| HeatherB |
05-19-2013 06:45 PM |
it's funny how little time goes by and yet how much things can change, just in one day.
i think--no, i know that i'm going to die. obviously, we all are. and i think--no, i know that it's going to be suicide. there is honestly no other way i'd have it. and i think--no, i know that it's going to happen before i'm thirty.
these are all things i've observed over the years and now they become more true than ever. at this rate, actually, i might not make it to twenty.
and still i can't help but think--or maybe, if i'm lucky, know--that if i did hang on just a few years longer, maybe i could finally get the fuck out of here like i want and completely and irreversibly change my life, as i feel i'm at least partially destined to do before i die.
but for now i'm surrounded by people, and i don't mean you guys. i mean physical people who are with me every day not on the internet, but regretfully in the flesh in my life. i'm surrounded by a shit ton of people and the worst part is, at least three of them need me. i can't--i can NOT--allow this to go on. if i'm needed by people other than myself, it's not a good thing. people cannot learn to rely on who i make myself out to be, a sobbing mess and a heartless bitch and also, somewhere in there, a very flawed human who doesn't want your fucking need. oh, yeah, i sound bitter, proud, and likely jaded, but what the fuck do i care? the answer is i don't. if i could just shake off said people like water off my back--not out of my life, but out of their range of need for me--it would be so much easier. they could move on, and, in their movement, i could allow myself to move on too- finally, finally. i can't bear the fact that i'm going to be gone one day and people are going to actually hurt because of that. isn't it a kind of sickening thing that just because you couldn't take the people around you and especially not yourself that people are going to hurt? i don't want to hurt people. honestly, i don't. it's the kind of thing you have a choice in, until you don't.
yes, i have lived, and yes, i will keep living. and yes, i will die, and yes, i look forward to it. believe me when i say i have nothing left to live for. i'm made of nothing but other people's expectations. i'm not even really a person anymore: i'm expected and perceived but not REAL. so it won't even be the death of a human being, at least look forward to that. it will be the death of a soul who never found out who she really was, and whatever. i don't care. the dead can't afford to care.
and i want to go, too, i want to leave this wretched life that i've made for myself that has so many good points and yet too many bad but i can't. i'm trapped because i'm needed. i'm needed in this world. i'm RELIED UPON in this world. it is, quite frankly, absolutely and irrevocably terrifying. i can't rely on myself, so why do people rely on me? it's that old timeless question that no one can fucking answer because they know they're guilty, too--they need people. they rely on people.
but i've learned that i don't rely on anyone but myself--not really, anyways. my parents, yes, i do rely on them, but they also rely on me, and, in the push and pull of things, i think i'd be better off without them than they without me. my friends, well, i hope to god they don't rely on me, and i don't want to rely on them. so i try not to. i try to do things by myself. i try. we all fucking try. we're all fucking trying in a world that is meant for good intentions but is always going to be wronged by its irreparable flaws. always. the sooner we know that our world is not a perfect one nor should we expect to be, the better.
i have been told that i am perfect. i have been told that i am going to grow up to be the world's smartest person. i have been told that i am pretty. i have been told so many good things.
and i have told myself, you are not perfect. you are not smart. you are not even remotely pretty. you are a bitch, a liar, a cheater, a ruiner, a destroyer and not a creater. and i have told myself, okay. that's okay. that's who i am.
but no one's willing to believe that. no one's willing to believe that i might not be the huge mountain of expectation that they want me to be, and so i crumble and so i fall into a sea of broken dreams, but they aren't my broken dreams. they're other people's.
i live for the people and by the people and i am fucking sick of it.
if i can't live for myself, then i'll die for myself. and i'll at least have that. that one last thing that i know is good.
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