Hi. There have been a couple of weeks. Until I saw the date of the last post I thought it was ages. Years and years have passed and I am simply done. That is what it feels like.
Let me tell you everything, even though it’s not even a story, just an ordinary life.
I came to the conclusion yesterday that my life is perfect. I have absolutely nothing to complain about, everything is going great. I have started developing a work life, which is extraordinarily since I am pretty young, and it is spotless. My grades are almost at the top, more than most kids would be proud with. I have not had a fight with my parents for as long as I can remember, or well, almost. But the fights I remember are marked with the label “not in the present or anywhere near it”. And then I have a thing on Wednesdays with some friends from school where I am actually learning and meeting other people. And my close friends, the gang, B, E, M and H? They are the best friends someone could ask for. We hang out always. In any space between plannings we find time to go shopping, having sleepovers, just spend time together where I keep laughing all the time. That is maybe life now. Healthy routines, social life, studies. There is learning and socialising and laughing. And everything is absolutely perfect. I haven’t had an issue to deal with in forever. And it felt good for a while. All the time, really. My life who always confused me and seemed messy is organised and it is working, rolling on in such a normal and smooth way. Everything is happiness and joy.
But now it is Friday, at least for the next half an hour until it’s midnight, and I am not sleeping. That isn’t very strange. I am in the age where I am allowed to push my sleeping habits to the limit every weekend to then force it back to as it used to be during an awful and exhausting Monday. I could be reading a book, or watch something on Netflix. I could chat with my friends or clean my room (when it comes to my room I am 100% perfectionist. You mess it up, and I will adjust your mistake as soon as you leave. It’s not very easy when the whole gang have been here, believe me). But I don’t do any of that. I am opening the blog I didn’t have time for the last weeks and I am trying to ease the pressure of my heart. I don’t know what cracked it. I seriously enjoyed my life just for one time, and of course my body freaks out of the presence of any happiness in it and now I am done with life. I kept myself busy, because that is a great way to avoid yourself and the topics your feelings want to discuss. Now there isn’t sleep I have to catch. There isn’t tests to study for a last time even if it isn’t necessary. There is just me, in a big house where nobody else is awake (my parents have obviously passed the unhealthy sleeping period, and are those kind of people who wakes up at eight and have actual energy) in my big room, bigger than any of my friends room, like all the members of the gang’s rooms put together. It is cleaned. A bit cold. And nothing is keeping me busy. I didn’t know I had to “face” stuff. I normally hate talking about sensitive things, but well, when the conversation isn’t taped by another brain that can process the information and actually have a different vision on it than me, making it real and serious, it may work. I do realise that I am writing everything down, but the anonymity is my protection and it will save me from anyone putting a label on me. You do not know my name. You do not know where I am. When it comes to the question of who I am, you know the private me, but not the one the papers. The one that can actually be measured.
To get to the part of this sucking story when I sat down after weeks that can only be described as crowded and filled with actual experiences and things that people want in their lives, it didn’t seem like something that mattered. As B say every time I am not happy with the results on a test, “You do not have anything to complain about. You have no right to feel bad about this, because it is not bad.” And I knew this. I knew that I owe it to everything that is good in my life to be thrilled and grateful, but it was just flat. I didn’t care about any of that perfectness, because there was still a sickness there that couldn’t heal just because everything was perfect. It was melancholy like a day where it rains just so little that you don’t know if you need an umbrella or if it is nothing to care about. It was emptyness like the person that you have never speaked to in your life, that just exists and is a shell without anything you can fill it with. It was loneliness like sitting on a grave and feeling a cold breeze touch your shoulders and you just get smaller and you know that no one else is there, except your shaking body and a stone that meant something for you. That is someone who never are coming back. It was nothing, like everything in life that is nothing. And this time, everything in life was nothing. My life was nothing. And as soon as my mother left the room after saying good night I started crying. I hadn’t understood how many tears that was in my heart. I hadn’t understood how broken I was, how weak. It was the closest to braindead I had ever come. I was not a shadow. I was not even as small as a snowflake. I was just nothing.
I was not suicidal at all. I was quiet. I am never quiet, not even when I am alone since I talk to myself (not in a crazy way). But this time I felt like a zero. It didn’t matter how many numbers or letters or anything you mix with zero, because that number is never getting changed. It is indescribable. You can not divide with zero, that is impossible. The zero is nothing and no matter what happens to it it keeps being nothing.
My soul is a zero. No one.
I think I will need this blog again. I think there is too much I can’t handle. And even though I never let my problems leave my mind normally, this is the time for an exception. A zero won’t raise numbers. And if I sink now, it would be dangerous.
Bye for today.