I Am Human Too

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.

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Push You Away

I push you away.

I push everyone away.

Eventually…

I can’t have friends. Because I can’t keep them. I can’t let them in. So they get bored. They get tired of waiting for the gates to open, for the chains to fall off, for my heart to fall apart, exposing the naked truth about me.

They won’t ever know how close they really were to getting to the real me.

But that’s okay.

That’s okay.

Or is it?

Or is this just the constant lie I feed myself while I starve to be needed, to be wanted?

I realize this predicament is of no making but my own. It is because I foolishly chose to place my trust upon shifting sand once.

Once.

That’s all it took. Once for my house of love and open emotions to be snashed upon the rocks so forlornly that no one, not even I could put the pieces back together.

But I try.

I continue to try every day. And maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I should give up and move on.

But I can’t.

It’s as if this is my child that died upon the sand and all the rest of my life I’m going to spend trying to resucitate it.

That’s ridiculous though. Because I’ve never had a child before and surely, I can’t know the pain, the horror of losing something so precious.

But I assure you…

I lost something. I’m not wasting my time trying to revive it though. Some days I think I should but mostly in out here in this beating sun trying to bury this goddamn memory.

Trying to expunge this nightmare from my dreams.

Her face, clear as day at first is slowly fading but it’s been nearly four years and I can still see it. Her voice, thank God I’ve all but forgotten but her words…

Her words…they’re still with me, like little demons, trying to sabotage me at every turn, trying to attempt with every bit of subterfuge they have to undermine me, steal that rug from under my hopeful feet.

But here I am.

Moving on…but it’s difficult.

I’ve not seen as much as some people have in a lifetime but I’ve seen a lot more than some people have in their childhood.

I try to stay sane but this little voice keeps telling me I’m different. This little voice keeps telling me I’m not wanted. This little voice keelk telling me I’m nothing, I’m nobody, I’m useless, I’m unlikeable, I’m someone only a mother could love.

Maybe all those things are true. But maybe they aren’t. And who really cares?

Here’s me moving on…

And pushing you away.

And now it should be clear.

You were one of the first I ever trusted with all my heart, I ever loved more than words could say. But poison only does what it does best no matter what your expectations are.

So, that’s why I can’t let anyone in because even after all these years, I’m still trying my damnedest to push you away.

I’m sure you’ve forfoforg about me, log ago tossed me into the burning recesses of your mind. My memory is only a hollow shadow of what once was or better still, extinguished in the flames of the past.

And that is okay.

I think…

 

Tomorrow…Today… Whatever

Every day that passes by I want to be better.

I want to be useful.

I want to be happy.

I want to be productive.

I want to be needed.

I want to be wanted.

And yet every day I am merely a fresh disappointment, lying down at the end of the day, starkly aware of all the ways I’ve failed that day.

And yet I forget to give myself credit for all the ways I didn’t fail. They don’t matter, because what would be best is if I failed less.

Of course they matter, you say, but do you really mean that?

Be better. That’s all I want to be.

And yet I have no desire, no motivation. I find myself feeling as if no matter what, no matter if I try or not, no one is watching…no one cares.

Don’t live for others, the words rattle around in my head, trying to remind me why I’m alive.

Then live for who?

Certainly not me…

Because…

If it was up to me…

I would be dead a long time ago.

In Vain

You have no right to assume that I don’t need company.

That I don’t get lonely.

That I’m not wanting to go anywhere.

That I don’t want to be invited.

That I hate people.

Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I didn’t want someone to talk to.

That I didn’t want someone to vent to.

You just have no right to assume anything about me since you’ve never bothered to learn anything about me.

So there…

All the voices they chatter around me and here I am just wanting to break inside. Here I am just wanting someone but knowing I deserve no one.

Here I am just wanting happiness but feeling as if I don’t deserve it.

Perhaps this is the world I want.

But perhaps it’s not about that…

What if I’m not meant to be happy?

What if I’m on this Earth just to bring happiness to others?

If that is my calling? That is my calling.

So be it.

Back from the Edge

James Arthur’s song is an anthem to me.

Never give up.

Fall down.

Rise up.

Return.

Taller.

Stronger.

Ready to keep fighting.


Back from the edge
Back from the dead
Back before demons took control of my head
Back to the start
Back to my heart
Back to the boy who would reach for the stars
Oh, he would reach for the stars, yeah

You can take my home, you can take my clothes
You can take the drugs I have that nobody knows
You can take my watch, you can take my phone
You can take all I’ve got ’til I’m skin and bone
I don’t want control, I can dig my own hole
I can make my bed and I can lie in it cold

‘Cause I don’t need heat, I’ve been burnin’ in hell
But now I’m back with my own story to tell

Back from the edge
Back from the dead
Back before demons took control of my head
Back to the start
Back to my heart
Back to the boy who would reach for the stars
Oh, back from the edge
Back from the dead
Back from the tears that were too easily shed
Back to the start
Back to my heart
Back to the boy who would reach for the stars
Who would reach for the stars, yeah

They don’t like my lines, they don’t like my songs
Except in karaoke when they’re singing along
Did you see them build me up? Watch me tear myself down
With a smile on my face, I dug my grave in the ground
We all make mistakes, we’re so quick to judge
It’s hard to forgive when we hold onto a grudge

