to feel melancholy and a bit spiteful than to feel emptiness.
I got by though high school with many masks. I’m quite adept now at feigning happiness, just because I have had to do so many times before. But with each time, I have had to smile a little wider and in turn, my face grows sulkier in times that I’m alone. My eyes have grown more tired. I find solace in fewer and fewer things as days go by. These sentences grow shorter.
This week has been especially difficult for me; I don’t know why, but that scares me so much. I can feel being lost again because I don’t know why I do the things I do again any more. I have missed both of my morning classes this week and I’m terrified of the consequences if this type of behaviour persists, because I’m changing, but not for the better. Exams are looming in the two weeks ahead, and I don’t feel any motivation to study and I’m scared that that is happening to me.
I have good days when I feel that my life is on track and that I must keep persevering but it’d be a lie to say that these good days occur often.
It hurts to tell my story as it unfolds because all I am foreshadowing is more misery and I don’t know what I will do when I finally breakdown and can’t handle it any longer. I like to tell my story in reverse because at least I know what happened. At least I have the assurance from the past that everything had been okay. I don’t know if everything will be okay ||