Couldn't think, couldn't read, couldn't do anything
I was so depressed yesterday…. Couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t even read much. But I had to read, otherwise I would never sleep. So I stayed up till late, so that I could collapse in exhaustion on the bed and slip into Morpheus’s arms without a struggle.Wanted desperately to go drown my sorrows in a bar so badly, but then it rained. Frogs and toads, I thought. So dashed my plans… then again, I know why it was raining… it was for me.
God always knew that rain would cheer me up... somewhat…
I wish I stayed on my own. My own place. My own person. I always felt that this person who was me, wasn’t actually me. I shouldn’t be so moody, so gloomy, so sad… why must people be sad and gloomy? Did family and friends not make a person complete? Happy? Contented?
I hate being me in the morning, because I don’t feel inclined to smile, to make small talk, to look at anyone. I hate being me in the day, when I wish I could stop thinking of what to eat so that I can watch my weight, so that I don’t become unhealthy. I hate being me in the evenings when I’m thinking of whether to go for a movie with my friend or go for a yoga session to get rid of spare tires and deciding whether to go home to my family (which is so pathetic as my best friend says all the time), and remembering that I need to save money, not to go out. I hate being me at night, when I am all alone, when the family has gone to bed, no one to talk to, no one to share confidences without worrying if they will take offense at my words a few weeks or months down the road, wondering when I will not be alone, wondering what am I looking for in life, wondering where I’m heading, wondering where my career is heading, wondering whether I will ever be a bestseller, wondering if I will ever make it in a world full of harsh people and circumstances, wondering whether I want to be single and in control, then asking myself cynically, am I really in control, as long as I stay under my mother’s roof?
Once upon a time, I promised someone that I wouldn’t do myself in… in my opinion it was a cupboard promise… he didn’t know I was so desperate to know that he was okay, that I would do and say anything to make sure that he was ok. But to me, I’d already made the promise… sometimes honour can be such a damned thing… a hindrance to someone who likes expediency… when I want to do it, I want to do it quickly and painlessly.
I have a love-hate relationship with the night, because it’s so peaceful and powerful that everything seems possible, but that it is so quiet and lonely, I don’t know what to do with myself. And I hate not knowing.
I hate not knowing…
posted by Jennirhiow @ 12:36 pm
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