Pages

Saturday, 30 November 2013

Do you wanna know?

I was talking to my dad today, when he was trying to convince me to get out of the hotel (we're in Dubai, but more on that later) and go out with them, and I guess I was really pissed at the time because I said something like, "You know what's really annoying? The fact that you keep striving higher and higher and higher, and keep hoping for things to be better tomorrow. You deal with your shit today so that you won't have any to deal with when you're older. But you do. It never works, you keep trying to keep the bullshit out of your life, but that is your life. And I'm just so sick of it. Sick of believing things are going to get better, but they never really do."
Okay, it is possible I didn't say exactly that, but something along those lines.

Most of the things I want to say are so crazy, I doubt any of my followers will actually want to read it, or be interested. Who wants to listen to the rants of a fucked-up fourteen-year-old?

And no, I'm not the fourteen-year-old that everyone images when I mention my age, and I'm so sick of people generalizing. I have literally no tolerance for people who generalize. This applies in all aspects of life, mind you, so don't even.

The problem is, and this is really just me starting off from wherever because this is not something I can periodically explain, nobody has hurt me. I doubt anybody has ever really hurt me. Except for myself. I've hurt myself the most. Not physically, of course. But I've just always made things worse for me. Sometimes I wonder if I want to be in shitty situations because I put myself in some so often. I need saving from myself. Somebody to tell me, "Adeena, you're ruining your life. You are pulling the trigger yourself." Somebody who can make me look at life from a rational point of view. It's crazy that I couldn't do it without losing some of the closest people in my life.

"How do you feel?"
Shitty.

Is there a way somebody can run away from themselves? Because, I'm up for anything right now.
Whatever. This is such a pointless post.
Bye.

Saturday, 23 November 2013

I already said too much. I already shared too much, and I want all my secrets back. I hate getting close to people these days, I always regret sharing too much, caring too much, doing too much, feeling too much.

A letter to my "best friend"

Dear friend,

We became friends because you wanted to 'help' me. I didn't want helping. I didn't want saving. I was the saviour. The saviour doesn't need saving.
I was broken and lost and waiting to be found, and yes, you, by all means, found me.
But you made me admit something was wrong. You made me a victim. You made me a slave to my misery which I had chosen to ignore before.
Depression isn't something you can cure with an "I love you," and an, "It'll be okay."
This depression makes me an outsider, an outcast, a loner, a nobody, a freak.
Depression isn't something you can make me feel guilty about.
I have zero control over myself.
And you thinking that you could change the way I feel is utter bullshit.
Me opening up to you is utter bullshit, because at the end of the day, what do you know about dealing with a suicidal friend? About as much as I know about being depressed. And I know zilch.
I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want to push you away.
I've dealt with a difficult friend, too. I admit, I was not always there to save her, but I never pushed her off the edge.
Lately, I don't know which side you're on.
I don't know what you want.
I never wanted to hurt you.
I never wanted you to hurt me either.
I opened up to you, and I hate myself for it because I expected you to understand, but you didn't. You're just a good listener.
You are so beyond stupid it frustrates me because I just don't even understand how somebody could be this fucking daft. You write poetry about great big things - love, desire, prejudice, lust, hope, longing, life - but you understand none of it. You know how to string words together to make them sound beautiful but you do not understand these feelings. You've never seemed more fake to me.
All you've ever made me was not okay.
Come and visit me sometime on this side of the bridge. We'll talk then.
But for now, I am done, 'friend'.
I am done.

Tuesday, 12 November 2013

I’m heartbroken, and I’m lost, I’m confused. I spend my days trying to convince myself I’m not crazy, and I fail almost every time. I force myself to be social, to have friends, and I want somebody to care, but I’m so in conflict with myself because I would much rather be alone. I would much rather sit at home and read a book, and lead a quiet life but then there is so much to see and so much to say, and so much to do, and I’m scared. I’m frightened because I don’t know how far I’ll go, and I don’t know how far I’m willing to go, I don’t know how far I can go. I thought I was a good writer but I’m not even that anymore. I’m not beautiful. I’m not smart. I know the world, but what achievement is that? I don’t want you to fight for me - I want you there, but I don’t want you to fight for me. I deserve more. I deserve more. Most days I’m just here. I’m trying. I’m fighting. I’m unsure, and broken. I’m the silhouette of the person I want to be, and I’m fighting to make myself believe I deserve better, I deserve lots, I am a good person, I am worthy of love, I am not crazy, I am not a disappointment. I am okay. I am okay. I am okay, right?
Just to save you guys the trouble (and prevent uninterested followers), please don't follow back! (Unless you like my blog, in which case, follow back all you want. Stalk me, write on my page, comment, follow me on Tumblr. I ALLOW IT.)