Me

This is my first blog post in two years

For many people who don't read blogs any more, its alright.

I want this message, to be seen by anyone, who feels they've had it rough.

Recently, I've been going through a lot, relationship wise, friendship wise, school wise, family wise and all else. I feel like there's no way out. Where I used to be this smiling, bubbly person, (whom I still am) but inside I'm empty and fake. I feel the soft core of hurt, where an opaque shell of joy covers. I know, I'm just like everyone else.

But I'm not. I'm never like this.

To my mum,
I miss talking to you. I miss times when I smiled at home. I know I don't, not any more. I know I don't talk to you, that I leave you and answer you with grunts and simple head shaking. I know I yell, and complain. I know I grumble. I know I make you cry.
I know I make you cry. I know, you wish you had me back, the young me. The one who would always turn to her mother and know, deep in her heart that she is all you wanted to be when you grow up. The one that you could touch, hold and show affection to. Without her scowling, or shrugging. Without her pushing you away. I'm sorry I push you away.

I'm numb.

I go through motions of each day, not thinking about the problems that get flung into my face. I don't think about the consequences, or how to solve it. I don't think about how everything will fall apart if I did not do my part in lifting the big burden I feel is solely placed on me and I have nowhere else to push it to. I feel, like fractured glass. Waiting to crack beneath the heavy weight of knowing that because of you, it will all crash.

I'm tired.
I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of being confused by you, being led to believe that I had felt something real. I'm tired of the fact that I had to go through it all, and be happy, only to be brought down again. I'm not a toy. I'm tired of being used. Used by people who just like my comforting words. People, who feel like I will always be there no matter how I'm treated.

Maybe they're right. Heck, I know they are right. I know, I will never be able to let go, try as I might. Simply because I care. Because I care, too much. I don't want you to lose it, I don't want you to be lost and alone. For when you push everyone away, any of you who do it, I'm still there.

I've been pushed.
Pushed to the edge where I just hold myself, with tears that will not stop its crying. Where the Niagara Falls compete with my salty laments of sorrow. Pushed to the edge, where I've considered sweet release. I want to let go. I want to leave it all.

I'm alone.
I have friends who care, and friends whom I can talk to. But I don't want to. I don't know why, but it won't work. Try as they might, it only serves to remind me of the fact that I'm going through life. When I don't tell, I plaster on a smile, and when I'm with my friends, its sweet release. Its a mirage, and a happy episode where everyone doesn't want to skip. The breather. The dream.

I'm lost.
I've lost all my aims. I've decided to go on a strike against studying. Looking at my books make me sleep. Just the thought of studying, and I get upset. I know why, its because, I'm exhausted. Exhausted by the motions I have to go through in life to constantly attempt to please everyone.

I am the glue. 
I hold it together, for others. I'm strong, for others. I'm always the nice, fun one. The one, whom anyone can talk to and have their day feel better. But who will be strong for me? When will I have someone to turn to, someone who won't depend on me to keep the family happy? It is not a happy family, or home. Its one built on lies and deceit. And every corner I turn, I find nothing, nothing but more lies. More, questionable histories. Who am I? I don't know. What is real?

But there is one thing I do know. I am not alone. Everyone, in their life, experiences this at some point. Either one of the above. How do we get through it? With plastic smiles, and fake laughter. That rings in our ears and we hurt inside, because only we know, how it feels. We get through it. We pull through, our hands reaching out to the ones that help pull us up. Because its a bad idea to continue wallowing in this.

But honestly, I still stride on. With plastic smiles, and wet pillowcases.