Before I go on, I want to say this was not my idea. I didn’t want to do this, but my friend convinced me. So here I am. I was scared, I still am. This is my first experience writing things out openly like this. I have never done this before, in fear that my issues, that my problems would hurt others. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know you, and I don’t want to know you. I am like that. I don’t like people. I just don’t.
I will do my best not to repeat myself. I’m quite bad at it, but I’ll try. This post will probably be longer than the others. It’s an introduction. It’s an opening to my world. As boring as it gets, it’s there.
I’d like to give you a warning. Before you start reading, if you are still reading, anyway. I am not interesting. I am not good at talking. I’m not good at much, actually. I am no writer… I’m just another person you don’t know.
Sure, some people might know me. My friends, my family… yeah, right. Friends? Never really had any. The few people I can consider friends right now are very sparse. I can barely see them, and I can barely spend time with them. I can’t even talk to them all that much. I can’t talk about my issues… I’m terrible at this. My family… well, it’s a mess. Probably not as much as others admitedly, but it’s still fucked up. My parents stayed in an unhealthy relationship for years, scared that breaking up would hurt me. They should have, way earlier than they did. But they didn’t. So when they did, it hurt. A lot.
See, it’s a bit of a paradox, when I said “some people might know me”… because really, nobody knows me. They think they know me, but they don’t. Nobody really truly knows anything about me. I am… a lost soul. I have deep, dark secrets, like everyone else. Things I don’t want to talk about. Things I am not confortable with. Things I want to forget. Things.
Who am I? I don’t know. Myself, perhaps. Yes, that’s probably the closest definition of me I can give. I am… me. And unfortunately, that’s not a whole lot.
I was born a while back, in some country, in some city, somewhere on this beautiful planet that is Mother Earth… does it really matter? I have never got to spend much time in my native country anyway. I probably will once I get to university, but until then, I’ve mostly been everywhere else. My whole life has been composed of constant travelling and moving around. I’d go somewhere, and just as I began to settle myself and feel confortable, my parents would decide it’d be a good idea to move somewhere else. It was always like that. I have been everywhere except where I want to be: home. That’s a strange concept for me… home. How can I define home? I can’t. I don’t know where home is… I never had a chance to find it. Home for me has always been somewhere I couldn’t be. Somewhere I kept moving away from. Somewhere where I felt good… somewhere I’d never reach.
For my whole life, I have been looking for home. The only place I ever considered close to what I would call home is one of my old houses. It was small, it wasn’t great, but to me, it was and still is the place that means the most to me. When I feel sad, I go out, take the metro, travel for a few hours before reaching the village. I walk, and walk, keep on walking. I go to the neighbourhood. Some people I used to know still live there… but they don’t really remember me. I just… stand there. Stranded. Mesmerized. I want to live here, I think to myself. This… is home. I feel good here. I want to stay here. I start walking along the long road. It’s a small group of houses, in a line. Mine was number 9, at the end of the road. I used to love this place so much. It is owned by somebody else now… but I still like standing beside it. Holding my hands and arms close to the entrance gate… feeling it. This is the only place I can consider home, I think, as I hug the entrance gate. I could stay here for hours. And hours. Hours… hours. Time doesn’t mean anything anymore. This is home. Yes… home.
Unfortunately, I can’t stay here. The more I do, the worse I feel. Because, deep down inside me, I know very well I am standing in front of someone else’s property. It is no longer mine. It is someone else’s. So… I have to deal with it. I walk back to the metro, and head back… home? To my mother’s appartment. I am with mom right now. Tomorow, I will be going to dad’s. He lives in an appartment near the beach. It’s alright. I guess.
After reading this, you may think I live in the past. And frankly, yes. I do. In the current state of things, I can’t look forward to anything. The future does not mean anything to me right now. I can only look back, look back at what I did, look back at what I could have done… worry about things. Think about what I did wrong. I wish I didn’t have to. But my brain doesn’t listen. Emotiions, thoughts. They all mix up. If my brain was a desk, it’d probably be covered in a mountain of papers. Like fucking papers everywhere man. Everywhere.
