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Culture Documents
I can’t remember when I genuinely felt that way. The fulfillment, the pure
happiness to be there, to be walking and breathing. The appreciation. The raw
emotion besides shame and fear.
It’s needless to say that I take advantage of others. The ones that are more
comfortable to be around, perhaps the “easier” ones. I love others who doesn’t love
me back, stirring up my need to be accepted and causes me to turn my back onto the
people who somehow cares for me. It painfully contributes to their eventual
disappointment and leaving, bringing me an utter regret and the cycle of
desperately hanging onto their affection.
My ironic fear of abandonment that I cause for myself. Insecurity. Trust issues?
Perhaps. I still don’t consider them the right term to explain my condition. I’m
not even sure if I can call it a condition.
Whatever I do, I can state with no doubt that I say or share too much and lead
myself into a crushing downfall.
I expect eventual disappointment for the people in my life. But maybe as I wait, I
unintentionally- or even intentionally act in a certain way for them to leave
according to my expectations. I don’t know how to feel about the fact that it
oftentimes work.
Perhaps there are a few instances where they leave without my interference- or I’m
trying to convince myself so. Was I left with a reason or not? Either way, I watch
from the background. Even as I talk or participate, I still find myself watching. I
notice things I didn’t want to notice. I realize things I didn’t want to realize.
My so-called kindness is never from the goodness of my heart. It’s for my own
benefits, never for a meaningful reason. It’s for them to owe me and pay me back. I
act upon calculated kindness.
I’m not a good person; far from it.
The impatience, short temper, and the frail mental state. The quickness of getting
annoyed, combined with undertones and irritation. That’s where my apathy and lack
of empathy comes in. I can’t feel any interest or pity or whatever they want me to
feel, hence the empty reassurance. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I can’t
even bring myself to care in some occasions. I hate myself afterwards, but I don’t
think I am ever truly sorry.
I also don’t understand how some feel apologetic if they cause tears for others. I
don’t understand the guilt. Am I in the wrong? Am I supposed to be sorry? It’s
their own choice. It’s up to them to feel. They can blame me all they want, but in
the end, it was their emotions that got to them. They can have any reaction. But as
I write this, I acknowledge the fact that I comfort and cry alongside them in some
situations. I’m a hypocrite; it’s nothing new.
I remember how I used to feel, how I blamed myself for making others cry. The
regret and the nagging feeling. I eventually stopped along the way. Whether I love
them or not doesn’t matter. They’re all equal. They’re not personal in any of these
situations.
I don’t care if someone feels bad for making others cry. There’s always a
difference between people, and that’s just one of them. To feel bad is up to them.
It’s up to them to label things. “Utterly horrible”, “A mistake”, “A worthy
experience”.
Then, there’s my hatred towards myself. Even when the closest people share their
pain with me, I fail to feel anything. Pity? Barely. The insensitivity, the apathy,
the selfishness. Even if I love them, there’s so many instances where I can’t feel
for them. I care for them, their feelings- but there’s my lack of empathy.
I also can’t recognize others’ intentions in some situations, and the doubt of them
telling the truth is always there. I barely believe in their words or mine, because
theirs and my actions says otherwise.
It occurred to me that expressing my true self is grim for many people. Some get
uncomfortable or irritated. It sometimes causes them pain. Perhaps they have the
rights to feel so. Perhaps that is also an unintentional reason to my facade that I
don’t even realize I’m pulling at times. But I still don’t feel sorry. Sometimes
fear, but I don’t find myself apologetic.
It’s safe to say that I drown in memories. Good or bad, I find myself reliving the
past in numerous ways, as if it’s an escape from the present. Though it may work,
it makes it much harder for me to let go. I suppose that cliché line is somewhat
true; “the past haunts me”.
I fear that I’m unknowingly craving for attention at times. I then start doubting
if it’s even unknowing for me. I try to get validation from others that I can’t
offer to myself.
It’s not a blessing to be alive. It’s a curse. I can’t grasp the reason to what I’m
living for anymore. But I’m sure of one thing; it’s not for me. At the same time, I
can’t acknowledge if I’m being alive for someone else. Who am I here for? Is there
actually someone that’s causing me to stay? Am I supposed to live according to
their wishes?
Is it selfish of me to do otherwise?