This was inspired by Dottie James and Savannah Brown, two amazing, inspiring YouTubers. I have linked their videos in case you want to watch. When I watched their videos, I decided that I should make one. However, I’m not comfortable making a video like they did, and truth to be told, my appearance hasn’t changed dramatically ever since primary school, except I’m taller, my skin is whiter, I have changed my glasses for a couple of times, from pink, purple to black or white, now black. So I will write a summary of my mental life instead of making a video. It’ll be a bit morbid. This post was written a couple weeks ago, and I was hesitant to publish it even though I know not everyone will read it. I guess I was afraid of being judged by strangers and acquaintances. Even though this is not a video, just a simple diary, but I want you to listen to some music while you are reading. So here how it goes. And grammar and spelling and word use, who the hell cares? This is my diary anyway.
I am an emotional person. I am sensitive and intuitive. I used to hate being told that I’m hypersensitive and I hate the fact that I’m emotional. Everyone around me makes me feel like it’s a bad thing. Every birthday, they will send me a note saying that “Don’t be hypersensitive”, or “You are too emotional”, or give me some adjectives which describe me and one of them would always be “emotional”. But I can’t stop being like that. It’s the struggle of being either emotional or indifferent.
They hate me when I cry and gradually I hate when I cry too, too much to the extent that I wish I didn’t have the eyes that I almost pride myself on so that I couldn’t cry anymore. I wish I were deaf so I couldn’t hear they fighting over and over again, louder over time and more intense every day. I wish I didn’t exist when I knew my existence is nothing but a burden and I make the people I love feel miserable. I don’t know what I live for and sometimes, I think I live to pay the debt I have brought to my family, literally and figuratively. I was tremendously hurt but I guess I wasn’t really hurt because how can I be hurt when obviously no one did anything to me and I don’t feel any ache in my chest? Just sometimes, only sometimes, when I see the image of that one particular person, I recall all of the shame, guilt, mistreatment and unreciprocated love and I burst into tears. But I actually didn’t do anything. I was an outsider. All I ever did is exist.
I thought I didn’t care, I thought I was okay if a piece of me was cut off, but I wasn’t. I do care. I just hypnotize myself that I don’t, because I don’t feel the ache in my chest that makes me feel hard to breathe even just for a moment like when I see my mom’s small wound. I just cry non-stop. Like I always do. Sometimes, I guess maybe when I think too much, I feel suffocated. I can’t breathe even though I’m breathing. I feel like there’s a rock on my chest and there is something stuck in my throat. I get used to it anyway. No big deal. It’s just stress. I know that. No big deal.
People are funny you know.
I grew up thinking that I was a smart child because I was always the “teacher’s pet” for being an excellent student and because I gained many prizes and I was a top student, though looking back now, they aren’t worth a thing. Then I became a high school student. I stopped being the best. Just good. Sometimes average. Sometimes too desperate and tired to the point I nearly gave up. But I can’t give up. How can I give up? Giving up doing what I’m doing means giving up on being better, giving up on striving to a happier version of me. So I stop being the “star”. People around me feel ashamed. And before I knew, I had trusted every single word they used to put me down.
I was a smart and happy child. I was strong. Even if you threw rocks at me, I still didn’t care. I was happy drawing and writing. I was completely free. Or at least that is what I thought.
Until someone I trusted came and said I was nothing. Over and over again.
They told me not to tell them what I feel or think, shut up, and obey because I wasn’t old enough. I was 17, about to turn 18. They said it didn’t matter what I thought and felt so I’d better accept it. And I did. I learn to lie and have secrets. I learn to stay away from everyone so I won’t get hurt. And I learn that everyone is fighting their battles so they won’t care what your problems are. I stop complaining.
