ContemplationsMany people have often told me that I think too much.
But the truth of the matter is, I cannot help but think, for it is all that I could do.
Whether it is because of my screwed up family or my personal self, I think a lot about it.
The conflicting and contradictory feelings about my father. The extreme but intangible and un-voice unhappiness between my mother and I. The helplessness and resentment I feel towards my brother. The pathetic hopelessness that I feel about myself.
Being torn between two strong forces that have played and continue to play an important role in my life – my parents. Being compared with and made to be insensitive towards one person who is not given a choice in being who he is – my brother.
I have been thinking a lot this last week or so. Which is partially due to the unhappiness I feel at work, towards my colleagues and towards myself.
Towards my colleagues. Because I feel that I am not given the support needed to make things work. Especially my management. All they say are words. They say they can help me. But they have done nothing of that sort. My colleagues. I feel that they want to be all out in helping, but they aren't. Why? I wouldn’t really know. And I don’t think I want to dwell on it too much.
Towards myself. I feel that I am slacking, I am not being active enough, I am not bucking up enough. I can be detached and say to myself, ‘Gurl, you’re slipping.’ And yet, I don’t do anything. I am conscious of telling myself where I’m doing wrong. Yet I am conscious that I am not doing anything about it. It’s NOT a good thing.
I’d like to say that I don’t give a damn about what others think of me. But the sad fact is, I do care to a certain extent. Thing is, I can’t break down and tell that to my colleagues because I think that would seriously affect my respectability.
Sometimes my mom is so right. I am too sympathetic to the underdogs.
My fatal flaw. One of them.
But I can’t help it. I am too sensitive to others. I want to be sensitive to others. Does that make sense?
I know it’s because I have a very low self-esteem, and my self-esteem hinges on knowing that people like me. And I hate to think that people dislike me.
Many people have said that I have a very aloof demeanour. That I am proud, cold, and distant.
They have no idea it is because I don’t want to be hurt. Physically and psychologically.
It is true that my facial expressions have been remarked upon as… angry, cold, arrogant, standoffish, stern and like a-tiger-that-wants-to-eat-you.
I know what it does to people. For a fact, I know it keeps unwanted people away from me. And I want it so. But if I chased well-meaning people away, I didn’t mean it that way. My face just is.
Mom used to ask me if it was because I was unhappy over the divorce. I continually said no and still say it today. Rather, it was because of the way my life turned out to be. My birth, my parents, my brother, and, ironically, myself.
Yes. Till today, I still say I wish I were not born at all.
Almost everywhere I go, there was the same one question posed to me – If you could meet one person, who would it be?
And my answer remains the same – God.
I would like to meet God. I would like to sit down comfortably with him and ask him why my life was the way it was. All the pain, the tears, the fears, the helplessness, the frustrations, the futileness, the unfairness, the agony.
I think too much. Hate that. Didn’t want that, honestly. Wondered about that. Wished I didn’t think too much. Wished I didn’t have the trials I’ve had in my life. Wished that I could have had help, guidance and an angel to stand by me.
Well, maybe I do have one. But I’m too blind to see or feel it. Perhaps It is even watching over my shoulder as I type this. But then, I wouldn’t know. I can’t feel It.
I hate being vulnerable. I hate being weak. And I am both. I even hate it even more when people see it. Sometimes, I wish people saw. Sometimes, I wish they could even help. But I know that they can’t.
But that’s selfish of me. Everyone has their own problems. How dare I think that I’m the only one who has problems? What more big ones?
No, I’m just a poor misguided fool. Who thinks I know what I should do. But I really don’t. I’m just stumbling around, thinking that I have a purpose in life. But I don’t. I don’t know what to do with my life. I keep thinking that I do. But that’s part of the game of life. I’m to project the feeling that I do. Perhaps I’m doing a good job on the outside. But inside, I’m twisted in a hundred knots that won’t be untangled easily.
Oh God, help me… I just don’t know what to do with myself. I think I do. that’s the only thing keeping me going. The illusion can last me for some time. But I’d better find some form of enlightenment before I do myself or anyone harm. That – I know.
So meanwhile, I better take tomorrow’s, or should I say, today’s leave to do some mind and soul searching…
As usual, I’m afraid of finding my bed… I fear sleeping… I hope after I’ve uploaded this entry that I would be exhausted enough to fall asleep almost instantly. Please, Lord, let me sleep in peace. No weird dreams.