Lately I’m going to have to admit, life has been pretty stressful. Some people definitely have it worse than others, but I’ve noticed it’s the people who’s lives are what we would put as “classically” worse off than others, that are the ones masking their unhappiness the best. If I may quote ancient greek here, the term “hypocrites” means to “wear a mask”, and I feel like this best describes those who have deep rooted insecurities, hardships many of us may never understand, and generally people who cannot find happiness in the world that surrounds them. I feel that I fall into the latter category. Why? Mainly because I don’t feel the need to tell the world my problems and insecurities. The mask I wear daily is one of laughter, fakery and pretend fulfilment. I don’t feel the need to cry, listen to depressing music and cut my veins, because that would just be a sort of cry for help and as a woman, I refuse to succumb to the vision people have of women as the “weaker” and more emotional sex. Funnily enough, the people I know who are the ones who outwardly scream their pain, are usually those who self indulge in this “sad” culture. They enjoy the idea of being a misunderstood poet… except that these people are not Byron… they are just people who feel dissatisfied with the hand they have been dealt and instead of picking themselves off the floor, trying their best to make the best of what they have, or at least seeking professional help, they infest and rot their surroundings and the people they know. Many of these individuals neither have the balls to live their lives, nor have the balls to kill themselves.
Now do not misconstrue what I’m saying here. What I mean to say is that life is a gift, it’s up to us to try our goddam best to make the best of what we have. I’m not perfect. There are days I barely have the courage to slap on same make-up, crawl out of bed and face the world. But I try. I try my best to make the people around me proud. I try to not be a constant disappointment. Because, If I’m alive, I should at least live. If you don’t enjoy the life you have, there are two solutions : try and make it better, or kill yourself. But suicide is a selfish decision. I don’t know that many people know this, but I thought long and hard about suicide for many years, stemming from a long list of issues I had/have with myself… which then led to self harm. I finally realised that I was being a dick. I was wasting the life that I was given because I was dissatisfied and truly unhappy. I’m not saying I am better now, but I try. I try and act like the bubbly happy person that people know me for. And sometimes I am that happy person… But sometimes I’m not. But I refuse to show it. I don’t want pity from anyone.
In the end, we only have one chance and one life. So, instead of digging a hole with our bare hands and hiding, take a fucking shovel and dig yourself out. It takes time, but there’s no point regretting the curveballs you’ve been thrown. The best way to start afresh is to have a good look at yourself, and analyse what would make you happy. What will help you better change. What do I want? What do I need? Answer those questions, and you finally know what direction you’re walking. Because those who walk aimlessly through life are those who are lost. Ok, so you were dumped. Fine. Shit happens. Grieve, then get the fuck up and try again. It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. Why walk around feeling sorry for yourself? You might miss something really great, just because you had your eyes closed, and you were walking around blind.
True. I can give advice, but I am unable to take my own advice. Why? Who knows. But the idea stays : try.
And if everything else fails, make lemonade and try again.