I’m at the point in my life again where I realize how fucked up I am. When music that makes me happy suddenly volumes down, when books that keep me from the pain of reality suddenly lose pages, and when the masks I always wear become broken, I suddenly feel my breakdown. I don’t think anybody, at some point, would understand me, or at least feel exactly what I feel. My thoughts are killing me, big time. My breakdown for me is some kind of allergy. And even if I use anti-allergy capsules every day, sometimes they don’t just work. Somehow, my body wouldn’t accept it if the pain were too heavy. Even painkillers can’t take the pain away.
I am hiding from reality. I think that was the easiest way to ease the pain. I read books, I listen to music, I read stories and tales that could convince me that the pain I am feeling isn’t even ten percent of what others are feeling. I am aware of my pain. I am aware that pain is normal for every living thing. I am aware that sometimes pain can be the reminder that someone is still alive and breathing, newborn children, for example. But the way I see it, pain differs from how one can handle it. You call it real pain if you’re real weak. And my pain is real, the struggle is real, the almost giving up is real, because I’m real too.
I cried a lot these past few years. I cried too much that I cry at the simplest things, and sit till it doesn’t count as ‘crying’. That’s just sadness. Crying for me is when you think of something so painful that your chest feels like it’s being crushed. Inside crying. Crying isn’t just tears falling from your eyes. It’s the unbearable action of taking and feeling the pain and congratulating yourself for not trying suicide yet. For me, it’s secretly dying, yet no one still manages to notice.
I decided not to let my tears run down my face while writing this. I’m already crying inside, dying secretly, feeling how my heart pounds and feels like crushing. I wanted to shout. I wanted to make sure that everyone around me is aware that I am hurting, and every single one of them has donated a reason for me to be like this. But I can’t. If the pain is too heavy, and lots of thoughts are drifting and sliding in your mind, you won’t know where to start saying what you feel. You won’t even distinguish what you actually feel. Is it even real? Am I even feeling a real feeling or emotion?
Am I even real?