The introverted part is obvious, that isn't a problem for me now, although attempting to be more social is. It's the thinking and the judging. I much prefer to observe and be objective, to be in control with concrete plans that I follow through. Being emotional, talking about feelings and worries, it's just not me. Everyone knows that, so when I try and tell people about some of my problems for a change, no one takes me seriously. It is incredibly heartbreaking when you summon up the courage to talk to someone and they laugh at you, or they tell you to grow up and change your attitude.
So I have tried talking to people. I have tried seeing people. I have tried ignoring people. Nothing works. Whenever I try and speak, I just choke up. Whenever I go out with people, I'm physically there but I am not there. Ignoring people doesn't work much either, my ability to feel guilt and to worry always kills that idea.
The past two weeks have been torture. Thursday evening and Friday were more than torture, I can't even describe it. Looking back now with a slightly clearer mind, I just keep thinking of all the things I should have done. I shouldn't have tried to make people understand because they couldn't, I shouldn't have told anyone I was unhappy and I definitely should have switched my phone off or taken the battery out. I should have stayed on the floor and not moved for anything, because maybe then I would have succeeded. Despite any consequences, any hurt feelings, all things which I already feel guilt for, it was what I wanted more than anything in the world. All I did though was reinforce my own opinion, which is that I am just a failure at everything. I've backed myself into a corner I just cannot get out of, every possibility just causes more pain and suffering.
I can't live and I can't die. I make people unhappy by being here and I make people unhappy by trying to leave here. I couldn't be perfect for my parents so that I could make them happy and because they're not happy, I can't be happy either. I can't fix them and so I can't fix myself. My only source of happiness is the ability to make other people happy. If I can't make people happy then what good am I? That's my job, it's my place and it's where I thought I fit in the world, in my group of friends and in my family. But I just keep failing everyone and myself. I'm just hurting people by making them unhappy because I'm unhappy. On Friday I couldn't find myself. I don't remember getting up, I don't remember going downstairs or how I got from the bathroom to a park, but I do remember the devastation that the morning brought me and I do remember breaking down in a park suffocated by guilt. I got home somehow and just broke down in front of my best friend. It was a relief then, but it's a regret now. I cried my heart out to my Nanna and now all I feel is shame. I started quoting a Blake poem to her and described myself as being like a Robin in a cage and she thought I was mental. This weekend has just past and I still don't know where I actually am or how I feel. I think this is nothingness.
So I'm not going to try and talk about my problems anymore, because it doesn't help me and it's my place to be the one listening, not talking. I'm not going to tell people I'm unhappy ever again because it just kicks my empathy into overdrive and I change my plans to make other people happy. Who would have thought empathy was a weakness? It is though. I can't do anything right now because I made promises to people and I don't break my promises, but I can't do nothing and I can't say anything because, despite this blog post, I'd rather be alone at the end and let people remain unaware for as long as possible. I would rather be sad and alone than to hurt my friends and family, which is all I seem to be able to do.
So as Elvis sang, "a little less conversation, a little more action." I'll drink to that.
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