Before I start, let me warn you that the word up there (the title) will fill this post. So for a little game, count them all.
Sometimes, being me is exhausting… I’m so freaking tired that I sometimes wish I’m not myself anymore. I’m a bookworm, I read, and read and read. I even read 3 books at the same time, which jumbled the story flow for me so I can only manage reading two. Sometimes, I use reading to get away from myself… You know, to act like someone else, or be in someone else’s shoes. Sometimes they work and it helps me to live another day, but sometimes, they don’t. I feel miserable, alone, and a little bit pity on myself. Why oh why of all the lives I could get this is the one that I got?
I sometimes ask myself that. And why did I made decisions that I’m suffering or regretting now. But I can’t go back.
I sometimes ask myself if I really do love my life. I act like I do sometimes but other times I don’t. I know I should be optimistic. It’s what I describe myself, and what other people describe me. But sometimes being optimistic drains me. And I’m just like.
“I need a break.” But in real life, we don’t get breaks. You either keep up, or get left behind. Who wants to be left behind? No one. I’ve been there before. I managed to catch up, fortunately but i felt like there’s something they did while I was not there, like an inside joke and I didn’t get to hear it and join the fun.
Sometimes, I want to just stop and end my life. But some voices in my head tells me to keep up, and obviously they won. Because I’m still breathing… And sometimes I ask myself if this would happen if I chose the other one? But I can’t find out, because it happened already, and what a miracle it would bring for that opportunity to go back again let me choose. Ugh, sometimes when I want to just let something out I go all apeshit and scream at anyone, shout at them, just be angry. But now, o can’t do that. Because no one will even know I’m angry, because they don’t care or they’ll just dismiss me, they sometimes do both. I can’t even cry out, or just sob, or cry quietly, because every five minutes they will call me and ask me to do this, do that, etc. I never had a time to myself. Most of time I get to myself is like I’m a robber. Robbing a time that I should be doing for this, but I’m doing for what I want to do…
Whatever I do isn’t free. It always come with a price, even my education cones with a price, my happiness, hobbies, things I want, people I love, even this phone I’m using comes with a price. Sometimes, I can’t even count all the things that I didn’t even pay yet.
I’m just fucking tired.
And even though achieveing something didn’t made them happy. I did fucking everything, and nothing fucking happened.
This week, nov. 18-23,2013 is the most exhausting week of the year. And all I did this week was cry. Fucking cry. And I don’t usually cry, because as they describe,
I’m a happy, chirpy, optimistic, lively, always-looking-on-the-bright-side girl
Well, I fucking give up
How many “sometimes” did I put?