“Everything in its right place”

It took only a few days, a couple of days to be exact, for everything to be back the way it used. The phrase I hoped to avoid using is that everything is back to its right place.

I don’t where the feeling that I shouldn’t be alive comes from, but I’ve had it for as long as I remember. Even if it went away, I wouldn’t know how to live otherwise.

It amazes me how I can have the slightest amount of confidence. Maybe that is how confidence works: you are confident as long as you are certain. It doesn’t matter what you are certain of.

It gets annoying to realize the right response only after the window for it has passed. But it is nothing compared to the helplessness of thinking that it has always been out of my hands. The very core of my identity is flawed, and it has always been that way.

It feels more helpless to see that flaw in the eyes of others. When your mistakes are immediately forgiven, and when you are not expected to be any better. I sometimes wonder how many people who know me looked at me and thought to themselves: “I have so much to be grateful for” in the same way that statement is said when looking at terminally ill people.

It’s me against them, everyday. Even the closest people to me seem so distant at times. Like everything else that’s flawed in me, I notice my flaw but I cannot fix it. At times, I wish I wasn’t even able to tell when I’m doing something wrong. But I’m paranoid, and I can’t stop it.
Because I believe that the moment I stop being paranoid would be the moment I am most vulnerable for those who are plotting against me.

My mind is going away. I don’t know the medical term, but I know what I feel.

Everything good in my life I sought because I knew I had nothing else. It was one-dimensional; transcripts, awards, and any physical evidence I could find that I was good. Almost every time I am mentioned, the evidence is mentioned too. As if to balance out everything else about me. An average of two extremes.
Everything good in my life was the compensation I offered for my identity.

What I fear is that my mind will go before I have more evidence. Everything is in its right  ugly place now. But in a few years it might not be.

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Three Words (3/3)

I looked in the mirror, and all the ungroomed hair that covered my head and face couldn’t hide who I was, and it couldn’t hide the resemblance to my two uncles.

I used to think that something went wrong somewhere, and it led me to this. But I’m starting to see that this man in front of me is exactly how the child I was could grow.

An average of two extremes, but even every commendable achievement was earned for the wrong reasons.
I was terrified of becoming like my uncle, of quitting everything I have and simply living to die.
Then I remembered what my grandfather said.
Yes, I may avoid my uncle’s life, but it is equally terrifying to live a difficult life only to provide an excuse. It is equally terrifying to punish myself for their evil genes.

As if I was born undeserving of life that the meaning of my life became to justify it.

As if the limit of my life’s meaning is to push myself as far away from the evil extreme, so that the likes of my grandfather can describe me as “OK.”

Grandfather, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I want you to know that I have never hated anyone in my life as much as I hate you today.