How blessed some are to be able to say they are glad to be alive.

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.

How lucky. How blessed.

Is it my apathetic self? My insensitivity and selfishness, the greed? The pure

irony of being haunted at the same time by my own sensitivity and a certain
yearning of validation. The need of having something to relate to. The need of
having someone to share my shame with.

It’s needless to say that I take advantage of others. 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 regret and the cycle of desperately hanging
onto their affection.

I don’t even know if I’m taking advantage of the people I love. I can’t tell, I
can’t understand.

My ironic fear of abandonment that I cause for myself. Insecurity. Trust issues? I
still don’t consider them the right term to explain my condition. I’m not sure if I
can call it a condition. Probably not.

Whatever I do, I can state without doubt that I say or share too much and lead
myself to 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 really left with a reason? No? 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 wish is oftentimes selfish and self-centered. I want to be someone’s first

choice. I wonder where and when that yearning came from. I watch as they leave
after their loneliness is fulfilled, and I watch as they come back for the same
purpose. I have been serving as a replacement for many in the past years, and I
don’t have the willingness to stop now; it’s useless. There is a part of me that
wishes otherwise, and though I have mostly gotten used to my role, I can’t deny the
fact that it’s painful. But there is a great chance that I have also done the same
thing to others.

A second, third choice? I don’t know.

I can’t offer clear answers in personality tests, because I fail to understand

myself. The test is supposed to help me with that situation, but it only worsens my
confusion and fear. I’m not sure of what am. I despise my mind, my thoughts,
myself. My doubts are endless; am I even a proper person?

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. Do I even have a heart? If I do, it’s rotten.

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 people cry. The
regret and the nagging feeling. I eventually stopped feeling them 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 sometimes fail to feel anything. The insensitivity, the apathy, the
selfishness. Even if I love them, there’s so many instances where I can’t share
their emotions. I care for them and their feelings. I care, but there’s also my
lack of empathy.

Shame, regret, shame.

I’m no longer able to understand the purpose of words. I fail to categorize my

claims as a truth or a lie, but I believe they are only a mere surface of my actual
thoughts. Do I mean them? Was what I said genuine? Was it for show? What was the
reason to those words? I can’t answer any of those.

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
the actions say 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.

I can’t figure it out.

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?