It maim so bad I just want either to talon out of my brain or pick and peel at my skin until I can uncover some emotion within.
It’s 5 am. There’s no sleep in my future, no release after consuming 80 mg of vyvanse and a few gallons of caffeine to study for exams. When your brain is this hyper-focused, it doesn’t take much to start thinking about the pile of bullshit that you are. It won’t shut off, it won’t ever.
Being this self-reliant and self-serving takes a toll on relationships. For a while, people think you’re just a free spirit. Eventually, they understand you’re just an emotionless block of ice. I can’t open up to anyone. It’s like I won’t let myself care for someone too deeply because I want to save myself from being hurt or scared or abandoned or used, treated right, appreciated, loved, counted on.
My fingernails are bitten to the quick.
All I want is for it to shut off.
All I want is to shut off.
Is being alone worth being unbroken? Or is being alone more detrimental? Any damage done is all self-infliction, the most shameful brand of injury.
It’s great at first. Being on your own. You are your own best friend, your own protector. For a few years, you’re confident in yourself and people like you. You laugh more; why not when you are the creator of your own happiness? She doesn’t care what people think. But then, she’s unreachable; she’s like a star that’s burning just a little too far away. Still dazzling, yet just out of reach. Just when you think you’re getting close, when you think you have her in your viewfinder, the clouds roll in. The thing about stars… The brighter they shine, the hotter they burn.
You can pretend all you want; you can put on a show for yourself and the rest of the world that everything is smooth sailing. Eventually, you either are going to drown in the facade or you let yourself be rescued.
These are words I’ll never speak to anyone. They would never come out. There’s going to be a day where I give up; I’ll throw all my hopes of actually being happy and confident and loving someone right down a wishing well. It will be bad for a while; there will be a lot of booze, strange men, and little self respect. I’ll finally treat myself like the empty shell I made myself.
One day, when it’s time to settle down, I’ll find a nice, successful man but not start a family. I’ll continue to smile always and care for my own, but by then I’ll be nothing. I will be another empty soul suffering through daily life because that’s what strong, respectable people do. My kids will grow up like me, non existential : good neighborhood, the means to be successful, plenty of attention, but with the detached love of a mother who really isn’t a person anymore.
Broken people always live the longest, most cruel lives. People of my kind are too proud to end it all, even when they are the burden. I’ll live in a nice home somewhere warm, somewhere sunny. I’ll take my breakfast facing the west to watch the sunrise. Dinner, the east for the sunset. Watching the sun paint each and every day, wondering which one might be my last.
I find this piece written out so beautifully, laid out like a rhythm my ears are growing fond of, yet it is impossible to ignore the pain lying latent beneath these words. This isn’t an anecdote: this is an account, a converging point for the authors’ past, present and future. Its again one of those stories, I think, that has too many lessons to teach, and a different meaning every time you read it. You can’t gulp it down in one read, no.
I, for one, read it several times and couldn’t help but relate. I just realized how I could relate to some or the other element in every story- it’s funny how we all experience almost the same things; the same kind of pain, only dressed differently.
From the need to be self-reliant, to eventually throwing all our hopes down a wishing well; from sleepless nights to nightmares about the future, we’ve somewhere experienced each one of these things. We all have things that give us pain, experiences that weaken us; for most people it is a battle with their own selves. What makes the difference is how you fight it, and if you give your weaknesses enough power to win or lose.
(The Anonymous Anecdotes is a project under which anyone can send me a memory, a story or an experience from their life that had a profound impact on them. It requires people to write their respective experience along with the way it changed them or their perception of life. According to the project, these stories are being published anonymously, with the intent of spreading a positive message and a hope that anyone who reads, relates or learns. If you’re interested, you can send me your story at firstname.lastname@example.org.)