You know, I write here as much as I can, mostly because it’s the only outlet I have for my feelings but also because I know that on some level there are people out there who may find the emotions familiar.
I post a lot of negative stuff. I know that, not going to pretend I don’t. I apologise if this turns people off. I appreciate the support of those who do read my rantings and ravings. I’m not going to pretend my life is easy or that I’m happy all the time. The truth is my life really isn’t hard. It’s just unhappy.
I spend a lot of time making others happy and being there for others. When I’m around other people, I become blank so they can’t see my struggles. They sort of gravitate towards me, somehow sensing that in me they will find infinite sympathy and commiseration. And I just keep smiling and doing everything I can to make them happy. When they talk down to themselves, I discourage it. When they are critical of themselves, I’m quick to draw their attention to their more desirable traits. When they feel as their lives will never get better, I remind them how strong they are. Every single time, their lives do get better and they do become happier.
Not because of me. Oh no… I couldn’t be so arrogant as to assume I’m some kind of happiness giver. I am that but it’s not *me* who makes their lives better. It’s the fact that *someone* is there at all, to tell them they matter, to remind them of their strengths, to encourage them when they want to give up. Someone is there for them.
But for me…most nights I lie awake before I fall suddenly into fitful sleep telling myself that I am no one, nobody and nothing. There’s no one to tell me I matter.
I find myself wondering why I’m a giver but I never receive. Everyone I know is content to take but they don’t give back. I must always listen and I must always sympathize and I must always be there for them. But…they are not my friends, because it is a one way street…
Don’t feel sorry for me though. I am just as willing to take on the role of exclusive Giver as they are to have me in it. I tell myself I don’t need anything and yet I do. And yet I am starved for the same concern, the same sympathy, the same selfless sacrifice of time. It never comes.
This is all due to the fact that something about myself has been locked away. Or perhaps it is dead. I have somehow hidden away a part of me. People can’t see it or reach it. This forces them to think that I don’t have feelings, I’m without fault (and therefore unrelatable) and I don’t need anyone. I have known pain but many times I will have someone tell me, “you can’t know what that was like, you have no idea what pain is”. They’re wrong, but I don’t blame them…when they look at my face they don’t see emotions. All they see is blankness or an inscrutable array of what could be anger or puzzlement or something else entirely. I’m difficult, if not impossible to read. And I could never tell them what I’m truly thinking because more often than not it is darker than anyone would like to entertain. I once had someone tell me that I was afraid of him, he could tell by looking at my face. He was so wrong though. I honestly wanted to strangle him where he stood but I couldn’t tell him that. Besides, he was arrogant enough to tell me how I was feeling. He didn’t deserve to know my true thoughts.
So, there it is. I’m incredibly lonely but I think I’m happy this way, because I don’t think I could ever find someone who could truly see through everything, who could truly know my mind. I think I guard my thoughts and emotions from others because they’ve come to expect that I have none.
So, I stop letting people in. So it’s my fault I’m lonely. But that’s okay. I’m happy but I’m not and no amount of change could change that. I think in life no one is ever truly happy and no one is ever truly miserable. We are what we allow ourselves to be.
And I, I allow myself to be a little of each, floating wryly in between.