“Sometimes there’s nothing you can do. […] Sometimes they don’t have enough to fight with.”
― Tamora Pierce, Briar’s Book
I feel helpless.
I hear your words, i understand how you feel.
But there’s nothing i can do.
But to listen to you.
Because i know why you feel the way you do.
Because i know that it’s difficult sometimes.
When you feel the stress overriding you.
When you feel like no matter how hard you try, it all goes down the drain.
I just want to tell you, that when i hear of your routine, your attempts. I’m awed.
But of what use is my awe? I can’t help you feel better.
I can attempt to be with you. There. Just waiting if you need to rant.
But i wish i could do more.
This really is a rant. I don’t even know what the heck i’m typing anymore. I just feel hurt. And so… Here it goes.
Pride, noun. consciousness of one’s own dignity.
What it feels, to be proud of who you are. The thing that seems almost similar to ego, but it’s not. Perhaps then i should be talking about ego. I’m not sure anymore. The thing that tells you that you’re not all that bad. The thing that hurts when people speak about your shortcomings, albeit indirectly. It’s not like you wanted to feel the hurt. But it just happens. The sinking of your heart… the moistening of your eyes… the rapid blinking.
Superficial, adj. Concerned with or comprehending only what is apparent or obvious
We all are superficial to an extent. Looks, for one. Class, or social status, for another. Perhaps we all want someone who we deem ‘fit’ for ourselves. Perhaps it also means i should just give up right now. Perhaps that’s why i need a break.
Insecurity, noun. uncertainty or anxiety about oneself; lack of confidence.
The feeling of insufficiency. The feeling of fear. The feeling of never being good enough, no matter how much you try. Whatever you can work on, isn’t what they want to look at. They only see the surface. No matter how you want to think about it, that’s the truth. They only see the apple with the shiny red skin, unmarked, unblemished.
I thought i recovered. I thought i was ready. Perhaps i’m not. But perhaps instead of hiding, i should learn to move on.
-shz
The more you expect, the harder you’re going to fall.
Around 1 month and 2 days to go. Before i’ll be back. At this point, i thought i’ll be ecstatic to be back. I am, kind of, looking forward to go back. But i know i will miss this place. With the nice weather (even though it’s kind of like unbearable cold now…), the scenery, the lack of extreme amounts of things to do. I feel kind of free? But lonely.
I still have problems making friends… It’s hard. Especially when you feel like an outsider and you’re trying so hard not to feel awkward, and your mind goes blank, and you wonder what in the world can you possibly talk about to another human being. It’s just going to happen over and over again until i find a way to cope with this. I know. I’m just tired, i suppose. I keep saying: Keep going. Just keep moving. But i wonder, what’s the point of moving? I’m moving, yes. But for what?
It doesn’t help that i’ve been thinking a lot on certain issues lately. And not exactly doing productive things, i suppose. Yeah that definitely doesn’t help. But the weather makes it so hard to just spontaneously go out and walk. The wind blows, and i kind of just want to stay at home. Add to that, that i have somewhat of a leg injury, and it makes me even less willing to go out.
Sigh. I shall stop here. I’ve been replaying that song. And “Love!” by Hebe too. Oh well. What can express my emotions? Writing? I suppose. If i could.
I don’t know anymore. Det ved jeg ikke.
-shz
Venter på døden.
Desperation.
It feels like a tiny little gear.
Spinning. Very quickly.
You can feel your heart beat quickening.
It feels like something might happen. Or it may not.
Probably nothing. But you wish there were something.
You wish you could be that someone there, in the middle of those conversations.
Making friends, companions, meeting people.
But you’re stuck with your shell. A shell that has words carved into it.
A shell that appears to protect you, even as you’re hurting.
Words that make you doubt yourself.
So as you distance yourself, you feel safe. Yet lonely.
Surrounded by people, yet not. People laughing, people joking.
You try to find someone, someone who might be like you.
But you don’t. Even when you do, they look comfortable.
Being alone. They look like they have no care of the world.
And so you try to pretend, to be like them. Alone, and without any worries.
And yet… you know you’re only lying to yourself.
Perhaps you have to let go. Let go of the shell. The shell that gives you a false protection.
The shell that also induces doubt in you. Reminds you of your flaws.
and erased from you, the things you could learn to love about yourself.
But the shell. The shell is ever so welcoming. So… familiar.
hyperactivekidshz 