I have trouble dealing with my reality sometimes. Everything “outside” of me seems to be amiss. This is what happens when you stop being someone else’s responsibility (like a parent’s well-protected child) and get a life of your own.
There is only one thing that I truly dislike about myself. Not my life. Not me. But the fact that I keep wanting to live some other life, in some other time. I know most people have troubles and in that, I have a common bond with them. But is their trouble akin to mine?
I have been told to talk about it. It doesn’t work because no one has anything to say to me that I don’t already know. Listening to advice, wisdom or personal experiences doesn’t make me feel any better. After all, should someone else’s misery make me feel less mellow?
I have been told that it’ll be okay. It’s a phase and I’ll grow out it. The truth is that to overcome any troubling matter you need to stand strong and brace yourself against whatever might hit you. But that is just what my issue is. For once, I want to give in. I want the tide to wash over me. I know giving up is cowardly. But I’m tired of being brave. For once, I want to be someone else.
Someone else might have lived through exactly what I’m living through. But there is no way they can understand what I’m going through at this moment. Simply because, it is my naked reality, not theirs. I don’t how many times I must have walked up to someone else and told them that things will work out, when exactly a moment ago I might have been fretting over something quite similar.
Whatever this insanity is, it makes me feel bitter, broken and bashed up. And in these moments of insanity, I begin to question myself… who truly am I? The woman who puts up a brave front in public and does not let a single person see through her pretence or the woman who keeps returning to the point of her breakdown?