But yeah… I worry too much. One of my friends says that. It’s true, I admit. I can’t do much other than worry, than overthink things. I am pretty useless. They say… our actions define who we are. Who am I? A reccuring question. Keeps popping up. Again and again. I am so tired of this shit right now.I don’t know, alright? Stop asking me. I don’t know…
I always had problems communicating. Talking to others. Establishing trust. Building relationships. Creating interaction. All these fancy words… what do they mean? I sound like a fucking psychologist. I hate psychologists. They charge you to talk about your worries. They’re supposed to help you out. I’ve gone to countless psychologists. It probably helped, as a kid, a bit, but… if it really did help, why am I writing all of this? Why am I still feeling like this? Fucking hell, I don’t know. I don’t expect you to know either. I’m just throwing these questions up in the air.
I’m a mess. I’m having trouble organizing myself right now. I want to keep on going, but I can’t find anything else to talk about. I guess I can move on to my childhood.
It was messed up. Never had any friends. Kept switching school every one to two years. I’ve been interested in computers from a very young age, and others seem to have stuck that sticker on me. I was “the computer dood” around school. Someone nobody wanted to be around, often rejected by all.
I don’t think I have been asociable. I wanted friends. I really, really wanted friends. I did my best to have friends. But for some reason, it never really quite worked out. I guess things never really work out for me, do they. Ahh, the joys of life. Waking up in the morning. Getting breakfast. Going to school. Not knowing what the hell you’re doing. Standing in the middle of a crowd of kids yelling at each other. Lost. Ostracized. Invisible.
I was often bullied by others, too. I’ve had many problems. Appearently, wearing glasses and being fat is good enough criteria to judge others. At least in my school. What does “being fat” mean, anyway? It’s all relative. Society has some established rules. Kids are taught to follow them. Nothing unusual. But when it gets to the point of constant bullying, you have to say no. I don’t want this.
But… who listened anyway. Adults didn’t care. Other kids put more pressure. Nobody understands. I no longer have a problem with my weight or my appearance. I used to fear going out in public. I don’t anymore. I have accepted this side of myself. It is my body, after all. Others shouldn’t have a word to say about it.
However, this used to bother me a lot when I was a kid. It was truly horrifying. Kids are cruel beings. But you know… I lived with it. I had to, anyway. I didn’t want to die. I thought about suicide. Often. I guess I never went further because I was scared. I didn’t want to cause anyone any trouble. And if I died, what would my parents do? What would my brother do without me? Even though I didn’t feel like they liked me too much, they were still my parents, no matter what. I had to stay alive. For them.
So I didn’t commit suicide. I was young. I was rational enough not to. In a way, I’m glad I didn’t. There are so many things I’ve gotten to experience which I couldn’t have if I had decided to take my life. I don’t like suicide. I don’t like the thought of it. It seems like a painful thing to do to one self. I don’t want to go through that. Please, if you, fellow reader, are thinking about it, don’t. There are so many things you haven’t done yet! Trust me. Even though my opinions aren’t worth much, I ask you to trust me on this one.
Anyway. I went through childhood. One of my dark fears was getting kidnapped. For some reason, this thought would haunt me every single night. I never really told anybody. It was just… there. Even though I lived on the 11th floor of a building. Damn.
Life was never easy. I used to enjoy life. Even though I had problems, I enjoyed living. I don’t right now. It’s more trouble than anything. I’ve talked about my childhood… but what about now, you may be wondering? A complete disaster. That’s what.
My parents are separated. My brother hates me. The girl I loved left me for someone else. The people I used to talk to are gone. I have very few friends right now. I am a lonely soul, wandering through the abyss of life, hoping to find someone to talk to, someone to be friends with. I have the most trouble with that right now… I need more friends.
I don’t have much trouble with my parents being separated. It’s their life, after all. Them being together hurt me more than them being each on their own. They used to fight so much. I left the house several times. It was highly disturbing. I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m glad they are no longer together. It was a living nightmare.
My brother… ahh, my brother. I love him. He is the best of his kind. I always wanted a brother. We fight a lot, but it’s alright. I guess. Unfortunately, he came around at the wrong time. It’s not his fault. I don’t blame him for anything. When I wanted him the most, he was a baby, and I couldn’t play with him. I wanted to, but he was often asleep. I started being a bit more independent. He grew up. He wanted to play with me. I rejected him. I kept telling him to go somewhere else…. what did I do… I am such a horrible person. Now, he hates me. Deeply. He’s told me several times he wanted me dead. He says he wants to commit suicide. He says it’s all my fault. I don’t know… is it? What did I do wrong? Is it my fault if, when I wanted to be with you, you couldn’t, and when you wanted to be with me, I couldn’t? Who is it to blame? Is there someone to blame? I’m sorry… I’m so sorry….
