Where are you?
I really need you as a friend right now and you left me. I’ve texted and left you countless of voice-mails recently. I’ve never felt this desperate before. I can usually carry on fine by myself. I want to make things right but you won’t let me. I really need my best friend. I really need you right now.
I’ve been so alone and lost. I’ve been taking it out on others because I don’t know how to tell people I need help. I’ve been doing it again, isolating myself. I’ve been intentionally getting people who care about me to hate me so I don’t have to put them through hell. I want to spare them their feelings. I really miss you. I feel like you would know how to calm me. I really need you right now.
I was doing so well. I was doing so well until I faced my true feelings. I thought it was better to live like that but it’s not. Every time I am making progress, I snap back into my old self.
I’m getting so tired of waiting until my roommate falls asleep to cry. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I keep faking that I’m okay but I’m really exhausted. I have my grades. Things are looking up for me, but I still feel like my old self. I miss you so much right now. Please tell me what I should do.
There’s so much going on in my life and I don’t know who to go to. I don’t like to talk about things anymore, but I feel if I came to you right now, you wouldn’t need me to explain. I really need you right now, why won’t you pick up my calls? I’ve never felt so hopeless and vulnerable before.
Please get back to me if you read this. I know you check up on me regularly. I really miss you, please call me back. I am asking for your help this time.
I love and miss you. Please take care of yourself. I hope things with your parents are fine. I hope you are doing well.
I was in third grade, changing out of my “chicken costume” with my friends as we laughed about the last mishaps that occurred earlier, gathering my hair into a ponytail as I slipped a scrunchie around the finished product. I said my good-byes and met up with my sisters, waiting patiently in the lobby of the church, my knobby knees hitting against my little sister’s tiny frame as we waited for my dad.
He walked silently into the lobby, picked up my little sister, a serious look plastered on his face, and walked quickly towards the car, huffing and puffing angrily under his breath while not uttering a single word to us the whole time. The car ride home was uncomfortably quiet, not the usual music blasting through the stereo during the hour duration. I remember being disappointed. No congratulations. No explanations.
My older sister leaned over to me and whispered, “I think something is really wrong.” She straightened herself back into her seat and occupied her thoughts with the night, her eyes fixated on the window. I could imagine the blood draining out of her face, her frail fingers nervously fiddling with the hems of her untucked shirt, her head spinning and racing with the million bad scenarios that could have taken place. She left me uneasy, and I physically responded by slumping down in my seat, dragging my body out of the tight buckles suffocating my worries.
I was 9, understanding the restraints of my family, the way the night was going to pan out, and the way I was going to toss and turn in bed that night as I lay down next to my older sister, who would be choking back whatever was left of herself.
Getting out of the car once I was home was difficult. I understood nothing good was going to come out of what seemed like a good night. I knew once I walked into that door, I would be submerged back into the reality of this house, this family, and felt nothing but painting myself with more pretty lies in my head of what my childhood was supposed to consist of.
My dad went in first with the rest of us following in pursuit. Loud screaming and crying came from upstairs, abrupt taunting and a sinister laughter followed the sarcastic, “How does it feel?” question. My dad let out a huge sigh, no sense of urgency, no rush, just lazy legs approaching the inevitable, carrying himself with his head down. I was still in the foyer, slipping my shoes off when my mom came running downstairs naked, screaming incoherent slurs, her hair dripping wet while falling out of its bun, and her face drenching in fear. Her arms clung over her exposed chest, her arms slit from the upper left arm to the elbow. She bellowed something to me, but I was stuck in a trance, not fully comprehending what was going on. I apologized in my head, copied my dad, cowardly bowed my head, and rushed up the stairs to my room.
I dropped my things on the bedroom floor, but her laugh was still rattling through my subconscious. I timidly walked to the bathroom door where she was standing over the toilet, a knife in her hand, sliding it back and forth on her arm, the scraping sound of metal against human flesh making me cringe. The toilet seat was up and she exclaimed loudly, “I stuffed mom’s head in the toilet!” when she saw me hiding behind the side.
If I was the person I was now in my younger self’s body I would have said a lot of things, I would have done a lot of things, but I remember getting ready for bed like nothing happened until my dad forced her out of the bathroom in my room.
The rest of the night my sister and I laid side by side in bed listening to everything outside of our locked door. Trying to block it out, but never being able to. My sister was always the first to cry and vent, which became comforting to me as I grew up all the way until she left the family on her own. Those nights, I would idly sit or lay by her in the dark, listening to her concerns, while feeling numb because I was unable to process what happened. She was a wise thing, my sister. She understood before I ever understood that there was no such thing as change in this family the minute something occurred. There was no forgiveness, there was no hoping that people would change, or the miracle for situations to change. Shy, quiet, and at those times, very vulnerable, but always quick to react to bad circumstances sensibly. There were no sugar-coats, no naive ideas or notions hidden that tomorrow would be better, just someone who understood she had to accept things for the way they were. She understood at a young age that moving on from this family meant never looking back, and when I received my opportunity to do the same, I took it.
