I’m telling you not to read this

Photo by Camila Quintero Franco on Unsplash

When I opened my eyes, everything was getting dark. I don’t think it’s getting late. I can’t move my body. It feels heavy.

I remember the last few days; I couldn’t sleep, not because of overthinking my future but because I felt what I usually feel. Oh, we’re here again. There is still no good progress in my thinking to anticipate.

Until I asked myself, “Do I really love myself or not?” If it’s love, why do I let myself get stuck in the same thing over and over again? Do I really not understand the concept of true self-love?

If I love myself, why do I do things that clearly hurt me? Why don’t I love my body? Why do I prioritize courage rather than rethinking the risks that will occur? Why do I forget that a cause and effect will happen? Why did I let myself make things worse?

I don’t want to start a conversation by talking about other people because this is my life; why should I focus on what others are doing. I can’t even take care of myself, let alone add to other people’s business burdens.

I don’t really care about all of you. Maybe you see that I have great empathy and care about your problems, but actually, I’m numb. I only answer your problem when I feel “okay, I’m fine,” not because I’m “oh God, how is this.”

Because I know that all humans in this world that I know are like that.

I feel like I’ve also talked about how humans are when they’re in trouble and plagued with problems; they indeed tend to only think about themselves.

What do you think they came to you for? It’s because they’re free. If they are “busy” you are forgotten.

No, I’m no longer talking about friendship, father-mother relationships, or brotherhood relationships; I’m talking about human-to-human in general.

If you get a better one, thanks to your beloved one. If not, it’s okay; that’s just how it is.

Don’t feel sorry for me. It’s useless.

I’m the only person who can feel sorry for myself. The rest is up to God. Because I just need pity from God and myself.

You don’t even have to call me the person who seems to be alone, continues to face everything, keeps everything under wraps, and pretends to be strong about what’s happening. I really hate to hear that. It will take days if someone else looks at me like that. Don’t judge me and feel sorry for myself.

Yes, I really am cruel. People are not aware. My mind can go as wild as wanting to kill the one that bothers me. I’m not a gentle person. And I also don’t need your recognition about how I’m trying to be a better me.

Why are you claiming that you don’t know what it is about me that I want to fix? You don’t know which part, so it’s better to just shut up.

No, I’m just annoyed with the situation right now. There’s no point in holding on to other people. This is taking care of itself. I’m still putting out what’s been coming every night to bother me lately.

I want someone to wait for me. Sitting in front of the door, if there are grandmothers, he is willing to change chairs and choose to stand. When sleepy, his head rests on the wall near the door while his eyes occasionally close and his mouth yawns. But I can clearly see that he is worried. I really wanted to cry this morning when I saw someone waiting outside. I thought I would feel better if I had someone waiting too.

Actually, I can call my friend to take me everywhere and, in the end, wait for me. But I hate that I have to make an effort to communicate that to other people.

Can’t that person come alone on his own initiative and understand everything I want? Why should I bother giving the code or speaking frankly anyway? I hate the fact that other humans can’t do that.

While walking, I realized I hated it more because I didn’t have a place to talk. Yes, I know this is my life, future, and goodness. Still, I want someone I can discuss with, give better consideration to, and find out what is happening to me, and take that into consideration. I’m also limited. I have nothing but determination and knowledge. I don’t have any money, and I don’t have a connection either.

I’m so tired all my life I can’t talk to anyone. I told other people, too; I already knew the ending, “You don’t really care in the end,” “that’s all.” It’s not that I never try to beg other people; I often try. But the result is the same. The same makes me even lazier to depend on people.

That person doesn’t know what I really want. Yes, because I never said what I wanted. Why? Because I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t know why either. I’m like this. It’s complicated, I understand. I also have a hard time understanding myself.

That’s why I want someone to understand me without me asking, calling, or getting close first. Then my left ear whispered that there couldn’t be such a person. Don’t dream and hope. But, I’m human so it’s only natural that I’m full of hopes and dreams.

It’s tough to say to me, “it’s okay.” I have to be the one who always says and supports me.

For the sake of what is the biggest clue for my admirers, I will tell you more about myself. You just want to find out what or not. Yes, if someone admires me, I don’t think there is anyone. What are you doing? Someone as selfish and stubborn as I am, you like it. I said you’re crazy.

That person likes to say that I am mature and can express my feelings. Even though they just don’t know that I’m like this because it’s the only way I can live a quiet life like this.

If I had the choice to continue being a child, I would definitely choose that. But they can’t; they won’t be able to see me laughing.

Oh yeah, I forgot; I also hate being said to laugh; I just pretend. You don’t know anything about me, so you don’t have to carelessly justify me. Who said I was faking? Do you know where that comes from? If I laugh, I’m happy. More tired for me to do just “acting” 24 hours.

I’m happy that I laugh, I’m sad that I cry, I’m annoyed that I’m angry. Maybe you just see the optimistic side of me, but you don’t know how low I am and how upset I am. Yes, I close my door tightly so no one can see it. But yeah, don’t tell me I’m faking it. I’m not a sneaky coward. I am a brave person.
So please, really, stop saying that I often do “fake laugh”.

I’ve heard people say that true love comes from pity. At that time, I saw the reasons make sense. But I realized how much I hate seeing other people pity me. I don’t like it so much that I get goosebumps typing this.

