Basket Case – Cracking Up

I don’t generally complain, I grumble. But today just seems to be the day where I could go on and on. Yes, we all make mistakes, but do they have to be shoved into our faces over and over again? Moreover, if you’ve already realised your fault? I think not!

I fail to understand how I should behave anyway. To be a seventeen year old child or a seventeen year old grown up girl, what is it? Yes, you role-play depending on the situation and how you accommodate at the receiving end. And yet I don’t remember complaining about anything. I adjusted. Whether it was being a daughter, a sister, a family member or just a friend, I listened to it all. Why am I always at the receiving end? Maybe we all feel that way at some point in our lives, but coming to think of it, in the past three years it’s been that way almost always. I’m called the mature one. So what? I don’t feel? I don’t have bad days? There shouldn’t be anyone to hear me out for a change?

Someone somewhere thinks some place is better for me and my future, so we just move there. Someone else has something to say about the company I keep, so I change my circle of friends. My dad passes away, so I ought to look out for my mother and brother because they’re having a tough time. Er, am I inhuman to be able to cope with it just like that? My boyfriend cheated on me. So what? Apparently I was too young to date anyway. Are you serious? I’m bloody heartbroken for crying out loud.

What the hell are people thinking when they associate with me. The best part comes in here. If I behave like an adult, I’ve got to learn to live like a child. And if I behave childish, I ought to realise I’m not small anymore. This really seems to mess with my mind. Do people plan on driving me insane or something? Oh they’re succeeding for sure.

It so happens I’m just a normal girl with very normal dreams and wishes. I do not think unusually. Yes, I have thousands of thoughts running through my mind almost all the time. I could be of help to those who need me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need help myself. I feel hurt every now and then too. The sad part is that I have no one to listen. And for those who probably would, it’s more like I’ve got to burst out. There’s a difference there. I’ve moved to a place where I had no friends. In the first week itself I had one of the worst experiences of my life. By the third week I lost out on my friends back home. By the fourth I was just a loner who had to control her tears from showing to make the ones around her somewhat “happy”. I moved from my home to a house, which of course now is a lot like home. But it’s not the same damn thing. How difficult is it for people to digest that fact. I didn’t complain about anything, maybe I couldn’t. It’s all just coming back to me right now. I’m not a bad person, am I? I don’t know. I know nothing. But I just miss being able to think like there’s nothing else to worry about. Everyone thinks that that’s how I live anyway, but it’s not really true. I’ve got in my mind. It’s engraved in there. The responsibilities, the concerns!

Despite all this, I still do consider myself blessed. Blessed for possessing what I do unlike the millions out in the world who lack basic necessities. But I’m human, and I can’t help but complain. I want to cry, I want to weep. I don’t wish to go weak in the knees, but right now I am. I feel frustrated with my own behaviour, but really, what do I have to really do in order to be just a little happy within? This eats me up. When I finally think it’s getting alright, and that it’s finally going to be about me for a change, it gets messed up. It’s some other story that has the happy ending, and I’m still hanging in there with my hopes held high. I’m left with just one expression, “What the fuck?”

I’m not the kind of person who can really fight back, and if I do I’m scared it may turn out to be too harsh. I hate being the harsh woman that I am. I just want to be loved and listened to for a change. I want to show my tears to someone who won’t come up with stupid advices but hug me back instead. I don’t want to be told that it will all be alright, because I know everything is alright anyway. I just want to be understood.

Often we put up a brave front, and hence there’s a lot more expected of us. With these high expectations I might just crack up. I’m turning into a basket case.  Patience is not my virtue any longer; do not take me for granted.

Everyone’s not as happy and strong as they seem to be. I miss being a lot of things right now, but who cares? 

I do not wish to be rude to anyone, but writing is just a release for me.