005: In Which I Just Write About How I Feel

I have been spending so much time writing, but not because it's NaNoWriMo. It's not even because I want to keep this blog alive again. I've been writing so much trying to convince myself that maybe I'll be able to write out all the sadness inside me. I've written poems (shitty ones), stories, one-shots, letters, and all the other forms I could think of. So, tell me, please tell me, why am I still sad?

I'm not sure what this is or for what purpose this serves, but I do know that I want to write. And this time I'm sharing it to the world. Again, I'm yet to find out why.

Is there a word for that feeling when you realize you've given every ounce of effort you have inside you, and for some reason you can't comprehend, the universe still decides that your effort isn't enough? Is there a word for the unfairness of how forces conspire for people to meet, get to know each other, be best friends, trade secrets, and then be torn apart? Is there a word for that? There should be.

If there's anything that could perfectly describe what I have been feeling these past weeks, it would be that word.

I've never really been good with handling changes. In fact, I fear it. I explained this on a previous blog post, and I wish I could say that things have changed about the way I feel about change, but ironically, they haven't. I fear it more, if that's even possible.

Maybe it's because I feel comfortable with routines, even though I wouldn't admit it. I like being prepared. I don't like being thrown in situations where I don't know what to do, but funnily, I find myself in those situations a lot. Like this one, right now. I feel so lost and I don't know what to do. There are so many changes happening around me and I can't control them. I don't like not being able to control them, but I know that's not how it works. So I have to be okay with that.

I am so tired of pretending I'm okay. I am anything but okay. Everyday I write myself notes - much like shorter versions of the contents of this post - just so I can push through the day without ending up in a corner, crying. And that's not okay. I don't want to start my mornings being of afraid of what will remind me of the sadness again. What's worse is that the reminder is almost always the little things; a spot in a gazebo, a receipt I find in my wallet, a note I stumble upon on my desk, a joke, a mutual friend, a song, a movie.

What makes me even sadder is that I can't talk about it to anyone. Not my mom, not my friends, not my sister, not even my best friends. Because I know damn well that no words could ever come close to expressing how I really feel. I'd rather write them a 13-page letter than sit through a conversation where I would have to exhaust all the effort to try and find the words I could say to make them understand even just a tiny bit of how I feel.

And just like that, I've found my reason for writing this. It has always been easier to open up to strangers. It's even easier to just talk to the internet, an action comparable to shouting into the void.

I fell in love with writing even more (if that's possible) due to all of this, but some part of me also feels really guilty that I don't open up to anybody. All of my friends have been really helpful; leaving me notes of encouragement, pushing me to go to school, and giving me the hugs that keep me going. And it sucks that I have to lie to them every time they ask me if I'm okay.

If you're my friend and you're reading this, I'm sorry. It's just so much easier to lie than to try to explain everything (which usually results in puddles of tears). You've all been so so helpful and I am so grateful to have you all in my life. Saying that I am okay, even if it is a lie, saves you from a sad story by yours truly. So you have to forgive me.

I know this is a long shot, but mom, if you happen to be reading this, thank you for being one of the reasons I keep going. I know you've never told me directly, but you never fail to ask me to do chores when I look like I'm about to cry whilst staring at the ceiling. It gives me a sense of purpose. I mean, who would wash the dishes if I disappeared, right? Kidding. Thank you.

Since I'm already on the thank yous; to the love of my life, to one of the main characters in my movie, to one of the best creatures to ever walk on Earth, even if you do pee on the carpet, I love you. I promise I will not leave this life early because I want to see you become the best doggy you can be. Also, if I die, who will buy you cool treats and toys?

I think I'm supposed to end on a happy note, but I can't find one. That's as happy as it's gonna get; a picture of my dog. But this isn't the end of the post yet. Just go back to this when you're done reading and if I pass on the sadness.

I know the burning question in everyone's minds is that if I'm so unhappy, why am I not doing things to change it? I promise you, I am. I am doing everything I can to fight it. Everyday I still get up even when my entire body is telling me not to. I tell myself that I'm tired of pretending I'm strong enough for this, but deep inside I know I am. I'm gathering all the wood I can to keep that fire inside me alive. It's just a tiny flame right now, but I promise you that I am fighting.

Distractions are my way of getting by when the sadness begins to creep on me. Most days, sadness wins, but on the good days; the ones filled with laughter with friends, art therapy through watercolor brush lettering, good books, great food - these are the days that I have to remember. The days where I've successfully distracted myself enough that it leaves no space for sadness or any memory that will bring anything back.

That's kind of a good note, right? I'll end here.