Saturday, June 09, 2007
You know what really annoys me. How people can say it's so easy. Ah the exam was easy, piece of cake, I'll pass without a doubt, no problem at all. Everything's great. It's easy. That's the word.
It's easy.
Seriously?
I'm fighting every moment. Fighting's hard work. I'm fighting because I'm better than all these people. All these people who wouldn't give a moment's thought to anything. They breeze through life, feeling fine, feeling great. I say I'm better than that. Because I'm fighting. I want to be better.
They complain about the slightest matters. Failing below a H1 grade. Can't get that guy to notice them. Omg no clothes to wear.
The best thing about not talking is that I listen. I listen very well, and I see and I observe. You say, there's alot I don't know about people. But I say, but I do. Because I listen and I watch instead of talking.
I see these people who barely try, and get through life well and good. They go out and they have fun. Sure some of them sit in and cram their hardest. Some are just naturally bright.
But most of the time they just do their best and what the heck.
I'm not the brightest of the lot. So I sit here and keep trying and keep trying and keep trying.
I say I have to be better.
I have to get better.
Because I notice so many other things. I can look up at the skies and see the clearest brightest most beautiful blue color and say wow, look at that. I read and watch the news and pass the people on the street.
And I notice.
No one smiles.
They are so unhappy.
So much pain and suffering in the world.
And all I can think of is why?
There is alot of happy people in the world you protest.
Happy?
Happiness is insubstantial.
Misery is concrete.
It cuts through the soul with tears and aching sadness.
Unhappiness is prevalent.
And there are more lonely people than you would ever know.
And I was the idealistic child who wanted to change all that.
I used to be curious. Used to look at things and want to do things.
But I had duties, I had a future. I had to work to attain that future. I didn't fit in.
So I set aside all these childish fantasies, kept them locked deep in my mind, revel in them every moment, and worked.
I am so boring.
I look at myself now and think, this is why I'm crying every night.
Because I realised I am giving up.
I am no longer fighting.
There is no spark, no life in me.
Not that special little something that makes people aware I'm even here.
I am insubstantial.
I am nothing.
So why am I still here?
I thought a few nights ago, if you put a gun in my hands, would I pull the trigger?
And I replied, why not? What was stopping me, pulling me back?
Because there was once a time long long ago when I said I would keep fighting, keep going on, find anything to keep me here.
I thought people, surely someone, anyone, they would want me here.
People don't care. They forget easily. It is a statement.
The first thing I thought was, not my parents, not my friends, not college, no.......most likely I am afraid of suddenly disappearing and then all my little internet communities wouldn't know what suddenly happened to me.
Because atleast, people here would know I'm dead. But you see, the little nifty thing about online people is that they live oh so far away and wouldn't know if anything had happened to you.
And so I thought, that's what I'm most worried about? The people who read my stories, and my poems, see my art. They will forget me in time, one in millions of people.
So brief an existence.
Then I thought, why not live for myself.
But there is nothing to live for.
Even thought I've said I'm stupid many times, I meant in the more intellectual way. I'm not stupid.
I realised early on I'm not going to have a future. I was already dying.
Already starting to give up. I hate the kind of person I am.
Arrogant, obnoxious, cowardly, pathetic, whiny little bitch.
I realised as a child how misplaced I was in the world. How weary I was.
I was tired.
If I was another person looking at this poor sad little child, I'll think, how pitiful.
I don't need your pity.
You're going to say, everyone feels this way some time. They get through it. They get sick for a little while and then they do great.
But you. You have seen many dysfunctional people. They come by, tracking through the office, bringing their pain and leaving with it. And sooner or later you forget about these people.
You're going to forget about me.
You know it's not true.
Things aren't magically going to get better.
You know last year at college they made a college movie. And amid all those photos and all those memories and all those people, and you'll argue ah atleast 10% of the college wasn't in there.
I wasn't in it.
A year's living in college and not important enough to be registered.
You may say I'm just full of myself. It's just one thing. They probably didn't mean it.
Sure, of course.
But it's happened before. Again and again and again and again and again. All those little times make big times. Chunks of my life. My entire life.
Insignificant.
No one knows who I am.
No one remembers.
I fought. I did my best. I was in every school productions. In every dance. In every play. I tried. I went for clubs, for the school newspaper, the cheerleaders, the cadets. I wrote stories and got top grades and went for international conferences. I did alot of things alot of people weren't aware of. They remember the events. They just don't remember me.
I've grown so used to people never remembering my name that I developed a habit of never remembering other people's names because it wouldn't matter after I left.
I've grown so used to being ignored, I just sit by myself and not speak and just think oh my, how boring I am.
I'm not the prettiest, sure, not someone you would be attracted to. Not the most interesting.
I know that you are quite aware I am nothing special.
You ask about self worth.
I have no worth.
What I can do, other people can do, easily, a hundred thousand times better.
I am replaceable.
Easy to look past.
And you know it.
You must ask if I feel it's so pointless why am I here. I'm here because I want it to stop.
I want the pain to stop.
I can't really say it's an emptiness, because you shouldn't be able to feel anything if it's empty. I feel an ache in a very deep hole. And I'm always crying. Except it's on the inside, so no one else sees it.
Only I see it.
I feel it. Every moment. How lonely. How sad.
Mused by Sukunami Taka around 1:37 AM
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