It Be Like That Sometimes

It’s almost midnight, so you already know what’s coming: treating the internet like a diary. Today’s topic is the terrible, terrible mind I’m living in. 

I know I said all that stuff about hope that other day, but that’s kind of fizzled out, and with its exit comes a new sense of dread. Everything sucks for everyone. All the people I hold close to me are struggling and all I wanna do is make it okay, but I can’t. I’m helpless, even in my own situations. It’s so hard to be chained to the sidelines. 

I remember when I was younger I used to talk about the story The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas, where the total happiness of an entire city depends on the complete misery of one child. I used to want to be that child. I used to want to shoulder all the burdens of the world just so I could be sure that my family and friends were okay. As I grew, a part of me stopped believing in that. I guess that was a good thing, because it meant I was allowing myself happiness, but right now all I feel is that same need to be the sacrificial lamb. 

But perhaps there is a deeper, more twisted reason that I have this craving to obtain all the world’s hurt. Maybe a part of me wants to struggle more than everyone just so I can let myself want comfort. That whole “other people have it worse” saying might have been drilled into my mind to the point where I so desperately want to have it worse. Maybe then I would feel deserving of pity. 

I already have pity. I pity myself. I disgust myself. I want myself to be comforted. I want myself to shut up. I am almost two separate people in my head; two sides of the same coin. It seems that coin is continually being tossed in the air, landing on tails one minute, then heads on the next. I want the comfort of certainty. How nice it would be to know who I am at any given moment. 

I almost dont recognise myself in the mirror. I’ve changed too much of myself all at once, and now I’m left trying to find the scraps of who I used to be. I’m clinging so hard to all the good parts I used to have because I’m scared I’ll be left with the same hollowness that has stuck with me since I was a kid. And I’m scared that hollowness is Me. There’s no thought more daunting than the idea that my sadness is not a product of my situations, it is something that is wired deep in my soul. I want to be able to be rid of it. I want to be a happy. 

I used to call myself an introvert because I hated being around other people, but I’ve come to find that I’m a pack animal at heart. I can’t be happy on my own. No, I have to wait until I don’t have a single loved one whose head hangs low. Until then, I have to take my mental pick axe and try dig lower than rock bottom. I don’t want to see the jewels just yet.