Insecurities

I'm afraid that I'm no good at all. 

I guess it's firmly ingrained in me, this habit of only writing when I'm in need of comfort, usually late in the night. Perhaps it's the comfort of words that I seek, the comfort of knowing no matter what, they'd be there for me, helping me to say things that are too deeply entrenched within.

I should write more, and on things on a happier tone. But how can I express myself with mere words when ecstasy and euphoria are threatening to take over my body? Happy emotions can't be released with mere words; they are often accompanied with erratic movements, tachycardia, tachypnea and all those sympathetic stimulated responses. (I'm a Nerd, and proud of it)

I generally look cuter when doing this tho. =)

And often, happiness is shared. With friends, physically, emotionally, psychologically; it is shared, because happiness last longer, and is more tangible with more hands holding on to it, sustaining it. 

But sadness. Sadness and moodiness and general absence of happiness. 

You don't really share those. At least I don't. I don't really want to share those. Maybe it's got something to do with me wanting to present a strong front all the time, to not show weakness. Maybe it's because I never know what to do when others are in a similar mood, and I try not to put them in the same situation. Maybe it's just me being me, and these bouts come and go like the hurricane -- strong, but abrupt. 

And I don't usually get these irrational bouts of unhappiness. (Though it's getting more often now, and worse.) But they come fast, and they come strong. Sometimes I just don't wanna talk to anyone. Sometimes I just wanna be alone. Sometimes I just wanna be held. Sometimes, though, I want to talk, to rant, to just spew verbal diarrhea about nothing and everything at once. More often than not, sometimes I just want to be isolated.

I'd cuddle a banana right now.  Yeah, that's how desperate I am. Deal with it. 

And I have no idea why this happen. 

Nowadays, these happen even more regularly. Perhaps the workload is larger, and there's more to handle, and there are times when I feel so alone that even Tommy can't cure my loneliness. I used to pride over the fact that I don't get stressed out easily, 'cause I really don't. But now I wonder if I've always been stressed out and never actually noticed it. Distractions don't work as well as they used to -- even singing and general craziness doesn't work -- and I have to keep myself goinggoinggoinggoing all the time; every free minute is a potential threat, every idle hour a potential trigger.

Oh no. Does this mean I'm going
to turn...GREEN?!

And it's hard walking that extremely thin line -- keeping yourself so busy so that you don't drown in unhappiness,  the the guilt you feel for not studying. I've been keeping myself busy with attending dances, practices, even cleaning out my pig's den room. I dare not even read any books or fanfiction these days ; I fear losing myself in those books and never finding my way out again, thus adding to that tower of guilt. It's a vicious cycle of fear and guilt, and I, being the coward that I am, ignores it.  

Studying has become virtually impossible. It's getting harder and harder to concentrate on the subject at hand; instead, my brain insist on pondering upon other things, things that makes happiness seems so far away. These moments when I sit myself down to read through lectures are the times where loneliness becomes a terrible unwanted companion -- it follows me wherever I go, and strikes when I'm idle, even when I'm surrounded by people. Especially when I'm surrounded by people. 

I'm not going to be a hypochondriac here (at least I try not to) and diagnose myself with some psychological problem. I know these bouts are normal (at least for me; I've had them, handled them, kept them at bay for a long time. Pretty sure everyone else has them at some point.) and I know I can handle them. I just... I just want to rant. To be a coward for once and hide away in the comfort of words, to relieve myself of this burden so I'm not alone in keeping this. Keeping things to yourself requires such massive amounts of courage and strength that it compresses everything within you and takes away your breath.

I know, and I really do know this, that I'm terribly lucky to have a bunch of really really awesome friends who never fails to cheer me up, especially so far away from home. I'm lucky that I know whenever I need to talk, or a shoulder, a hand, they'd be there for me. So lucky to be in the midst of a home away from home. To be with them is to be home. Sometimes I wonder what I did in my past life to be so...blessed with everything I need and more.

Oh so that's how we look all the time. 

So luckyy. And so cute! (just like me)

But sometimes, it's easier to sink.

And being the coward that I am, I take the easy way out, more often than not. 

And when a person is sinking, they usually sink alone. Well, for me, anyway. I don't want others to sink with me, and I don't want others to witness me sinking.

But I don't mind being alone. Really. Truly. Being alone is a luxury. I won't say I grew up in a huge family, 'cause I don't. I won't even say I have a large group of friends, 'cause I don't. It's just....we tend to be so closely knitted together that I balk, frequently.