However, as I spend my nights alone I realize I was only someone who wanted to be a replication of that, pretending if I hid from things or controlled my resentment and anger well enough, I could enter adulthood as a level-headed and mature individual. I was never accepting things, never bothering to get rid of all hopes locked away in my younger years. It left me contemplating things at 11:21 pm on a Tuesday night, upset, (finally) crying, and trying to accept something twelve years a little too late.
Feeling really sad out of nowhere.
Whenever I get this sad, I always imagine myself 5 years old again, when it was okay to be upset over nothing. When I was little and I was sad, it went away fairly quick when I saw my parents or sisters. These days, when I’m sad, I’m sad for months on end…and usually, I’m sad because I’m frustrated with not being able to pinpoint where it comes from.
I feel really sad and alone. I feel sad and alone a lot of the times, even if I don’t admit it.
I know what I need to do. I need to stop being so selfish. I need to do well. I just feel like crying. I feel like crying all the time :/
Love is the most peculiar thing. You can’t fool feelings no matter how much you resist it.
But I’ve sure thought I could live without it. I find love in so many people in my life, but when I used to look towards him, I would be so flabbergasted with the realization that romantic endeavors in life can actually work. It’s so cliche and overplayed; I hate that it’s true and I hate how romantic love actually exists.
I say this because despite leaving two serious relationships, and even choosing to give up recently on the “whatever it was” ordeal, I can’t escape myself from still trying to find words for him. I’m still trying words for him, after months of giving up on him.
I guess that’s what sad with me because I can play around my feelings all the time, I can even fool the other person into thinking I’m truly indifferent, but inside I like them a little too much. I like them more than I like myself! I would do anything for them. That type of shit is so crazy, I can’t wrap my head around why you can give up anything and everything for someone, and all they need to do is ask. How does my feelings process it to that point where I love someone that much (in real life, I say like, but in my head, I basically love him lol)?
Sometimes someone would bring him up and I nonchalantly shrug my shoulders, but on my walk home, I start thinking about him. When I look at pictures of him, I swear for a second to myself, I can see how unhappy he is and get really upset. I left him, but I still want him to be happy. I mean…what the fuck. He doesn’t deserve that from me, but I still want him to be happy.
I think about the million ways I would have never held his past against him, or treated him a certain way, or how I would handle his feelings differently from the girl before. I just think way too much about how I would have been as a girlfriend to him if he didn’t scare the wits out of me. If I didn’t think about how he wasn’t good for me. If I didn’t always justify my feelings with my logic. If I didn’t think about the distance and the hardships that would come with it. If I wasn’t selfish, if I wasn’t trying to establish myself in my 20s.
A lot of the time I randomly think about how he used to fall asleep and how I would pull the blanket over his body to make sure he was warm, and the way I felt in that moment about him. I don’t know why I think about those moments so much, I think it was because those were the times where I felt a lot of compassion and love for him. Almost an overwhelming sense of how I wanted to stay in his life and be there for his lows, as well as his triumphs. Ugh. I think of him in such a manner that shows I’m not over him, but nobody else can tell and it’s so fucking unnerving, it leaves me so confused…………But you know when despite how much you love someone, they’re no good for you? It’s that exact thing. I’m trying so hard to be selfish for my future, for my emotional stability, but I feel upset because what I would rather do is be there for him.
Godfuck, I’m such a hopeless romantic and the guys that get involved with me can never tell. I get so upset over nothing.
I always wonder to myself if one day choosing my academics or career or whatever else it was will be worth it. I want to take care of myself, but I also want to take care of him? That’s so annoying because I need…I NEED TO JUST FOCUS ON MYSELF.
I am 21, I am young, and whatever we had probably wouldn’t even last. I rationalize this, but I’m afraid one day I’m going to look back and regret giving up on certain people the minute they fucked up.
I laid in bed for an hour and thirty, playing this one song on repeat feeling numb at first, and after the third time the song played on repeat, I started crying. I guess I’ve been holding in two semester’s worth of frustration and sadness.
I put on a good front for people close to me, acting fake angry and indifferent when I feel lonely, but truthfully, like anyone else, it hurts feeling like you’re alone to deal with things. It’s worse when you know you truly aren’t alone, because you feel guilty and ashamed that maybe you’re just being ungrateful. Or that you shouldn’t feel that way.
