It is raining.
It has been raining for the past few days.
As a matter of fact, it has been raining for the past few years.
I don't think I'll ever be an actual writer because I never actually finish my stories. I just leave them without an ending. I wonder if it could possibly be due to a childhood trauma. All I know is that at one point I was using this as an outlet and a way to write my analysis on anything I wanted and now I'm not. Why am I not writing anymore?
I am embarrassed.
I've always had this rule where everything I write stays. Nothing ever gets deleted or unposted. Well I just unposted "Through the Eyes of Deborah" because I was embarrassed of where that story was going. I never just think of stories in my head. I simply take a person in my life and create something around that person. Well it just so happens that I am not proud of my human relationships at the moment. The older I get the more solitary I want to be. I don't get it.
It could be because maybe I don't like the way I look. I've tried many times to change that but I feel like the harder I try the worse it gets. I'm sick. I need to accept it. It literally took four years to put a name on all my dysfunctions. I've cried and gotten mad and said some ugly things but the reality is that as long as we live in this system, I will be sick for the rest of my life. Oh and to make things worse, its only going to get worse. Chronic. Progressive. Done. I'm done. I am 21 and I am sick. I didn't make myself sick. I also don't say what I have because there are stupid people in this world who think they are doctors and want to suggest all kinds of antidotes. There are also not stupid people who will pretend to understand or actually understand and support me. Those people know what is wrong with me. Everyone else is on a need-to-know status. Or more like a don't-need-to-know.
I'm tired. Literally.
I'm tired of being confused and not knowing why I feel the way I feel. I'm a firm believer that emotions need to come out of people's bodies. Emotions that get bottled up make people sick and uncertain. They back up to become bitterness and denial. Those things contribute to stress and more sickness. No one likes stress. Stress makes you fat. Therefore, keeping emotions bottled inside contributes to obesity. So just let it all out.
I wish I knew very well how to tell my emotions apart. Like when I'm sad. Am I sad because I am being a girl? An emotional girl? Or am I sad because I don't feel good? Am I having a hard time focusing because I don't feel good or because I didn't sleep well or because I'm stressed? Do I feel good? Do I want to be around people today? Do I feel like being nice? Am I being rude? Can I just stop feeling?
That's it. I want it to not matter. I want to see people happy and be happy. I want to see people sad and help them feel better. I want to have the energy I used to have when I was 16. When I was 16 my life was beautiful. I was in school and I had good grades. I was on top of things. I was focused. I loved to look at myself and take pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. I liked how I looked. I liked my hair. I liked my friends. I loved meeting people. I loved everything that was happening. I loved my life very, very much. I looked forward to waking up and starting a new day. Back then I could feel and it was okay.
Then I turned 17. I wasn't 16 anymore. I was 17. 17. Why did 17 happen? 17 was the downfall. 17 was the point past no return.
I remember that night when my life turned upside down. Well not my life. Just my emotions. It was November. I had a lot of doubt and uncertainty. I was also annoyed and very scared. That was when the testing all started. Doctor appointments and nurses and hospitals. God. That stupid hospital smell. And of course, I couldn't talk about it then just like I cannot talk about it now. It was a secret because I didn't want anyone to worry. But then again, just like today, I also don't want it to be a complete secret to where one day something would happen and nobody would know how to help me. But that day I didn't want to talk about it. It was November and the sun was out. I was mad, not at myself but at the fact that I was filled with doubt. All of a sudden I realized how young I was. I realized how much I wanted to do with my life. All of a sudden I realized that all the goals I had would never get achieved. I would stop being human and ambitious. I was heading towards a very dull and stationary life. I realized where my life was heading and I panicked. I just wanted to run away and hide. I wanted my life to just briefly stop so I could think about what I wanted. But no, life kept going. What happened in November? It was a Friday night. I was coming home with my mom and I just started crying. I told her the truth. I wasn't in trouble, I was simply scared and confused.
My mom did the only thing she was able to do at the moment. As we drove she listened and when we pulled into the driveway, she kept listening. That's when she told me I had to let go. Why? Because she was being a mother. My mother. It wasn't all the quirks and things I couldn't stand. It was simply because I realized that I was 17 and my life was going much faster than what it was supposed to be going. So I had to put the breaks on things. That day I realized how young I actually was.
Boy...did I cry. And that's when it started to rain.
Its been raining in my head for the past four years. I keep on looking for a ray of sunshine because quite frankly, as much as I want to move on and accept my reality, sometimes I just can't. I'm still afraid like when I was 17. I've learned to control my fear but the pain comes and goes. I know we won't keep suffering forever...but on the meanwhile it just keeps raining. It doesn't mean I'm not happy, It just means that the storm is not over.
And yes. It does matter. And I do care.
