Monday, August 15, 2016

It's not fair, part three billion.

I feel mad again.

I thought I was over this, damn it. I thought I had moved on, which makes me feel all the more miserable and angry that I'm here all over again in this God-forsaken place. Literally. Mom keeps insisting that unforgiveness damages people's relationship with God, and she made it very clear that she thinks I harbor unforgiveness towards my friends from my previous college.

But it's not just my friends I'm mad at, it's everything. I'm mad at the way my life has gone compared to other people's. The misfortunes I've known before I was even legally allowed to consume alcohol that other people won't experience in their entire life. The battles I've fought in front of empty bleachers and awkward silences while others happen to find a gold coin on the sidewalk and get the roaring standing ovation of an Olympic stadium (aka getting engaged). It sucks. It really sucks. And I'm mad that I don't get to acknowledge that it sucks, that I have to move on and forgive everybody and be positive about everything now and nobody who hurt me gets a recompense, in fact, they seem to be getting rewards.

I'm mad because I poured out my heart to people and was met with silence. I'm mad because people don't give a shit about me when I made so much effort to encourage them. I'm mad because people don't want to go through the effort to click "like" on something I wrote about mental health because it makes them uncomfortable. I'm mad because people get all this worship and attention for finding someone who will agree to live in the same damn house as them for the next thirty years who they also happen to be willing to put up with for that long too. I'm mad because I went through some of the darkest times I could ever see because of medical malpractice that could have been avoided and it almost ruined my life. Heck, it could have ended my life.

I'm mad because people don't acknowledge that, they don't ask me about it, they don't want to talk about it, they don't seem to care about it. I'm mad because people - not just people but friends - ignored me and treated me so poorly that I started taking my hurt out on myself because I felt so worthless. I'm mad about the fifty pounds I gained, stretch marks and fat rolls that emerged because of some stupid medication I shouldn't have been on in the first place. I'm mad about the dresses I can't wear any more and the time I spend staring down at my stomach, wondering what people think. I'm mad that I hate and judge myself sometimes because of other people's unkindness and intolerance. I'm mad because when I'm sad or mad or hurting, I don't know where to turn because our counseling system is broken and friends don't want to talk and I can't seem to get people to understand how I feel when I do explain. I'm mad because I have to think up ways to explain the sudden transfer, the dropped classes, the semester I didn't take.

I'm mad because most all my life I've felt like a loser. I'm mad because I know I'm kinder, smarter, more creative, more talented, and more loyal than most people on this planet but I am not recognized in most of the things I do or am talented in. I'm mad because I know that's silly to worry about and arrogant to say. I'm mad because I know even if I got that recognition, it wouldn't be enough and I would still feel unfulfilled and unappreciated. I'm mad because I had made so much progress in feeling content and moving on and now it feels like I'm back where I started again and I know my mother is judging me for it. I'm mad because it's not fair that I have so many emotions but I wouldn't want to not have those emotions and be like the unkind people who have hurt me. But I get tired of being belittled and looked down on and misunderstood for all my emotions.

I'm tired of feeling along even though I like being alone. I want to feel appreciated. I'm tired of getting the short end of the stick. I'm tired of relapsing. I'm tired of wishing I could tell people off but not having the guts to do it. I'm tired or trying to figure out where I stand in my religious faith after it collapsed under me. I'm tired of trying to justify the paths I've taken and the things I believe to people. I'm tired of being hurt by the same people who don't even walk in my life any more. I'm tired of having to measure every single move I make, choice I take, word I say. I've never been carefree seventeen; I've always been cautious, over-thinking fifty-three.

I'm tired of not being what people want. Of not being the one people want. Of holding back my words and biting my tongue because that's what I've always been taught. I don't think people would ever guess by looking at me, but I get so angry occasionally - rarely. The emotion is so strong, I don't know what to do with it. I want to throw things. I want to text one of those particular people and say "Eff you" and tell them all the reasons they make me cry at night. I know this makes me sounds unhinged and "crazy", but I'm tired of trying to downplay my emotions or convince other people that they're real when I do share them.

I'm tired of trying so hard to achieve things to justify my existence. I realize I'm doing the exact same thing as a year ago, I just overlooked it because I was actually accomplishing things. The problem is, it's still not enough, and I still can't convince myself that what I do matters.

And it still doesn't matter to other people that much, because it doesn't involve me getting a diamond ring on my finger by some blase white man.

People suck, but I guess my mom had a point: The more I let their injustice bother me, the more it hurts me with little effect on them. It's just like if I caved into my anger and threw things across the room because of my frustration over not being able to convey how I feel to my mother; I would only hurt my own precious possessions but wouldn't make her understand any better or make myself feel better. (I know because I've tried.)

The reality of the matter is that I've come a long way. I started way behind everyone, having been born with multiple anxiety disorders that have affected me from childhood and a tendency toward clinical depression that has plagued me since I entered adolescence. I have known more sad times than happy ones in my life. The last few months have been the first time I've felt pretty happy for that long of a period in probably four years. And the period four years ago when I felt happy four years ago was probably the first time in about seven years that I had felt happy. What I'm saying is, that's a pretty significant disadvantage when, as I've heard it, that isn't normal for most people (I still have trouble believing this; it seems so foreign).

The reality is that around a year ago, I started seeing a counselor again and sometimes on my way home, while waiting for the subway, part of me just wanted to step onto those tracks. A year ago I didn't know if I could finish college. A year ago my body shook all over and I slept over twelve hours because I simply could not get up. A year ago I didn't think there was anything that could make me better.

Now I'm applying to grad school, gearing up to take a full course load, completing an internship, volunteering, writing, publishing, occasionally traveling, taking initiative, living in a whole new mindset, rekindling old friendships. There's so much I accomplish that I don't give myself credit for, how can I expect to appreciate it when others give me credit?

The reality is that those people who hurt me suck, but most humans suck so they don't acknowledge that those people suck. The reality is that the world is taken in by extroverts, performers, and who-knows-what; people are drawn in by one fad one moment and another the next. Whether or not you are ever the fad is no reflection on your worth or talent because it's all random. Even if I got to be the fad, it's not all it's cracked up to be.

The reality is that it takes time to move on and you can't rush or push the resolution, but maybe this is another small step.

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