I go blonde when I’m sad, blew motivation I had
To make my still beating-something not hurt that bad
Haven’t been home in some months, I haven’t loved myself
Just watching friends online, look like they need some help…
I just want to be left alone sometimes. A little bit of privacy. Some quiet headspace to breathe.
I’m always in the habit of keeping things for myself, especially if they’re not amusing or newsworthy or even remotely relevant to anyone else’s life, because why should that matter to them, right? I’m generally an open book, but I’ve learned the hard way that when you say too much about yourself, people will bend your spine and read you in the wrong places. That’s why I’ve always thought it best to keep the personal information to a bare minimum. Here’s my name and what I like, but not the things that make my fucked-up emotions go haywire. Here’s a little anecdote about my family’s antics that might make you chuckle, but I won’t tell you about the aftermath that ends in a fight. Here’s what you need to know about me, and nothing more, nothing less. If I have something important to tell, I tell it, but if not, you don’t have to worry about it and go on with your day as you usually do. Likewise, I don’t ask people too many questions and leave their admittance to their own volition. See, that’s supposed to keep things simple, easy, and trouble-free.
That’s why anyone getting in my face with greetings or compliments or congratulations or condolences or other inquiries and what-have-you’s—especially if it’s just an acquaintance or a distant relative or family friend—makes me cringe inwardly, always unsure of what to do with the situation. But of course, I try to adapt to it. I have to adapt to it. So I feign nonchalance and nod in quiescent acceptance while silently dusting all their comments off my brain to get rid of the initial overwhelming awkwardness and any other possible nightmarish playbacks of it in my dreams and pre-sleep musings later at 3 AM. I just don’t like celebrating successes too much, or dwelling on tragedy for too long, or lingering on the topic of myself with other people for more than a minute. It just seems so needlessly excessive.
Here’s the deal then. As what can be read from above, one could already draw the conclusion that I’m not much of a charmer, or a social butterfly, or even good at pretending to be one. So it shouldn’t be surprising that I don’t have someone who sticks with me through everything because I’m insufferable and people can barely stand me, and without any ounce of self-pitying bullshit, I do get that. I’m terrible at personal shit and can’t tell anyone anything about myself without having to feel sickened and insecure first, and I like keeping it casual and aloof. I don’t want to put stupid labels that make things a million times more complicated than it already is. I don’t commit to having “best” anythings because I like to keep it hands-free, stay off the mess, keep my foot away from the sinkhole that’s a constant bitch of misunderstandings and severed ties, and as much as possible, of course, I want to avoid the possibility of screwing up the other person as well and end up hurting them. If we’re close, then we’re close, and you’ve reached the furthest possible line you could with me, which is quite the feat for you and me both. Just don’t ask me of anything over the limit.
Oh, and here’s a shocker: I am happy too, most of the time, even though it’s not really all that noticeable on a normal basis. Just ask my mother and siblings who are endlessly disturbed and annoyed by me for all the weird and random shenanigans that I get up to in the household. I’m constantly ecstatic and stupidly hopeful and I laugh too loudly in the middle of the night when everyone else is asleep and I have friends to chat and argue and joke with and someone that I get stupidly head over heels over and I have all the fucking passion in the world in all the right places to keep me going on for a long time, even if everything has turned to shit. Fine with me if it appears superficial to them because it’s what gives me happiness despite all the struggles, so why the fuck so I give a damn how it looks to others? I may be jaded and cynical and your usual depressed case, but that doesn’t mean I have to stay that way forever. I just have my lapses sometimes. But doesn’t everyone? Those transient moments of doubts and downs are okay, because I’ve learned to pick myself back up and deal with my own mess without needing the assistance of anyone else.
So when I go out with people, I just wanna have fun. I just wanna get away from myself and tell crazy stories and do crazy stuff with crazy friends because that’s what helps me forget my problems. That’s what helps me cope the best. I know they say talking about it is better than keeping it all in because it’s therapeutic and might garner helpful advice and all that shit, but that’s just not my thing, and I don’t feel like it will ever come naturally to me. I try my best at times when I have to, but it mostly comes out forced and insincere, and it leaves me feeling even worse than before because I had to divulge something that I simply want to keep away for myself. I don’t want to go home feeling like a bag of kicked shit because all my deep-seated emotions and repressed thoughts have been violently squeezed out of me, I want to go home with a dumb grin on my face and vivid memories that I’ll be replaying in my head for a long time. And I really thought, for one stupid moment, that I left it that way.
I hate having to unload my burdens on anyone, even if they proclaim that it’s fine. I appreciate it very much, really, I do, because anyone who bothers to care about me enough to notice these things is a million and a mile in a miracle, but the reassurances won’t stifle the anxious voice in my head that screams at me to hold my tongue and shut my trap. I would love to be normal for once and easily talk about serious things, but the problem is, I just can’t. That why I don’t just straight-up ask for help, but when it’s offered to me in a non-invasive, in-your-face way, I might just bite. But that rarely happens even I were conversing with the most trustworthy and confidential person out there, I can tell you that much. And if people have to get so uncomfortably touchy-feely with me and shove their philanthropy and goodwill right down my throat, then that’s when I have to draw the line. Yes, I have troubles, thank you for noticing. No, I don’t want to talk about it. Yes, maybe when I’m ready, I’ll tell you all about it. You think that it should be that easy over, but the conversation just has to unnecessarily keep on going with prerecorded concerns of “are you sure?”, “you don’t seem fine”, “seriously, you can tell me anything”, until I run out of answers to give and am forced to give up the ghost.
What’s the fucking logic there? I can’t tell anyone anything else about the aspects of my life if all I’m asked about are all the sob-story tragedies in my existence, but no, I’m the one who fucks up the vibe with all my unwanted depression! I’m the one who should feel bad for not feeling bad! I’m a shitty person for wanting to keep things light! Just…why??? I’m done with all the toxicity. I’ve honestly gone through so many vicious tooth and nail fights over the slightest provocations and I’m so fed up with having to throw in gratuitous drama with everything else and draw the sharks in without any rational reason to. I’m fucking tired of having to admit to fault and blame every single goddamn time things go south. Because this time, it’s not mine to take anymore. All I just want now is something that makes me feel safe, comfortable, and happy and sad to my own whims without duress, and doesn’t require me to rip myself to shreds and be fish food for all the other mouthbreathers first, and I have that. But that’s too much to ask for, apparently.
Fine, I’m the problem, if that’s what needs to be heard. I’m a distant and detached person by default to anyone and everyone I know, and I’m so sorry if that’s such a big inconvenience for anyone. I’m honestly so sick of having to fucking excuse myself all the time for nothing, so good riddance for everyone, I suppose. It’s nothing personal. It’s just the way I am. I just don’t know how some people can’t understand such a simple thing.
But hey, at least it’s all about you.
I never wanted to be thinking this loud
I never asked about the when, why or how
I wanted privacy, routine and everything between
While they’re just finding me out
I never wanted to be thinking this loud…