So turn down the heat, I’ve been burnin’ in hell
But now I’m back with my own story to tell

Back from the edge
Back from the dead
Back before demons took control of my head
Back to the start
Back to my heart
Back to the boy who would reach for the stars
Oh, back from the edge
Back from the dead
Back from the tears that were too easily shed
Back to the start
Back to my heart
Back to the boy who would reach for the stars
Who would reach for the stars, yeah

I don’t want control, I can dig my own hole
I can make my bed and I can lie in it cold
‘Cause I don’t need heat, I’ve been burnin’ in hell
But now I’m back with my own story to tell

Back from the edge
Back from the dead
Back before demons took control of my head
Back to the start
Back to my heart
Back to the boy who would reach for the stars
Oh, back from the edge
Back from the dead
Back from the tears that were too easily shed
Back to the start
Back to my heart
Back to the boy who would reach for the stars
Who would reach for the stars, yeah

Free At Last

She is lonely.

She reached out.

She thought, I hold back too much, I’ll try to let someone in.

In they came, softly at first.

Insidious.

Smiles.

Promises.

Platitudes.

I won’t take advantage.

Don’t let me do anything to you that you don’t like.

I can take no for an answer.

I’m a big boy.

No.

No, she says.

I don’t like it. I don’t want this.

The disappointment, the sadness, like a forlorn child. Such a raging liar.

They couldn’t really take no for an answer, could they?

So, she runs.

Leave them in the dust.

You don’t matter. Your happiness doesn’t matter, not to them.

For we are but souls with wings.

We only want to be free and to be loved and to be respected.

I don’t owe you anything. So don’t act like it.

The Mind’s Deepest Darkest Corners

It is a closet.

It is closed off.

She throws open the doors, broke the lock, the key is lost.

She wades through the myriad of forgotten mementos of a life long ignored.

Wide-eyed she gazes at the dust coating each corner.

There is no end to the sorrow that pervades this room.

For a moment, she wonders…

Should she?

Could she?

Never mind.

The night is dragging on.

She sits staring happily into the flames.

Everything in that old, musty closet melts among the hot coals.

She sighs.

Now, no one will ever know about this pain.

Now, it can never announce itself.

Now the closet sits empty.

The voices are quiet, quelled forever.

Peace.

Silence.

Moving on.

New Year, Same Me

Hi everyone! I’ve never actually made a post introducing myself. I’m 23, an ailurophile, a bibliophile and a psychology major currently halfway through my junior year. I plan to work towards becoming a psychiatrist in the future. It has been a very bumpy road to here and in future posts, I will slowly tell the entire story.

I honestly have no idea if anyone even reads this blog anymore but that’s okay! It is 2018 now, a new year, new chances, new opportunities. And this year I plan to be more frequent creating quality content everyone is just dying to read.

I have often thought I should focus on one thing. That I should be a niche blogger. I can call myself a blogger, right, even if I took a really long hiatus? Anyway, I decided I don’t want to be niche. I want to write about anything and everything.

So, here I am. My blog has always had a mental health hue to it. But now I want to come right out and say that I am a mental health advocate and I plan to write a lot about it on this blog from here on out. I plan to write about a lot of things.

By the way, if you have read this far, you’re probably wondering what is up with the title? Or maybe you are wondering why I’m only contracting certain word combinations.

To the former, the new year and all its celebrations and seeing everyone talk about it on Instagram has got me thinking. Seeing people post about their accomplishments and places they’ve been and people they’ve met and friends they’ve made in 2017 was inspiring but also discouraging. Seeing posts about being a new and better person in 2018 versus 2017 was also discouraging.

This discouragement was not brought on because I felt being a better or new person is impossible or ignoble. In fact, I rather dislike any individual who does not believe everyone has the potential for change at any point in their lives, for good or for bad. I heard someone say yesterday, “you can’t change what you are,” and it made me very sad because that’s such a condescending lie.

Anyway, the whole new year, new me stuff made me feel as if I should develop some resolutions and vow to change and be a better and new person. However, while I believe I can always strive to be a better person, there’s nothing wrong with present me, so I’d rather keep her than swap her out for a new me.

If you want to remake yourself, you should. If you don’t want to, you shouldn’t have to. That’s just my two cents on “New Year, New Me”. Everyone is not perfect but no one should feel pressured into becoming something they’re not. In my mind there is a difference between changing who you are and developing a good character trait further, such as patience. Just because a person is why doesn’t mean that they need to change. But maybe if they’re rude to people who try to engage them, maybe they need to look into that.

As for becoming a better person, I have made a few resolutions.

1. I plan to volunteer at an animal shelter this year. I spent all of 2017 feeling as if my time was too valuable to volunteer for anything but I realized one of the few times I’m truly happy is when I am doing sometime others without desiring anything in return.

2. I am going to join my local library (near my university) and read all their books. And this is because I love to read! But all last year, I barely gave myself a chance to read. I started plenty of books but only finished one.

That’s it! Also, feel free to follow my Instagram account: rolje_forever. I did want to use the account to share my two cents about everything under the sun but the character limit isn’t long enough! I am doing a project on Instagram which I’m calling 52 Weeks of Positivity where I’ll be posting a brief message about something positive every week for a year.