I also understand another part of why I feel the way I do is my fault because I’m too prideful to reach out to people. People are always telling me to vent to them but I refuse to, or apologize that I don’t feel comfortable enough. I just don’t want to lose that sense of control, so I think holding it in will better but it never is. Not trying to be over-dramatic or anything, I know I have some good people in my life. Being in these weird moods are the worst.
It’s a mixture of that and the feeling of in-adequateness. No matter how good my grades are, I feel incompetent all that time. I wish I just believed in myself. I wish as much as I talked, I believed it.
I also spent the time feeling guilty and upset over family matters. I realize that I can’t feel like this. I have to grow up. I have to move on with my life, but sometimes when I’m enjoying myself, I feel like I’ve abandoned my family for wanting to live my life differently.
Like today when I was laying in bed and felt loneliness, I asked myself, “Is this how mom and dad feels?” And then I started putting myself in their shoes and started crying.
I won’t get into detail about it but I remember once when I was talking with my dad in the last days before I left for college and I asked my dad, “Would it make you happy to go back?”
And he said, “After a couple of years in America, I realized, the first generation will never be happy. There is no American dream. It’s left up to the second generation to find that happiness.”
Basically, I spend a lot of time thinking about my family and getting upset about how everyone lives their life, how everyone perceives reality, and how everyone ultimately feels alone. I think like this because I know I feel really alone, and I know if that is true for someone as young as me, who probably has an infinite amount of opportunities, there is no doubt in my mind that this has been the loneliness that my mom and dad has been feeling for 23+ years now.
Truthfully, when I get into moods like this, I wish I had a relationship with my parents so I could talk to them. But everyone is so distant, and I already know how it goes when I try to build a relationships with my parents (it never works).
The one thing I never talk about is how I only care so much about wanting to study law and criminal justice because it’s the naive idea I’ve had since I was younger that in this way, I’ve succeeded. It’s like finding the justice I never found growing up in a physically abusive environment.
I also want to find out why the criminal justice system failed me as a kid and I want to know if there is anything I can do to prevent that for future children.
It’s really hard to talk about this, but that’s actually why I care so much about studying this subject area. It’s embedded into who I am now because the only way I knew how to survive back then was to constantly tell myself that one day I would get to find my own justice. And if I gave it up now, I’d feel pretty empty.
But that’s hard to explain to people without explaining the extent of who I was back then and all the things I’ve gone through.
I’m not saying I’ve had it the worst. I sure as hell didn’t. I am still immensely grateful for all the stuff that happened because they allowed me to grow up, learn, and bond certain relationships that come out of tough situations. This is certainly a disclaimer that I am NOT putting blame on anything or anyone. I am trying my best to grow out of my teenage resentment that I held so tightly to a couple of years ago.
The point I’m making is that I’m not studying what I’m studying with the back thought of money, job security, or that it’s a relatively easy major (all things people think are extremely good indicators of being a successful person-money and job security). What stems my interest is that I know I want to help child victims. I really want to make a difference. I do not care that much about money or job security or fame or glory…I want to be directly involved with helping people, and that’s really hard to get my family and others alike to understand. I want to study something that I’m personally invested in, because the job security in that for me is not what the job market will look like in ten years, but that I’ll never run out of passion in wanting to help kids who were in similar situations as me, supporting and telling them they’re going to be successful and that whatever they are going through is not a mark of their self-worth, but rather something that will mark how far they’ve come one day.
Just got off the phone and started crying because no matter how far I’ve come, how successful I become, or how many bridges I’ve tried crossing, I’ll never get full acceptance if I don’t live it according to someone’s else terms. So I do what I want to anyways, resulting in a plethora of temporary happiness, but never the “real thing.” I want nothing more from myself but to be happy, but others don’t want that??? Or their preconceived notion of what happiness is contradicts with mine.
The obstacle I consistently run back into is trying to accept that some people will never accept how I want to live my life. Every time I come to accept I will never get the support I want, a random life circumstance happens which causes the other person to become a bit more sympathetic, and I get hopeful that their perspective on my life has changed, when it hasn’t (and never will). And the moment I realize that, I feel trapped in the cycle again, upset over things I had “grown out of” the day before.
I don’t need people to vent? That’s why there’s writing.
I went throughout most of my life not talking about any of my personal problems. Just because I’ve been more accustomed to venting or speaking my mind or opening up to people since high school doesn’t mean I need to.
What is this superfluous idea that I need people? I don’t need anyone. Every time I’ve thought I needed people, I realized I’m perfectly fine without them.
I may be a mess in my private life, but I don’t need people to feel secure with who I am, even if I am lost or stressed or tired or whatever else.
Stop talking to me as if I need you. I don’t need you.