I can’t even deal with myself. I needed someone. Someone special. A girl. That I would like. That would like me. Guess what? I found her. Or so I thought.
Over the years, I have convinced myself that I am not very desirable. I am not interesting. No fun to be around. I tend to bother people. My interests are different from what most people like. I am weird. Strange. Whatever you want to call it.
But she… she overlooked that. I met her about 5 years ago. In a game. I didn’t realize it immediately, but I was falling in love with her as every day passed. I spent a lot of time with her. She was really nice to me. She understood me. She trusted me. I trusted her back. Big mistake.
For years, I have been depressing over the fact I’d never find anyone. I still am convinced of that. I will never find anyone. That special someone just doesn’t exist. I am not someone you would want to be with. I’m scared to approach, and I’m scared when others approach. I’m in a bubble. Completely cut off from the rest of the world.
I was starting to really like her, and was seriously thinking about being with her, but I didn’t think she’d like me. How could she possibly like someone like… someone like me? I learned she had a boyfriend. Well, at least now, I don’t have to deal with this, right? Wrong. He left her. She was sad. I was there. I tried my best to confort her. She accepted to talk to me… a bit. I did everything I could.
A month after it happened, she started acting weird with me. She was more often spending time with me. Trying to get me to notice her. Sending cute little hearts. She was flirting with me. And I couldn’t believe it. I was overfilled with joy. I couldn’t stand in place. She had accepted me! Me! Seriously, how did this ever happen?! Man, I was happy. Perhaps too happy.
We started spending more time together. I asked her to be my girlfriend. Unfortunately, she denied. It was a bit complicated. In the end, it didn’t work out. She was distanciating herself. She gave me hopes, only to revoke them right after. I was going towards her, and she kept building taller and taller walls in the path. I thought she was testing me, to see how high I’d jump for her. Turns out she just didn’t want me to keep going.
I was tired of this. She kept swinging me back and forth. One day, I was the most awesome person on earth, the hottest man alive. The next day, I was getting “too attached”. When she was the one flirting and driving the whole thing! Until finally, after a month or so, she told me. “I started dating someone”. She’d never called what we were doing… dating. Perhaps it was my age. After all, we had 4 years of difference. She’s an adult. I’m not.
Even so, she shouldn’t have given me hopes. I felt terrible, for a while. I talked a lot, and thought about it a lot too. I learned she had many other relationships before. Turns out she has commitment issues. I don’t think… I want this kind of girl. I want someone that truly cares about me the same way I care about her. That wants to spend time with me the same way I want to spend time with her. Not that she didn’t, mind you, I think it was sincere. She probably got bored of me quickly. That, or it was all a lie. I guess I’ll never know.
We haven’t talked much since. I want to talk to her, but she won’t reply. I don’t know what’s going on. She is still my friend, and I still care about her, even though we can’t be together. There’s no reason not to keep our friendship the way it was. I’m confused.
In any case, I learned something. Relationships are hard. I knew that, of course. But… it’s completely different to go through it. A lot of feels. A lot. At least, someone was interested in me. This is encouraging. I guess I can just return to my daily activities. The thought of her still comes to my mind from time to time, but my feelings have changed. I no longer feel pain. There’s no way it could have worked out… no sense in trying to make it work if she feels it’s not going to. This is her life after all, I respect her decision. It’s better this way for both of us. I hope she’ll be fine, and that she is happy with her boyfriend. Please, don’t let them break up. that would be horrible for her… please, let her find peace. She deserves it. I moved on.
Ahh… my life. So boring. Are you still reading? Why? Go do something fun. There’s tons of other things to do then reading a teenager’s post on life. My life sucks. I guess you get it.
If I wrote all of this, it’s for a friend. She said I’d feel better if I did. So I tried. I have to admit, I feel a bit less confused now. Writing it all out has allowed me to think about it a bit more. To organize my thoughts. What an interesting experience! I will do this more often. I know you guys don’t care. Well, I don’t care. I’m going to write everything down.
Hello, I am an internet user. I exist! (and I’m feeling better)