Being alone gives me the time I need to unwind myself, to sort out this mess inside me. It gives me the time I want (but don't need) to do what I want to do without fearing what others think of me. People expect things, things that I might not like to do, and it's so exhausting being in their company sometimes. You're a girl; you can't fart in public. You're a scholar; you sure have good results all the time. You're twenty-one; you can't throw a temper tantrum and not think things through rationally. So what if I want to fart--loudly? Everybody needs to. So what if I don't have good results all the time? I'm human.  So what if I'm twenty one? I don't wanna grow up; I'm still young inside. I still wanna cuddle Tommy and that smelly pillow of mine (I don't think it's smelly. People just expect it to be, and label it as such) to sleep every night.

Leave me and Teddy alone. 

 Sometimes I think expectations are overrated. We grow up with more and more expectations piled upon us that we grow to expect ourselves to meet these expectations of us. And I have become a slave to these expectations, trying to please as many people as possible.

And that's why I really really don't like socializing.

People tend to think I'm socially-competent. A lot of friends have commented to me that I'm so lucky to be so comfortable in crowds, and at making new friends. I'm seen at group events, society meetings, house gatherings. I'm told I'm talkative. I'm told I talk too much. Sometimes, even, I'm told to shut up.

But they don't know the truth.

I struggle more often than not in socialising. I never know what to say to half strangers. It's easy enough to go up to a stranger and say 'hey, I don't believe we've met.' A moment of courage; that's all you need. And I'm good with forcing courage into myself. But what then? What happens after? Do you ask after their family? Talk about the weather? Gesture wildly (read : awkwardly)  into the air trying reenact some scene at some party she wasn't even there?

That deeply ingrained desire to please in me impedes a smooth and relaxing conversation more than you know. 

Even with friends sometimes I'm not entirely sure I can converse comfortably. Large groups of friends are okay; I can easily pick up on a previous topic or elaborate on a friend's thought. But when you're one to one... what then? I hate awkward silences. I hate that I become very conscious of where my eyes should look when I talk to you. I hate that I have to rack my brains to string sentences together that makes sense. I hate that I never know what to talk about because I don't know what you like or dislike, and I hate that I never know how to find out what you like or dislike. I hate that I love looking at others' eyes when talking to them, then realising I'm doing that and avert my eyes awkwardly. I hate that I never know where to put my hands, and I hate that simply talking becomes so hard.

And don't even get me started on crowds. Huge pulsating mass of people with you trying to fit in while avoiding sloshing beer over your head. Beer-soaked hair is NOT appealing.

I only go to parties or clubs to lose myself. I don't want to talk. I don't even wanna say Hi to you. I just want to lose myself in the throngs of people; lose track of time, lose all the lectures slides, lose myself. It's incredible how alone you can feel surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of people. 

And it's even more incredible when you find out how much you actually like that. 

Maybe I'm too uptight. Having a conversation shouldn't require that much thought. I never do think about what I need to say to my close friends; words, ideas, analogies, panalogies all flood my mind and I just say what I want instead of fretting over what to say. Those conversations that lasts for five to six hours, with no fixed topic, and probably ranges from toenails to lecturers' noses. And if you ask me what did you guys talk about I would just laugh and say 'everything' because I don't remember what we chatted for six hours about. 

*sighs*

Reading everything again to edit and disgusted at how whiny I sound. But I don't want to care now. Label me, judge me; Right now, I'm alone, but I'm alone and free. (ooh! Lyrics from Frozen!)

On a side note, Frozen was a really good movie, and I can't help but relate to Elsa. Growing up with beautiful magical powers but having to hide it because it's what everyone expects her to do. Suffering under the weight of all the expectations. I don't blame her from running off. I would do it so much earlier, and much more violently. I guess that's why Let It Go appealed to me so much.
But alone time cannot last forever, and reality calls. And it's time to don that mask again and disappear into whatever role I'm expected to be. But sometimes, what you call masks are actually who you really are, for who else designed that mask but you?

To end things on a relatively happier note, writing has really helped put things into perspective. If these are the only things that I have to deal with, Thank God. :) At least I have someone to help me through it, and at least I have words to help me deal with it.

Wow.

Feeling whole again and ready to take on the world.

p.s. Sorry for being a total Gemini and going all Jekyll and Hyde on you poor souls (and by poor souls I mean whoever's reading this blog -- which probably is just a cooler future version of me.)