I don’t really know what compelled me to write this. I guess I was too fed up in my state of self-pity and loathing that I finally gave in. I stayed away from rants on this blog but I felt like if I didn’t really open up soon then this whole thing wouldn’t feel real. I don’t really know if that makes sense but whatever.
I suppose it all started when I was young and I had to leave my home to go somewhere cold and unforgiving to my childish mental state at the time. (Vague and cryptic, I know, but I don’t think I can bear explaining right now.) The people I’ve known all my life didn’t bat a single eyelash and that confused me. Why didn’t they care? Why are they acting like this? Didn’t I matter? I was angry and confused at the world and at everyone. I locked up my heart in a cold iron box and it hasn’t been opened ever since. I pushed away everyone who came close because I’d rather be alone and lonely instead of drown in my insecurities and get hurt in the end. But what did it matter, I was drowning anyways.
Then I opened up and I was happy but my family always comes first so I pushed that away too. And now I’m back to being a shell of myself, alone, scared, and mad at the world. Mad at myself, for being a coward, mad at my family for taking my happiness away, and mad at my circumstances, even though everyone knows being mad at their circumstances only makes things worse.
Confession: it’s my fault and I’m sorry. I’m sorry to everyone I pushed away because I was scared of getting hurt or any other reason. I’m tired of being alone but I can’t go back.
Confession: I’m tired and heartbroken and lonely and that’s my fault. I’m sorry.
love, jane. aka the sort of lost wanderer.