But why do you always have to compare your things to everything? Why do you have to compare yourself to me and now you have to compare your problems to mine too to make me feel like shit for feeling what I feel?! And people call themselves intelligent creatures. How intelligent they are. After everything they told me about my emotions, they said they were disappointed in me for not knowing how to show any affection to them. How can I when everything you do is pushing me away after every fragile attempt I make to get closer to you? That’s why even though I feel like I hit the rock bottom at some points in my life, I’m still proud that at least I do think carefully and be stronger each time mentally, in retrospect.
I heard her cry, and I wish I could grow up fast so I could be a shoulder for her to cry on. Now I’m growing up fast, but I feel helpless than ever when I can’t control my life. I’m really scared of growing up because I feel like I’m so silly and stupid if I step into that real world. I’m afraid that I can’t do anything right in the future because I’m already a failure. How can I be afraid of such a lot of things when nothing bad has happened yet? I don’t know. I feel drained out, honestly, when I go outside. It doesn’t matter where I go, how long it takes or if I have fun or not, I’m just burned out. If I have to socialize with many people, I will be lost because I can’t fit in. I can be nice to everyone but I can’t be a tail and follow them and compliment them to make a new relationship. It’s not me. I can’t be with people who don’t even see me.
Although I’m a super-duper negative person, in the hardest times, I can be strangely calm like my alter ego has taken over and I’m completely different.
Yesterday, my English teacher asked me (and the whole class) a question, “What is happiness to you?”, and everyone said happiness was when they stayed with their families, they kept in touch with their good friends, they had money to buy cosmetics products and their K-pop concert ticket and I told him, “Happiness to me is peace in my soul. Because I’m not a very positive person, I tend to overthink about everything, like what if I fail, what if I DON’T fail. Therefore, it is hard for me to be happy most of the time. Sometimes, happiness is just about little things when I can go to bed earlier than everyone else and find my bed comfortable.” There’s one sentence I forgot to tell him, it was “As long as I can stop thinking for a while, I’m happy”.
There are a few days I feel happy. These are the days I’m alone with a bed and a laptop in my room. If I have to go anywhere during the day, I’ll come home feeling exhausted and negative. All the noise and all the voices will appear in my head, become louder and louder each time, making me nervous and helpless. That’s when I just need to lay my head down on my pillow, and they stop. I feel happy when I get lost in the moment while reading a book or studying a language. I feel happy when I don’t tell my parents a word that I’m sad but they somehow know, I guess it’s the bond between us, and the next day, they make me my favorite dishes. I feel happy when I watch Taylor Swift’s live concerts on YouTube and go high with her fans. I love the crowd moments like these ones.
It is silly when I didn’t want to admit I like Taylor Swift. People make me feel like her music is something for childish girls and they are all against her. I’m not sure what’s wrong with her and her music. I like her songs, and I love the way she deals with her haters. You say I’m a Snake, I’m gonna be the Snake Queen. It’s quite a smart move, isn’t it?
I feel happy when I find the right song for my mood. I feel happy when I’ve finally found a world of my own, which is WordPress (although but some people really scare me to death with their comments). It’s not like I don’t use Facebook or Instagram, but I have the so-called Facebook/ Instagram insecurities that make me feel like shit and realize how fucked up my life is. Now I can just say what I want to say and do what I want to do here. It’s just a blog, but it’s enough for me.
Those are the few happy things. I guess I should start to keep records of the happy things in my life so I can come back and feel better each time.
If there’s something I wish I’d known sooner in life, I wish I would have known that it’s okay being a late bloomer. Therefore, I don’t need to ask myself why I am so far behind, what I am doing wrong, whether I am a bad person or not.
Maybe I have some toxic relationships in my life, maybe I’ve lost a very close friend, but I’ve managed to keep many great things and many beautiful people in my life.
While I keep holding on to people who take me for granted, I’ve been an asshole to this person.
While I keep berating my imperfections and envying others for being too perfect, there was somebody telling me I was perfect, not them.
I guess it’s time I should let the past behind along with all of the used-to-be.