I am open to other people, my friends. I talk about myself. But, in the end, the one who knows the most about me is me. I also let other people know. What is not important for other people to know why I tell you about that. In the end, I became a person who seemed open when it was complicated to understand.

However, my other self is effortless when it comes to problems. I think it was when I was in a regular part of her brain. Not like now.

I wonder why I’ve always been doing everything alone. I have asked other people for help several times, but the feeling of being let down makes me worse than facing this reality alone.

I got to the point where I couldn’t believe that someone would be willing to sacrifice everything they had for me.

Maybe it’s because of my distrust this time; that’s what made me not realize that there are actually people who do that to me. I force other people to do what I want. Even though I am also aware that people’s love for me is in their way, not mine. But why am I still forcing and blaming reality?

I’m confused about this because the color of caring in my eyes is much different from what other people believe. It’s like yes.

In fact, I’ve been raving about this for a long time as an outlet. Because I know and understand that life can’t be what other people want. I have to be enough. Because the emptiness is more pathetic.

However, the review that I wrote spontaneously and while crying made me realize that the feeling of being enough that I had been trying to do all this time was hard. I like to falter by yearning for others to help me provide for myself. Even though I have God. Which is more substantial, God or someone else?

I’m just growing up with all my problems and my temper. I’m just trying to calm myself down because I realize that the only one who can calm me down is myself by inviting me to talk like this. Luckily this time, I didn’t bring anyone else to talk to. Three sides, me, my other self, and someone else. Maybe it won’t be as smooth as this time.

And in the end, I’m still learning to know myself. The one who got a call for a minute could cry; my right hand held on to cover my eyes that couldn’t stop the tears from flowing as I rubbed them. Why did I hide it when I was alone in this room. No longer with anyone.

I’m also famous for the silent way of crying. Often the people behind, in front, and beside me don’t know that I’m crying sadly. Because I’m good at hiding my voice. And believe me, it’s more suffocating than crying out loud.

I kept looking up while thinking, “it’s hard to want to go upstairs, it’s hard to want to improve my quality, it’s hard to be a better person who knows herself”

Why am I like this, and why am I like that? It always seems to be a hot topic of conversation with me.

I’m really weird; I like to divide myself into many parts and call myself many people. Me and my other self, even though the same person. At first, I thought it was cool. But now I think why it’s a bit sad, like lonely.

I’m also confused about how I define loneliness. Because I have a lot of friends, I want to take them anywhere. I’m sure someone will accompany me. But that was it; no one voluntarily wished to stay by my side whenever I wanted. Other people know I have a problem because they get information from me. No one has instinctively realized this and has the initiative to “I’m here, you’ll be fine, we’ll find a way out together.” Oh, God.

People don’t know how much it’s worth waiting for. To the point that I fantasized about meeting my soul mate with a wait-and-wait scenario. Worrying about other people is warm. I haven’t felt that feeling in a long time. But I also don’t want other people to worry about me because of my stupidity. I want to be worried in a cool way.

I really hope that none of my real-world friends will read this, especially if they suddenly give a reaction or response and ask me personally “are you okay?” I don’t like it. I will to kill you if you do this.

I’m not writing to show my friends they care more about me. Because they have been very good to me all this time. I write just to relieve the burden on my mind, and it turns out that it helps me to breathe more freely; my chest is not as tight as yesterday, and my heart is not beating as fast as yesterday. In the end, I learned more about my character and emotions.

Because what I’m talking about here can’t be shared directly with people I know. I just can’t. No need to ask why. I hate too many why questions to me.

It’s already set at 12 pm, and I’m still focused on typing and thinking about what else I hate in this world other than what I’ve mentioned above. Or even think about what I don’t hate.

I don’t mind if other people don’t do the same thing I did to them. I don’t care if they don’t ask me back, even though I often ask them first. I don’t mind being approached first, even though I often come to them.

I feel there is a contradiction, but that’s how my brain flows to tell her complaints. I don’t expect people to treat me like that. But I want someone to wait for me; his hands don’t stop patting his own thighs while worrying about me outside the room and giving me the ice cream as soon as I get out of the room. And he also wants to seek knowledge about what happened to me and can give me input. I think it will be better for my feelings.

But, again, I don’t expect it to be given by people I care about; I don’t ask for anything in return.

Strangely, the vocabulary is really confusing. I’m also confused about how to express it properly and not in pieces.

I love myself when I get my head inside out in this way. It doesn’t bother anyone, and I’ve also warned you not to read this. Instead of me venting my emotions into bad things. I will look more stupid than a goat who clearly eats grass but tries to eat his own brother’s flesh.

Maybe this is one of the longest posts I’ve ever written. What do I get out of all this? I feel I’m getting bored with sentences; while I can do it myself, why should I ask other people for help. It turns out that in the depths of my other heart, I crave waiting for someone and having a place to go home to.

But in reality, there is no such thing, and I need time to accept it. Acceptance should make me calmer; I think I’m working towards that.

No, I’m not looking for love from a man. The point is not there.

This is just a phase where I know myself and try to understand more deeply what my needs are and what I must do to fulfill those needs so that I can feel enough for the precious life given to me. Only that.