Silver Lining

I haven’t written in so long that I don’t even feel like I’m the same girl that used to write every day. Whatever happened to her anyway? It’s as if somewhere along the line, I just let her go and with her, so went all the creativity that I’ve always used to pride myself on. It was the one thing that made me unique; the fact that I wrote and that I was rather good at it and that I never had to force it. It was a part of me and it’s a part of me that I plan on getting back. So, here goes everything.

To say that it has been a rough couple of days would be a huge understatement. I don’t think I’ve ever been this alone, and that’s saying a lot because I’ve always been alone. Not in a lone wolf sense, no. I mean, in a runt of the litter, always overlooked, desperately trying to fit in and giving up on everything kind of sense. For a while, I lived under the assumption that it was because I was introverted, socially awkward and anxious but I don’t think that can sum it up anymore. I’ve been running a cursed life where everything I touch dies. It’s a cliché line but that is the only way I can put it that simply. I’m trying so hard not to cry right now, because for one, I really need to get back to writing properly. And two, why am I like this? I’ve been messing up things in my own life and lives of those around me. I’m like a one woman bubonic plague but I’m just killing them emotionally, which I think is a lot worse, because I have to live with it.

I enjoy silence, and I would prefer to stay in my room, in my own little safe haven away from everyone and I have no problem with being by myself even if I’m not physically alone - But that’s very different to other people making that choice for you. The silence becomes harsher. The peace and quiet get replaced with cold, forced monotonous conversations and when it gets really bad, the air becomes sulfuric and you choke on your own breath because your words aren’t heard and your presence goes ignored. You start to feel your entire existence just fading away. The daggers they shoot just cut right through you and the unsympathetic stony tone of their voices just make you sick to your stomach but no one seems to notice, no one seems to care. They’ll talk about you as if you don’t exist, as if you never existed in the first place and here’s where it all becomes a lot worse. You start to question if you are everything they say you are. You wonder if that really is the image you put out to the world: a sad, weak, fainthearted, suicidal mess. And all the effort, all that struggle you go through on a daily basis, just become irrelevant and insignificant. And that’s what I feel right now. Exactly what they think I am. Probably what they want me to be too.

It’s hard trying to please everyone. It’s like you’re forced to be in a boxing ring fighting multiple champion players who are obviously a lot stronger, a lot more vicious than you. You’ll try to fight, but you know they’re just toying with you, you know you have no chance. So you dodge their punches, and you do it for so long, only to get knocked to the ground with your own fucking punch at the end. And to top it all, everyone takes that opportunity to kick you when you’re down.  That’s how it fucking feels to be at rock bottom. It’s sad and alone down here, but it’s okay. I’m used to it now. (At least I came up with a good enough metaphor even though I haven’t written in months and it’s rusty as hell. So, yeah. Silver lining, I suppose)