Refusable Clues

The past week has been hard, a word I tend to lose a lot. Life is hard, so I’m told- and yet I say everyday is hard. Just what is the difference I am trying to make here? I hate how I seem to walk around giving the impression of ‘little miss woe’ all the time. I have missed quite a bit of class cause I have felt so much pressure to smile and act normal when all I feel I am good at is crying and degrading my spirit. I’ve been trying to make more of an effort with people but am still having to suppress the worry of ‘what they really think of me’. I read between the lines, try and analyse people I meet for the first time. I appear to be missing a sensitivity chip as I disregard the idea that they may be having a bad day too, are tired and fed up. I tend to make it so personal and directed at me alone. All or nothing is the mind frame I am in. I am a waste of space…its like I’m giving up on myself despite the fact the pills can’t help but make me less weepy…It’s like I refuse to let myself be happy. It’s like some morbid habit…beating myself done.

I cry still but it is like it premeditated. I care so much about people treating me differently that I can’t even be honest to my closest friends. What am afraid of…rejection or a lack of surprise. Maybe they would have suspected it all along since I have always been a recluse and have the nature of being vulnerable to self doubt and loathing. I have never been strong and perhaps I never will be and this is what it is all about?

I feel like I am something that gets pushed to the background, that people sum me up in a minimum of five words: shy, nice, sensitive, compliant and dispose of me as they please. The only one to blame for this is Me. I didn’t matter because I don’t want to matter.