Sick in a way that all the things you desire and all the the things you strive for become unreal. I've always watched the movies and I always smiled as people I knew told stories about who they were dating. I assumed it would come to me but now I neither care or believe. I'm 18 and I know I'm young but sometimes it's hard to see any sort of change in the routine way things go. I always think about what being truthful means. I remember when I had a friend that actually knew me and I could trust with myself. But I don't feel that way any longer. I feel as if there are things I would never tell a person anymore and not because they don't deserve it but because I fear they wouldn't care. So I keep to myself, I cry in my bed, and then I wake up and act like everything is fine.
This isn't a sad post. It's a dose of reality and an update on the now college going girl that I am. The thing is that when someone commits suicide ESPECIALLY a parent that shit affects you for your entire life. I'll be packing the groceries and I'll think of him or I'll be in the train and I'll think of what once was. It's hard for me because I struggle with so much of what he's given me in my blood and in my brain. He's given me this heaviness of which will lessen but no doubt continue to haunt me for the rest of my days. No it is not temporary depression or sadness it is sickness in the fact that I'm almost afraid to leave my house, it is loneliness so bad I'm ashamed to admit it but to prideful to believe it, it is feeling unhappy and trapped in even the most delightful events. It's laughing but thinking of the fact that I'm not entirely amused. It's LYING. It's BURDEN. That's my life....everyday and it's okay because it's not debilitating and it's not neccesarily sadness it's just feeling off. But every couple of months the sadness returns almost like it's been building up and it explodes and there I am with my Mother crying in the kitchen as she struggles to understand. I feel so bad for my Mom. I can't even express how much of a burden I feel I am to her. She doesn't know what to do with me. She didn't know what to do with my dad.
My dad. Same personality. Same phobia. Same feelings. Same passions. I don't think anyone understands how much I feel like I'm going to follow in this mans footsteps. Like it's inevitable or something. I can't imagine being 50+ and feeling like this. So I can only imagine how he must have felt at that point. It's all just sad and almost mind numbingly so.
And with that I go off for another round of psychiatry where I will no doubt be put on some medication that makes me gain more weight and numbs me out. Here I go to talk to another person like I probably will for the rest of my life. Because now that I think about it I have been seeing therapists since I was about 7.
It's not sad it's just tiring.........so tiring. I just feel like this actress on this stage with no audience that keeps playing the same fucking scene.
I'm tired. I just feel like no one is ever going to know me and even if they do I'll always hide these bits of myself and in the end I'll always be a burden not only to them but to my passions.
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