A Confluence of Hope and Hesitation

It was a week ago I was wondering how I would ever come out of the dungeon of my own thoughts. It made me shudder about how the future would unfold. How I’d never let people know anything about the chaos under my skin. Three years ago I had decided at the spur of a fateful moment, to run away from everyone and everything. I was tired, tired of explaining why I was different and thought differently. I was tired of not being able to fit in, of seeking attention I didn’t want and I just took the shorter way out. No explanation. No farewells. I hate farewells. I just ran away.

I won’t say it didn’t help me because it did reduce a lot of unwanted pressure on me. But in a different light, things got worse. Earlier I had this ray of hope, if I really felt like sharing something or venting things out I had people. Now I had none. Venting things out is important but it took me a really long while to figure this out. The sad part about people is that they’re stupid and whenever they hear you got a problem in your darn head they presume you must be stupid. Hell no! You gotta be really stupid to think that way but as I told you, I’ve stopped trying to explain things.

One of the biggest fears I had was that people didn’t care, they sympathised. They didn’t want to understand, they just wanted to be generous. It was charity to them, it gave them a sense of achievement. What they never foresaw is that at the receiving end it really felt like shit! To need and to be needy are two completely different things. And come on, they couldn’t have solved a thing even if they tried. They knew that themselves.

It wasn’t about fitting in you know, this thing for me. Giving yourself away to someone is not all that easy. But then, people generally don’t give themselves away either. Then why would I be with them at all if their soul doesn’t set fire to mine? If they’re not at peace with my existence, if they can’t erase the touch of those that have hurt me, changed me, thrown me away. Of course I didn’t want to be judged. I didn’t think they understood anything I spoke when I was speaking of love. I don’t think they still would.

“I’ve never been loved. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

– F Scott Fitzgerald

Exactly Fitzgerald, had you been alive right now, we would’ve been mates. I don’t know if it’s real. I don’t know if he loves me. I don’t know if I’m supposed to do something or say something or behave in a particular goddamn way. I just hope it’s no sympathy-charity bullshit. I hope I’m not burying myself farther, deep into the dungeon, getting lost in this maze. But I’ll risk it. I gotta risk it. I got no other option. I can’t trust anyone but I can trust myself. So yes I make a promise today again, if I ever get lost, I’ll cry if I want but I’ll find myself back, I’ll love myself back to life.

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