I knew it wasn't going to be that easy, that I would be able to run away from everything, be halfway around the world and hopefully from my problems.
As the novelty of being in a new place fades away, I'm back at the place where I fled, forever a captive. I am not fleeing anymore, just staying stationary, letting it consume me once again because I realised I can never escape, at least not with physical distance. How do you escape from your shadow while fleeing away from darkness.
Sometimes I feel so alone, so disconnected and it wasn't as if I didn't try, try to initiate conversation, try to be more outgoing but trying to swim when you're so tired just being afloat is difficult. In the end, I'm back at the starting line, more alone than I thought possible and too tired to go on.
I'm seeking help again. Week 5, new record I guess. Took me 6 weeks back in real life to crack again, such a fragile little creature. I wore my bleeding heart on my sleeves for them, hoping for a salve, a cure to make it stop hurting, stop torturing my mind as I lay wide awake at night, to make it better before I become desperate enough to stop its beating altogether. They heard my woes, saw my sleeves stained red, gave me comfort but in the end I left again with a trail of blood.
With kindness in her eyes and empathy oozing from her voice, one of them said, ' I think you're the only one that can truly help yourself, no one can provide you an answer to solve all your problems'. With that I left, with my t-shirt stained red and with my mask put on. I always return to numbing agent, better to feel numb than pain. Oh, I know it doesn't help solve the problem, just leaving the wound to fester but I that was all I could do.It's easier to say I'm fine when I'm numb cause that's the truth, I am as fine as I could be. With the numbing agent, I could get up, eat, shower, dress... appear like a functioning person so no one would ask me questions I don't want to answer.
The other ask me to fill in a form, to rate myself on a couple of aspects, to manifest a numerical score of my pains and problems. I understand the rational behind the test, to give a simplistic but essential introductory view into my mental state. But do they know when I rate that I am able to get up to lectures every day, I do this because if I want to appear like a normal being; When I say I am able to hand in my assignments on time, do they know what it is at the cost of deteriorating my already fragile mental state? But I fill it in anyway because I hope she can help me, help me to become a person that doesn't fluctuate between detesting his life and numbness.
Who can I talk to? The friends that know are going through their own turmoil. I feel like we're all in an alcoholic anonymous meeting, every time we talk, it is about our woes, the crap we have to deal with to live a normal life again, the addiction to victimising ourselves. Once the meeting is over, we go back to our own separate lives, no longer in contact until the next meeting. I see pictures of them having fun, eating good food with other friend, but me, as their 'best friend' only get the sad part of their lives, a meeting/rant once a fortnight then its goodbye until the next one. I'm angry at them but more so myself because even though I want them to be happy, I want them to share the happiness with me, not just all the problems but shouldn't I be content that they are happy regardless whether it is with me or other people?
I don't know what to say in those meetings anymore. How many times I can say'I'm sorry for what you're going through' and how many times can I say I'm freaking depressed in another way. I feel helpless when they tell me what they are going through because I can't say anything comforting because I don't believe it myself and they know it as well. All I hope is that they find comfort in knowing my ears is always there for them but lately, I don't feel like that's the case anymore. I don't think it's a case of me wanting to feel like I'm wanted, it just feels like I'm holding a rope that supports you and vice versa but your grip is loosening up and I'm holding on yours even though it looks like you don't need me to hold onto your top anymore. So why bother?
Woe is me, I'm the victim, poor little me. For once, hate is not too strong a word to describe my feelings toward something which in this case is myself.
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