I am still here, you know. Even though I always have my headphones on, I am there, listening, watching, gazing. Staring at you staring back at me, I see it all. I hear it all. And I keep it all to myself. It is hard to become one of them, I simply cannot do it even though it’s a requirement nowadays. Why become like them? Let me be. Let me read my book on my way to wherever the hell I am going. Let me swear chatting with my best friend online since I have to behave. People don’t believe it, but I am actually the chillest at home. I pop on a face mask and eat cherries and watch a TV show now that I got the time for it, plan my outfits and scroll through Instagram, anything I can do that’s not involving using my three very, very tired brain cells left. I honestly do not have the energy to raise my voice as much as I used to and I think that’s a good thing about being tired. You shut the fuck up until you don t anymore.
I finished my exam session and it was horrible. Working a full-time job has overwhelmed me and my mind more than I would like to accept, but reality is harsh and I need to survive, and I force myself to do it all on my own. At least one of my teachers understood and when I emailed him to apologize because I was ashamed I left the exam after 10 minutes, he told me he knows how it’s like. I promised myself I’ll do my best next time, and I like to think I am a man of my word. I do not like help. Not material help. Growing up carrying my ass at 6 am in trams on my way to high school, on -20 degrees sometimes, staring at other colleagues’ cars, clothes or even the slightly more expensive cigarettes they smoked had me so fucking angry at myself, like why the fuck can’t I have that as well? And since I taught myself that other people do not owe you a dime, not even your parents at some point in life, I had to start somewhere. Made my first buck in a bar. Then I got to teach kids English and math. I worked in a call center and went home with strange taxi drivers. Then I got into accounting, which isn’t any kid’s dream job, but it’s a job I do not mind doing, I shockingly don’t hate it, I could see a career if I’d look with the right pair of glasses right towards it, and I think that is more than enough until I get to manage myself better, get that fucking degree and move the hell out.
My mom gave me a book about reasons to live, which makes me believe she’s trying. Trying to understand that this is something you live with, and I think she’s getting there and will make it soon, since she told me the author isn’t a doc of any kind, just a normal man who’s been living with this shit all his life and managed to get the best out of it, which I am trying as well. She hugged me tightly after that, and this is why I suddenly see her with other eyes.
I don’t like waking up. I especially do not like waking up alone, may it be dark or sunny outside, morning or lunch, because I tend to have nightmares and they leave huge gaps in my soul overnight. At some point I got used to falling asleep next to my boyfriend but that didn’t work out as planned either. And when I do wake up, I try finding joy in my cats’ purr, the cold iced tea or coffee in the morning, the quick cigarette until I arrive to the tram station, the hot sun not minding my shades, my red reflexions through the hair I just washed last night, when I did not want to go to sleep either.
It’s hard putting a fake face on and carrying yourself to work. I read in the subway while listening to some lo-fi chillhop shit mix I find on Spotify in last night’s history, since I am too lazy to look for good music, or I am just letting it play, although some songs remind me of my boyfriend. Which shouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, but I get instantly anxious. My mind flows and works and keeps shushing at me. Stop, bitch, I’m the boss here. And then anxiety intensifies. I go to work again, I have to try again to erase that resting bitch face off my, well, face, I got to be friendly and pretty much fake it ‘til I make it. Who cares you had a bad day, week, and month. Who cares you dreamt about your grandma dying and can’t fucking control the panic, when she’s the only one who listens and and loves unconditionally. Who cares you’re on your last buck and still got a bill to pay. Just stay straight and be friendly. I know, it should be pretty common sense to many, and so it is to me, but sometimes, I just need to be with myself. Personal space is the one thing I crave the most, and I know it hits head with my need of attention and love.
I can’t write a story today, I just felt like putting some feelings out there. Maybe some of you feel the same and just need to write your feelings off somewhere, may it be paper or not. I wish the people close to me would understand, especially my guy, because he’s my sidekick, my ride or …fly, my warm smile and fluffy soul. I understand why and what he doesn’t understand, and I wouldn’t necessarily wish for him to understand this through my eyes, but through some eyes. I would like to have somebody to talk to and actually make conversation about it, not just passively listening. It’s weird being lonely, and yes, I do like to be alone, but alone and lonely are two different things, completely. It’s fine to be alone. It’s depressing to be lonely. Asking for help has got me feeling I’m stressing people out, which I apparently am, so I keep it to myself and text them to my doc sometimes, rarely though. And even if I do ask for help, help is never coming. It may be on the way, stuck in traffic but… Nah. I do appreciate my mom, even though, very late, for trying to get me and I love her for this. I don’t exactly know what I would do if my child would have the issues I do, go through what I did, but I would most like blame myself, not tell him and fake it until I convince myself that the best thing for him is me being there, no matter the price I have to pay.
Oh, and by the way, I know my worth. I have paid for every ounce of it so I am not going to accept shit from anyone. Maximum, I will please their ears telling them they’re right – and do whatever I was doing anyway. But don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate criticism and I learn from it every day, hoping it will make me a better me. Maybe results cannot be seen in days or weeks, but maybe months or years or decades. You’d be shocked at how a good word can change someone’s life, forever.