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. It causes me to turn my back onto
the people who somehow cares for me. It painfully contributes to their eventual
disappointment and leaving, which continues the cycle of me desperately clinging
onto their affection.

I unintentionally live by the quote of “not realizing one’s worth until its loss”.
I don’t even know if I’m taking advantage of the people I love. I can’t tell, I
can’t understand.

I am afraid to be hated. People pleaser? Maybe. Or maybe I’m afraid to be alone. Am

I using people to fill the hole in my life? It’s sad when considering the fact that
I’m someone who values privacy and quickly runs out of social battery.

My overthinking spirals easily by little things. It’s hard to keep them under my
control, and before I know it, my first instinct is to assume the worst and if I
did something to trigger it.

My ironic fear of abandonment that I cause for myself. Insecurity. Trust issues? I
don’t find them the right term to explain my condition. I’m not sure if I can call
it a condition. Probably not. I don’t know what’s real anymore. I don’t believe.

Whatever I do, I can state without doubt that I say or share too much and cause
trouble for myself.

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 sad. 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. But if I am helping others in genuine kindness, how
could I tell? I don’t know. I don’t think I ever will.

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 comes in.
I sometimes can’t feel any interest or pity or whatever they want me to feel. 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’m not sure if I’m truly ever sorry.

I also can’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 fail to feel anything at times. 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 the way my brain
functions doesn’t let me react in a certain way. Or is that an excuse? I don’t
know.

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 nor 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 playing 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”.

Looking back, I have so many questions. Was it my fault that all of those things
happened? I was a part of it, definitely. I wore my heart on my sleeve, and
continued doing so even after particular events. I can’t remember clearly even if I
want to. I remember some things that happened, perhaps maybe my mind’s refraining
me from fully remembering. My memories are shifting, and I don’t know what’s real
anymore.

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?

It was a mistake. All a mistake. No one could change my mind about this. Being born
was a mistake. A horrible mistake. I had no rights to choose. Do I have the rights
to die?