I was kind of having this inner conversation at a bus just a while ago where I delivered these very deep, thoughtful lines in a fatalistic fashion, but now I can't seem to recall any of those anymore - hence I'm not entirely sure if I actually had anything to say.
I guess it's because I had one of those moments when after a good while of thinking that I've been standing on solid rock or something, I get handed a new shovel and realize that, hey I can actually dig this hole a bit deeper - let's do it! Somebody else might have used that shovel to climb out of the hole.
In general, I'm quite optimistic, and what I might describe as solution driven. After a while of panicking about this or that problem that I struggle with I really try to find a way of solving it. Usually this requires a lot of trial and error, but my main goal is always to change things in one way or another. It must be said that often, regardless of my apparent attempts to tackle my issues, I am too afraid to do the hard things which, for some reason, would be the right ones to do in most occasions. Hello, inbuilt unfairness of life!
Right, so in general I try to help myself. Then there's this case that seems to be somewhat special. I've been trying to deal with it in different ways for ages. At times I think I've moved on and things are getting better and life goes on. But of course something always comes up and pierces through my bubble of escapism and denial, showing me exactly how far from being done I am.
I believe that it isn't always possible to get over bad things that we face in life. The immediate pain will ease and we keep on living but we carry the baggage with us and every now and then it makes us fall down. That's okay.
Personally though, I wonder why I let certain things constantly affect me in a negative way. Such a big amount of my pain is self-inflicted - due to letting things that have essentially nothing to do with me, bring me down. I could decide not to let these things have any control over me. Technically, I could.
I don't know what it is: do I just like being miserable, dwelling in self pity? Is it so much easier to be unhappy that I can't even give myself a chance to be happy instead? You know how a lot of TV shows have that one annoying character whose major occupations is to spent 99% of the time brooding or alternatively acting like they have some kind of moral superiority which allows them to go all martyrs whenever they like? Don't you just wish someone would slap them and tell them to cut it off and just laugh every now and then? Yeah, me too, and I am all of those characters. Instead of doing something fun and enjoyable with my friends I oftentimes just sulk in my room in solitude. But when your only input in a social situation is a forced laughter and a lame comment, and it all just feels like a stage act, playing the part of a grumpy introvert becomes a much preferred option.
Now I'm just tired of this rant like I'm tired of myself.
Perhaps one day I can be the person I want to be, and instead of continuously twisting the knife just to ensure that I never forget how much it can hurt.