When I was a younger girl, I loved people. I loved surrounding myself with people, their chatter, their stories, their lives. I made their life mine, their stories mine, their words my thoughts. I loved people, I loved being with them, I loved helping them and I loved, selflessly, not expecting or even asking to be loved back by anyone… with the exception of my immediate family.
I loved people because I always thought that all their little stories held meaning, their thoughts demonstrated perception, their lives were colourful. I loved people because I was young, inexperienced and naive; I thought everybody was just like I was. My world was small and uncomplicated. I didn’t let unnecessary thoughts bombard me. Life was plain and simple.
Then I began the terrible process of growing up. As children, we always want to grow up. I want to drive my own car so I can go anywhere whenever I want. I want to do a job. I want to go to late-night parties and do grownup things. I want to be famous. I want to be rich. All these seemingly carefully planned out dreams hide within the recesses of our brains, never to ever come out again. Life becomes more realistic. Get good grades. Go to a good college and do some useful degree. Maybe do an MBA. Get a job. Get cash. Get a house. Marry. Have kids. Survive… The more realistic children get, the more they lose their naivete, and eventually, you get people who have been beaten by life. The very same people who, as children, were dreamers out to conquer life; they become people who are defeated.
Me. I am one of these persons too. And I grew up because I met people, so many people.
People cause ALL the problems. Or rather, ‘friends’ do. ‘Friends’ with the single quotes. ‘Friends’ and their dirty lies.
I was a chilled out, optimistic girl. Happy for no reason. Pumped up. Full of vigour and life. I was the girl who didn’t just sit there looking at the glass as half full; I ran to the glass and filled the remaining half as well. I was talkative, enthusiastic, lively, bubbly and friendly. Such wonderful traits.
It’s a pity then, that now I am more of a realist, bordering on pessimist. I am hardly ever happy and more often than not, I don’t know why. I have the least enthusiasm for anything except writing, photography, doodling and video-making. I am still talkative but I am just a better liar than before and I can lie about anything – my feelings, thoughts, mood – anything. Such… not-so-attractive traits.
I refuse to say people changed me. Experience did. I met people and realised that the world is not one happy place with rainbows and butterflies. It’s more of a ‘rain-for-ages-and-still-have-no-rainbow’ kind of place. People come, use you for their benefit and leave. They don’t actually care about you or your problems. Never be the generous, happy, sweet and loving one without adding the slightest bit of cunning as well because otherwise, you’ll find yourself used over and over till a point comes where you’re drained and need someone to love you instead. And if you don’t get it, you’ll reach that point of emotional breakdown where it’s impossible to feel any kind of emotion anymore. Sad? Happy? Excited? What are these words and what do they mean? That’s a dead stage. It’s a stage where it seems convenient to fade into oblivion and right out of existence altogether.
I’ve been at that stage for a reasonable amount of time now. The last time I spoke to my doctor, I told him that I thought I was becoming happier again and people had stopped complaining – ‘you’re always sad and for no reason at all’. I was wrong. I didn’t realise how wrong. I am not happier. But I am not sadder either. I just feel absolutely nothing. It’s a dead end. It’s a whole lot of nothingness. It’s a void. There’s no word to explain what this feels like because there is no feeling. I just sit in front of my laptop to type my… feelings? But I don’t know what those feelings are. My days go by in a blur. Books, studying, writing, blog, more studying, dreary late night studying.
At this dead end, it would be slightly heartening if someone understood what this stage of not feeling anything is like. It would be comforting to know that there’s someone who either understands or at least tries to understand this abyss of nothingness that I’ve fallen into. I’ve made friends in my new school and I have friends in my old school. But these friends are either fair-weather friends or do not understand me because I am too strange. Or maybe they just avoid me because I am far too much to take. I continue to meet people who I give my heart to despite my own brain telling me to grow up and give up on people altogether. Only this time, when they end up doing what people have done before, I am not caught by surprise or hurt. I can take it much better. I just let it go. Oh, you don’t like that I have issues that I sometimes need to talk about? But you want me to hang around to listen to your worries about your boyfriend? That’s cool… here’s the solution to your boyfriend problem. Break up with him because eventually he’ll have issues that you won’t want to talk about. Oh, too harsh? Maybe I should just tell you to jump off the nearest cliff instead. Don’t worry; your non-existence won’t change the course of doom that humanity is already going towards. Nice, sweet, simple and easy…
People are selfish, feelings make you vulnerable. It’s better to be all alone. We are alone in our minds and no one can ever completely know us. Like it or not, your best friend is the voice in your head that allows you to read this passage without disturbing every single person around you.