It's quiet right now. As quiet as the city can get. Phone's silent. Well it was until Melissa just texted me. Roomie's gone. Music's ended. TV's off. Three months ago I would have gladly soaked this in. Three months ago, I had a life I thought was put together.
It wasn't what I would have called put together then, but after realizing how worse things could get, it definitely looks put together compared to now.
My days are never easy, nobody's are. And even though this last string of days has been worthy of me calling them "good" and really meaning it, I still feel like I'm about to fall apart. My threads are barely holding me in. Everything's about to burst and I don't know why. I need to let it out, but I can't. The tears won't come. The screams won't come. The words don't exist.
Why won't they come? Has my biggest fear come true:
“Do you not know that there comes a midnight hour when everyone has to throw off his mask? Do you believe that life will always let itself be mocked? Do you think you can slip away a little before midnight to avoid this? Or are you not terrified by it? I have seen men in real life who so long deceived others that at last their true nature could not reveal itself;… In every man there is something which to a certain degree prevents him from becoming perfectly transparent to himself; and this may be the case in so high a degree, he may be so inexplicably woven into relationships of life which extend far beyond himself that he almost cannot reveal himself. But he who cannot reveal himself cannot love, and he who cannot love is the most unhappy man of all.” – Soren Kierkegaard
Have I hidden myself for so long that the real me simply doesn't have the ability to reveal itself? I feel alone, but I know I'm not. I feel unloved, but I know I'm not. I feel unnecessary, but I know I'm not. It's a tiring feeling, but I'm not tired. And there's a horde of other things holding all this in. One of them being that I don't want to share this with anyone because any person I choose is just as tired as I am. I can't add to their load. It's this same reason that leads to the guilt for feeling this way. Every direction I face reveals someone who has it worse than me. Always. Why should I feel sad and tired and want to cry when everyone else has more of a right to it than I do? My problems aren't worth getting upset over. If I lost a child or had cancer or was confined to a wheel chair, then I would be justified in hurt or anger or sadness. But not my petty problems. This is why I don't like the quiet anymore. I'm not strong enough to battle my thoughts.
Oh but it's eating at me. I want it out.
This leads to a daze. You know this feeling, don't deny it. The one where you're driving and you don't know how fast you're going and you don't care. Then you see a light pole and think of how easily a car can veer off the road without any effort from the driver.
The effort goes into keeping the driver alive. It's so hard sometimes.
P.S. This is not a suicide note. I may be conceited, but I'm not selfish.