Floating on Daydreams

Flashback To The Unbreakable Gray Wall

Have you ever felt...disconnected? Lost? Confused?

I have.

I don't know why, but very often, I find myself daydreaming and not paying any attention to what's going on around me. Very often, I blurt out whatever I'm thinking, because I have no filter. Very often, I feel like I don't belong. Very often, too often, I find myself being the subject of ridicule and mockery.

I'm like that character in a sitcom who is stupid, confused and two steps behind everyone else. Always doomed to fail at whatever I try. Always laughed at. I'm there, but not noticed until I say or do something that causes everyone to make fun of me for comedic relief.

But it doesn't matter. Years ago, I found a way to shield myself from feeling. Pain, hurt, sadness. I know how to escape it. I learned to do this because I'd had enough. Enough of hearing about how I'm not good enough. About how my brother's exam scores were among the top 1% in the country, and how I would never live up to that. About how I was a disappointment, because I didn't want to study science. I was tired of watching my friends grow into talented, beautiful people, while I was stuck as the plain, too-stubborn-for-her-own-good, weird outcast. I was tired of wishing on stars and waiting for the clock to reach 11:11. I was tired of trying so hard to meet expectations that I had for myself, and failing to do so every single time. I was tired of having people take advantage of me when I allowed myself to be vulnerable.

So I put up a wall. A tall, metaphorical, unbreakable wall around whatever it is that controls my emotions. I made promises to myself: I would never cry in front of people; If someone pushed me away, I would let them; I would never let people know what I was thinking; I would never let anyone know everything about me. It was foolproof, I told myself. No one wants to spend time with someone who doesn't feel. I wore a mask. It was for the best, I thought. I wanted to act when I grew up, so this was good practice. I bottled up every emotion I had from then on, and put the bottles away on a shelf, somewhere I'd never go. 

Fast forward to the present. I've cried only thrice in front of people since then. People who wouldn't hurt me. I've loved once after making those promises, and forgot about them for a while, but after he dumped me like people dump trash on the side of the road, I put that wall back up with reinforcements. Only a few people have managed to sneak past the guards through a small hole in my gray, unbreakable wall. They're my support system. They don't know how much I need them. And it's going to stay that way. Vulnerability is being brave enough to let yourself get hurt, so I guess that makes me a coward. Add that to the list of names people call me and see if I care.

A friend of mine went through something similar to a breakup and broke down in front of me a few days ago. I was surprised at how easy it was for me to stay detached and give her advice that may not have been exactly what she wanted to hear. She patched things up with her boyfriend and thanked me for being strong and looking at things objectively. What she doesn't know is that I've almost lost the ability to look at things and care. Yes, I love my friends and care about them, but when they tell me their problems, my answers are always honest, detached and inconsiderate of their feelings at that point. I may be right, and I may be helping them, but that's when I feel less than human. 

I am a robot. I almost enjoy it now, because that's how I've been for years. Sometimes I feel like I should let the wall crumble and let myself be unapologetically human again, but the fear of striking out and losing everything once my friends get to know me, really get to know me, always stops me. Today is one of those days. 

I want to be able to read books and watch movies and cry like a baby at both the sad and the happy parts. I want to know what it feels like to have someone love you for being you. Maybe I'll demolish that wall and let people in. Not today, but perhaps tomorrow...

This is something I wrote a while ago. Eight months maybe? Something like that. Anyway, comment if you like it.