The twelfth day of July.
I do not remember how the entire day
went. I guess there was a bit of heavy rain, some spilling of tea on the
staircase, and, of course, a huge amount of wool-gathering.
I
spent the day browsing through stuff here and there. I came across this
bunch of writing inspirations, two of them being, "Will you please leave
me alone now so that I can continue to wallow in self-pity." and
"Please be quiet, I can't even hear myself losing the will to live." I
have a boutade for writing right now. Reminds me of the days when I was a
teenager and loved writing in my journals, but unfortunately lived in a
house where the concept of privacy never existed. Members of my family
would read them and then proceed to use them to make fun of me or
against me while arguing. I've never been able to trust them again since
that happened. Not even with good news about my life. There is a tick
in the back of my mind that the news will be tainted. I have a fear that
they will snatch away that feeling of success from me. People will say,
"Now you can keep an online diary." It is safe and secure. But, what's
done is done. It remains with you, and you have the unduly duty to carry
that scar forever. I remember trying to keep a journal after that when I
had some space for myself but was never able to. I would end up
throwing it away in the garbage dump from the rear balcony. And so I
stopped being myself. Around them, and sometimes in the pages too. All I
do is pretend, filter, mask, and fake.
I can't remember the last
time I felt or was myself around them. They do not know at all. It is a
level of discomfort that will make you want to take off your own skin.
The agonizing moments of being around them. Always on the edge, walking
around on eggshells. There is a block of acute small talks with no space
for actual discussions consisting of nuances, understandings, or
(dis)agreements, no matter what I do or how hard I try. When I think
about it, the act of dismissing whatever I say is what has broken the
thread between us. They keep pestering me to share it with them. But
those horrific moments of being dismissed keep playing on loop. The fear
is there and it's thriving. Sometimes, growing up, they would get
annoyed or upset by me very easily and for reasons that were never
revealed to me. I can still feel the silent scream "Leave" towards me
from them whenever I say or do something. The close-mouthed condemnatory
looks shut me up now. And, the fact that I have zero knowledge of what
would tick them off pioneered the sack of anxiety, distancing, and
over-sensitivity that only sucks the energy out of you. The only
possible and accessible way out is to escape. The irony, I know, but
it's comparable to being stranded in a foreign country where no one
speaks your native tongue while you learn the local traditions. Every
social interaction and discussion turns into a menacing maze to be
solved. And every time I act authentic and am a little open, it feels
like I'm "doing too much" and alienating people. I recently attended a
family function. I secretly hope that whenever I am present at a family
event or even at the dinner table with them, I do a good job of
concealing the enormous feeling of unwantedness. I am always under the
distinct feeling that I am a hermit crab doing my best to pass for a
human while speaking to them. I have been trying to avoid such functions
nowadays. Sometimes I don't even mind them; I simply can't handle the
atmosphere of hanging out and conversing with them. I have never been
able to be myself in those circumstances. There are too many hurdles for
me to be seamless with them.
I don't know how to end this entry.
I don't know if anyone is reading this. This is just the unloading of
that sack of overthought emotions and unnecessary feelings that many
labels as "teeny angst." Here I sit, on a rare day of having this room
entirely to myself for a few hours. I try to split open this
labyrinth-like drama of grief and solitude.
- Oizys.