Yes, I am. I'm this terrible daughter. This terrible friend. This terrible sister. This terrible colleague, this terrible staff. I'm this terrible lover, this terrible girlfriend.
It's been a long time. I've been down. I've been up.
But most of it, I've been happy. This dump is usually neglected when I'm happy.
I've gone so far, but there are days that I'm reminded how I fail as a person. I add value to nobody's life.
Everything I wanted to do, planned to do, promised to be, fails. There are days that were brimming with hope, brimming with possibility of greatness that I forget that all throughout from when I was 14 till now, certain days I can't bring myself to get up and face the world. Forget that certain days I lie on the floor for hours, crying, feeling what's the point? What's the point? What's the point?
It's harder to fight and believe in yourself when the person who once said he's proud of you can't hide how disappointment in you. You can't even make the one person who would do anything for you happy. And not just one person. Your father. Your mother. The boy who loved you for the last 7 years. The man who asked if it's okay to ask you to marry him. And the one boy that loves you for you, despite of you.
Dreams dissipate. I didn't want to go back. To that apathetic person who lost her equilibrium on the world. Who couldn't discern thought from words, reality from dreams, phases from permanence. To that apathetic person who couldn't, for the life of her, remember what it was that made her happy. To that apathetic person who couldn't, for her sanity, find what it was to look forward to in life. To that apathetic person who can see the fear in people's eyes.
"Don't make me think too much" he says. And like a trigger to wake you up from a hypnotic lull I was snapped into connecting the missing dots. Remembrance of the past, where I always feel like a mistake. A dirty nasty secret for a reason now you see. You are a mistake. You are always their mistakes. You are always the regret they hide in their past.
I don't deserve you. But I'm terrified of one day, the day you realize that I'm not worth the trouble. That it's okay to walk this realm without me by your side. That it's okay to go on without my voice & my smile.
I sat there quiet consumed by fear, trying my best not to break, not to falter in your eyes. I can't be this weak. There's too many things I have not done in life.
But I wish you would know, how much harder it is to fall asleep, to get up and to have hope when I can feel that you are losing faith in me.
That you are beginning to think what the others have decided on in the past. What I strive to prove wrong.
That I'm not worth the trouble. That I'm the mistake. The regret.
I don't want to go back to that person. Who says, what's the point in trying anyway? It ends like everything else.
“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.”
| — | Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace |
