Sit Down and Stand Out

1

I couldn't sleep at all. I'd been sitting on the plane for... what, nearly 6 hours? 5? It didn't make any difference. 5 hours left anyway. The amazing, depressing, amazingly depressing and depressingly amazing movie I had just watched had made me cry, but evidently even that couldn't help me sleep. I'd cried myself to sleep before. Feeling sorry for yourself and others really helps get you to sleep. Most of the time anyway. Now my eyes were just burning, my throat was dry, and I couldn't find a single comfortable position to put my legs in. Not even the saddish playlist I had filled mostly with one direction could help me at this moment. So I decided to write a chapter on how I was feeling in past tense just to pass the time. I liked the stupid sappy pathetic 1D songs. They never really got old. They made me sad and happy at the same time. I loved hearing the happy beat with sad undertones, the majors mixed in with the minors to create a cocktail of an indescribable feeling in between happiness and sadness, almost of longing. Also I was kind of feeling shit because of my jet lag from the flight I had taken to Hong Kong not 3 days ago. It was just about wearing off, but then I was switching to a new time zone in Australia.

Although don't get me wrong, I was actually really excited to be going to Australia. Also I was relieved that I was excited. Sometimes I know I should be excited and grateful and ecstatic when somebody takes me somewhere, but then I'm not. I suppose I can't do anything about it, except for feeling that and not telling anybody I'm not actually ecstatic. I don't understand why my mum gets angry at me when she sees through me pretending to enjoy it. I mean, it seems rational for her to do it, but I don't understand why, psychologically, most humans do that. Each individual knows the other can't help it, but they cross that out from their minds. I've done that far more times than I'd care to admit. To name some: when Catherine didn't feel like going to the party, I understand that I was angry because it was quite a lame reason to bail completely one hour before the thing itself. However, I also see her side of things. I know sometimes people get the feeling that they don't want to do anything, and that they don't really mind being selfish. I do that a lot too. I suppose I have a lot of flaws.

Jason Mraz came on. Another sad happy song. Anyway, I have a lot of flaws. I'm not perfect in regards to looks, but then I suppose nobody is. The movie I'd just watched was about cancer, and it had made me think about how valuable it is to make something great out of the little things you have. It felt so real seeing it on such a personal level, and the characters were so great.

Sometimes I just get aggressive. Often actually. All the time. I've made a rebellious and jokester's image for myself. Once you make an image, even if that image is about not having an image, you can't just stop. Although maybe some people could, but I'm a shittily stubborn and proud person. It would hurt my pride to make an effort to look nice, even though I get secret pleasure from it on the inside. If I somehow managed to completely refresh my image and my brain and body let me, I would no doubt be the most girly person I know. Wanting a boyfriend, wearing nice clothes, as I actually have a nice sense of style, wearing makeup, not swearing, loving everything and forgiving everyone, the complete opposite of what I am now. Although I'd keep it classy. There's a bloody huge line between girly and slutty, but a lot of people don't seem to know the difference.

I hate that people try so hard to fit in with everyone. Including me. I try so hard to not be a stereotype, even though I am plenty of stereotypes, and I pretend not to like stereotypical things. When people get annoyed by the fact that I say everything is mainstream and that I won't do something seeing as everyone is doing it, it makes me want to punch them really hard in the fucking face. That's my only defense mechanism, don't take that away from me. It's the only thing I can hold on to, while I'm trying to convince myself that I'm not a fake. Shut the fuck up and help me. I'm a selfish piece of shit, and I'm not any better for it. I want people to help me, but I'm not helping anyone in any way. Although maybe it's ok to be selfish every once in a while. I want my friends to take me seriously, but I can't even take myself seriously. I want them to be there for me at my every beck and call, but how can I do that when I'm not even there at all for myself?

As I sat there, typing away at my cracked phone screen, I just listened to the sounds of silence. The sounds of my father mumbling some strange, unrelated words such as, " grandmother" and "shoe" to nobody in particular. The sounds of rustling economy-class blankets and people squishing themselves into a more comfortable leg space within the 3 centimetres of leg space they were given. As I listened, I pondered. What if I became somebody new for the week and a half that I was to be in Australia for? If I'm dissatisfied with the version of myself who so desperately emphasises being herself and yet, miraculously, does the complete opposite, maybe I should do something about it. Because being yourself isn't always about being different. If who you truly want to be looks just like everybody else, then you will be happy when you become that person. And everybody knows happy people stand out for themselves.