I went to therapy today. It was probably the closest I've ever felt to being normal. I mean. Besides feeling out of place constantly, I'm not happy with who I am, or at least other people aren't. Which is okay, I overcoming the need for other people's approval. I'm finding the peace of mind I've hungered for since forever in words of someone else's choice. The therapist surprised me, and I feel like I surprised her. My mother wants us to be "healthy", so she can tell her friends and point at me and say "we took this one to therapy" because she would do that. She probably has been talking to someone about this all the time. Did she tell them that I take drugs to help me sleep? Did she tell them about the weird dreams I have? Did she tell them I always think about dying? Did she tell them I'm suicidal? Does she even care? Or am I piece of gossip for her to use to keep her life interesting enough that she doesn't wish things would happen to this family? it could be worse. I could've been a lot worse of then this. I could be schizo or worse a psychopath.
I'm tried of hunting for happiness in people who will never understand these bloody words and lifeless smiles. I'm so tried of having to apologize for saying what I want, instead of what they want. I'm tried of lying to the doctor's and saying, "I'm happy. There's nothing wrong with me. My body feels fine." Constant pains, heart complications, headaches every two days, and the best part, wanting to be raped. When I was younger I used to think that when you were raped it also implied that they had killed you. In my mind I always saw a park, broad daylight and the man raping this school girl on a park bench, a knife in his hand next to her face as he forced himself into her immature body. And when he was finished, but not satisified, he stabbed her in the side and left her to bleed to death. And even now that image hasn't left my memory. Strangely enough, I still want it. Afraid? Hardly. If life is about experience, then I want those experiences. I want to feel things I can't imagine. See things I can't create in my mind. But what thrill does this life hold when you can see anyone you want to naked,(hence the no sexually deisre) when you can figure people out?
Where are the people that will make me live again?
Or am I really as alone as I think I am?
Title: Lupe Fiasco- Little Weapon
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2 comments:
I think you are the first person to pretty much ever read my blog and actually comment it.
I must say, your blog post I just read touched me in so many levels. I often have the same problem as you.
I was actually very unhappy for a long time with myself and just life in general. And there are times when I am actually happy, but sometimes I am brought back to this depressed/un happy state. I don't know why. My family always tells me to "cheer up" it always nearly seems impossible. I get so sick of saying "I am okay" when many times I am sad or un happy about something. And like I said I don't understand why. I think it's becuase I don't feel comfortable sharing my feelings with other people, I keep to myself. I too have gone to therapy, and really for me personally it hasn't done a thing for me.
I am happier than I used to be though, last summer I actually wanted to commit suicide, but realized it was a selfish act and very immature to even ponder such a ruthless thought.
You matter. You are not alone if someone else knows that you exist and care about you at all. Without even knowing you I care and wish you well. There were times when I needed medication to keep going, and had the wildest nightmares you can think of. It passes. Best wishes.
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