A Crave for Freedom
If you know me, you know how chaotic my life is. If you’re one of my best friends, you know how problematic my insides are. And if you’re one of the few people I trust, you know how stuck I always feel.
This writing will be short, because as an introverted person who isn’t vocal and is always lost in translation, I’ve written hundreds of letters to myself, and the topic is never far from what I am going to elaborate in the future paragraphs. And that is: Freedom. Something I probably will never have.
I don’t remember exactly how it started, but around seven years ago, I started feeling very bad about myself. At first it was just these insecure thoughts. How I hate looking at myself in the mirror — I had a really big curly hair, and I always try to tie them neat everyday before I go to school, and let’s just say it was a stressful time — and how scary middle school could be, because I joined the student committee organization and I didn’t really fit in with anybody. But, then a lot of things continued and somehow it’s been years of me building this mountain of self-loathing events in the back of my head.
My insecurities led to a bigger problem. My attitude and how I behave among other people changes. I felt very awkward to interact with other people at school — that continues until high school — and I was a hostile person at home because something inside of me didn’t feel like I was enough, and I got angry.
Just a standard uncool people problem.
Although that made me had very limited friends, and memories of my adolescent years, it did motivate me to be a stronger and wiser person each day. Well, obviously, how could it not? Everyday is a battle of me vs. the world, and I have to sharpen my little teeny weak sword, just in case something or someone is out to get me. When I get into college, I feel content. Everyone felt like they’re dying in here, but not me, because I was used to it. I was used to me, not feeling good enough of myself, that I didn’t really relate to what other people was feeling. Let’s just say at this point I am fucking numb.
As sad as it sounds already, I will make this even sadder by pointing out an unanswered question that I always ask to myself: “Why did He make me like this, and what can I learn from this?” Because god, whenever I see other people living their life to the fullest, fearlessly, I hated myself so much for having these thoughts on my head that I couldn’t even trace the origin — even if I tried, I do tried, even until now where I have made peace with my past, I still don’t know the trigger. (or maybe deep down I do, but it’s very personal and I will not say it here, because I have also been told all my life that it’s NOT it.)
Sometimes, just like right now, I thought to myself when will this come to an end. As I said earlier, I have made peace with myself. And good lord, it was not a linear journey. I had to go to several ups and downs, because getting over the mindset you had for years, on your juvenile years, the period of life where you have to find yourself, is NOT an easy task. But, even after I made peace, I still couldn’t help on being sad about a lot of stuff, especially during this pandemic where your thoughts are left freely echoing on the walls of your bedroom.
What I’m most sad about, though, is the aftertaste of that period that I’m afraid I can never get rid of. I’m afraid that the symptoms are always going to be there.
Not telling the whole truth when people ask you stuff, because you’re afraid they wont approve, or accept it.
Having my heart race when people ask me about my personal stuff.
Faking my feelings in front of other people, because I dont wanna be seen weak
Unconsciously threatened other people so people wouldn’t dare to step on me
And other small things that my heart is too dizzy to think about now
It’s those small toxic things that I’m afraid will stop me from growing. I am afraid it will always be there. And now I’m writing this because I feel so anxious and scared that my life will always feel trapped. By these fear that I don’t even know the origin of.
I don’t think about them too much anymore. Let alone share it with the world like this. It’s just I feel very scared right now. I thought by faking the fact that someone might actually read this will make me feel better.
And if someone IS reading this, I hope life is always beautiful for you, and I hope you don’t have to go through what I go through. It’s very confusing, and it takes a lot of unnecessary time. I mean, I feel like I could be doing something more productive than think about myself all the time.
And if you unfortunately relate, a little or more, I hope both of us can find answer to the questions we are asking ourselves. And have the freedom, for however we interpret the definition, that we seek for ourselves.
(here I attached a journal entry that is more well written, than whatever this poop-quality shit i just made.)
