27 March 2011
I never really say a lot whenever I skype with my sister.
Or whenever I'm with my parents.
I just don't know what to say.
But it's not just that.
I'm scared.
Scared of letting myself go and express myself to them.
Because I've never done that my entire life.
And I don't feel right just springing my inhibitions on them.
I feel insecure around them.
And yet, I'd choose them over my friends anytime.
Which brings me so much worry and fear.
I don't open up to my family.
And I DON'T open up to my friends.
What if I'll never have anyone to open up to?
What if I really die alone?
Having kept all of my thoughts, my worries, my concerns, my doubts, my questions, my fears, my tears, my sadness, my hurt, my pain, my emotions...
To myself?
I'm scared I'll actually grow up to be clinically insane.
An actual, true madman.
I feel like I'm caught in an asylum that I created.
I feel so out of touch, so beyond everything.
And yet, I feel like nothing.
Like I'm inching closer and closer everyday towards...
Towards losing hope in humanity.
In people.
In the possibility that I'll find something, someone better than myself out there.
In all the maybe's I've carved for myself.
In all the days I will spend happy and boundless.
Like...
I want to die.
But I'm afraid of dying.
As in.
I know I'm not ready to die.
The sins and all.
Needing time to repent and such.
But.
Dying seems to be the easiest way to escape.
To end this misery.
An eternal sleep.
I love sleep.
It helps me forget, for a while.
Not recover, but forget.
In that moment.
I blank out and not think and not worry.
And I don't have to face everyone's and anyone's judgement.
Not even my own.
It feels good.
I am a cynic because I don't want to be hurt.
I can tell you that I'm used to it.
That I'm used to being called gay and being called it as an insult.
That I'm used to the whispers and the stares and the remarks about the way I walk.
About the way I am.
I can tell you that I'm used to it.
But really.
You'd be the most stupid person to believe that that's true.
That I'm used to it.
Because no one ever is.
And maybe you've never been insulted that way enough to know that the slightest of remarks affect even the strongest of us, but I'm here to tell you that it does.
That even in jest, there is truth.
And even in strength, there is hurt.
That even as I stand there, smiling and seemingly indifferent to the remark being made about me in front of many others, I still yearn for someone to defend me.
To tell the person who made the remark to fuck off.
To at the very least acknowledge that there's a possibility that I may have been hurt.
To not just stare and watch in silence.
To not just move on like nothing just happened.
Like I mean nothing.
Not enough for you to pause and show a shred of concern.
Like I'm a piece of shit that can take more shit and not care shit about it.
To be a friend in the least of its meaning.
To be there when I need you.
Because now.
Now, I look at my friends knowing that there isn't enough space in their hearts to care if I'm insulted.
I look at them and I know that as much as I trust them to do something, I'll never trust them enough with my life.
Never.
And again, life laughs at me and I've brought myself to a point where I'm nothing but alone.
Because it is the only thing I know best.
To isolate and to resent.
And so.
I remain silent whenever my family skypes with my sister.
Except for the occasional laughter that seems so.
Forced.
And I wish for it to end.
To end the awkwardness of my presence in the background, waiting for time to pass because I say nothing and know nothing to say.
Nothing meaningful enough.
I remain silent because I don't want to fill the time talking about meaningless shit like school or what I ate or what I watched or what she should watch.
I don't want our conversations, our entire relationship to be stupid.
To be pointless.
I'd rather it be silent than stupid.
At least.
At the very least, it means something other than stupid.
I say my cousins and relatives see more of my sister than they do I.
That my sister skypes and actually talk to them more than she does me.
I don't feel that that's okay.
But I don't know what to do about it.
I don't know how to talk to her.
I don't feel ready or comfortable enough to speak to her as I would to this blog.
I don't feel right as a person.
As an entity, as a being.
I am so wrong.
And I don't know what to do about myself.
I don't know if time will change me, if it'll be a natural change.
I don't know.
Perhaps I won't change simply because I don't know how to.
I've always relied on nature to take its course.
I feel doomed.
And.
And confused.
I don't know what I want anymore.
Happiness?
Freedom?
Love?
Change?
An end to all of this?
What? What is it that I want?
What is the question.
And so is why.
But now I'm just rambling.
So good night.
Please pray for me.
Because I can't bring myself to do it.
10:41 PM
