I just want to rant/vent
I hear my mother. I hear her talking to all these people with their half-hearted empathy – empty, useless platitudes. She was the worst of them all.
I can hear her. They were asking her “maybe I was depressed because of the news” and all that. OF FUCKING COURSE I WAS DEPRESSED. WHO WOULDN’T BE DEPRESSED. You know what she said to them? Why should she [my mother] cry? It was useless and wouldn’t do anything. My mother said she went through hell already when she was raising me all alone, that if she became too emotional, she would have never raised herself and myself to such a place where we had food and shelter and everything we have right now. That compared to that this was nothing.
BUT THAT’S JUST IT. THAT WAS YOU, THAT WAS ALL YOU.
THAT WAS NOT ME. OKAY? THAT’S NOT ME. I NEVER WENT THROUGH ALL THAT.
I UNDERSTAND YOU. I UNDERSTAND. I understand that I shouldn’t take this seriously. I understand that I need to get up, that this is life, it’s not fair and this is just something that happens. This is not the end of the world. So I failed. It doesn’t mean I can’t stand up and try again. I understand that.
I UNDERSTAND ALL THAT OKAY?
BUT IT DOESN’T MEAN I CAN DO IT AS EASILY AS YOU CAN ALRIGHT? I CAN’T STAND UP JUST LIKE THAT. I’VE WANTED TO CRY SINCE YESTERDAY. I WANTED SO VERY HARD TO JUST LET IT ALL GO. BUT YOU WERE BEING ALL “YOU CAN’T CRY OVER SOMETHING LIKE THIS.”
Do you know how painful is it to just keep it all in? Your house, your rules. So I keep it all in. And it hurts so very much. I’m crying right now, in the dark, my music turned up high . And I remember, you once saying you’ve probably have only seen my cry once or twice since I was a child. You don’t know how long I have been holding it in.
Before you filled my cabinets with your things, I’d climb up and lock myself in, crying in the darkness. I felt so pathetic. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to know how weak I was. Because to you, I shouldn’t be weak. So I wait until you and everyone else falls asleep. I cry at night, where you’ve already retired. I turn up my music so loud so you won’t hear me. Every time there is a lull in the music, I hold everything in, afraid you would hear.
Can’t you see? I’m not emotionless. I can pretend. In the day, I can smile. But it hurts so very much. I feel so messed up. Why can’t I be weak? Why do I have to be strong? DON’T YOU GET IT? I’M NOT YOU. I CAN’T STOP MYSELF FROM FEELING.
I failed. And I want to wallow in that pain. I want to let myself just feel the frustrations, all that hard work ending in futility.
Why can’t I do that? Why do I have to hide? How bitter I feel, how hard this hits me, how much I feel like I don’t even measure up. Why wasn’t I good enough, all my frustrations. All my worries. All my fears.
…but it’s funny. These are all the things I want to say to you. But I’m so afraid to say them to you. To you, who I should be closest to – the only family I have.
But you’re not the closest to me. I’ve hidden myself for such a long time I don’t even know who to turn to. The friends who may have known anything – the lowest points I had, how close I was to killing myself – you’ve pushed them away from me. The friends who are closer to me, who I want to tell but I can’t – because I don’t know if they are more your friends than they are mine.
Instead, I’m here, on this site. Venting to strangers.