Dear Diary

I thought that I could fix it all by myself. I thought that I didn’t need anybody, that I could take everything. I told myself I was completely unaffected by everything surrounding me, even things that directly affected me. I thought that I was perfectly alright, that there was nothing wrong in my life. I thought that I wouldn’t need anybody that would listen to me, anyone that would genuinely care about me let alone  love me. If somebody asked me how I was doing, I would usually start a shallow conversation or try to steer the conversation into a different direction but never really talked about what was really going on inside of me. Maybe there was nothing really going on at first, but as time went on, the void in my life became more and more evident to me. I became weary of life, I stopped smiling, I searched in vain for my purpose in live and stopped wanting to live. Before, my life was filled with relative happiness, I could always find pleasure and joy in other people and little everyday things. I daresay I was a girl who was always smiling, building others up when they were down, someone who always joked around in order to make others feel better and a good listener.

Then things changed and I found it hard to get up in the morning. I’d sleep until lunchtime, sometimes longer, ignoring the alarm clock that’d persistently play music for approximately 20 minutes, wallowing in my sadness, burying myself deeper into my mysery, waiting for life to be over. I grew restless, way too restless to do anything and I felt like giving in, putting this life to a hold. Of course, nobody knew what was going on inside me since I began locking people out. If I was “in danger” of being approached by anyone, I’d push them away. I had a feeling that nobody would care or if they cared, that they’d end up disrespecting me for my weaknesses. Perhaps I disrespected myself the most and therefore suspected everyone else to think that way. I don’t know if people assumed that I was fine but somewhere in the back of my head I knew that people mainly thought about themselves only and rhe last thing I wanted were Walmart-people that came in bulk and cared more for their reputations and good looks than building up an emotional relationship.  If you’re gone, nobody cares. The world keeps moving. After all, a human being is a mass-produced good. And I am saying “good” because one is only “good” when one becomes a “good” by being “good” at selling “goods”. Or themselves, as the case may be. You know, I never saw myself like that. I never saw myself doing that. Spending all my life just working, living  for other people. Not that I thought that I could ever get a job. My self-confidence, or lack of, was one more thing that bothered me. I mean, who would hire me? I collapse under stress, I really cannot handle it. I am not a person who likes to compete. Competing makes me scared. I have never been in for it. I always let people pass me by in the queue even though I was there first. I felt like I wasn’t worthy to be in a better position than anybody, even if I theoretically “deserved it”. You might have assumed that I didn’t think very highly of myself.

I have often thought that I was invisible. I know that I am “past the age” of imagining something so unrealistic, but this is merely an observation I have made throughout my life. People never noticed me. Even if they were standing next to me, nobody would even look at me let alone talk to me. I was often firmly convinced that I must be invisible. I always felt worthless, non-existent, not good enough to have friends, not good enough to even live. I often wished that they would shout at me, call me names or go even further but they never did. I wanted them to notice me, show me some kind of attention at least, even if it was negative. I could handle a lot but the most painful thing was to be invisible all these years. If somebody, by coincidence, looked at me or talked to me, I would not react at all, not being aware that I was being addressed until the person actually called my name (If there was a chance that by coincidence anybody else called “Susanna” was around, I’d turn my head several heads to make certain it was me). Times like these I was shocked that somebody actually noticed that I existed.

I am way too sensitive. Everything that anybody says, or does, anything in their body language that might indicate that they thought little of me I would notice and it would deeply hurt me. I don’t know how often my heart was close to breaking because of small things. I thought that sometime, I would get used to the pain and it wouldn’t feel so bad, but I was wrong. Each time, facing the world hurt just the same. This is one of the reasons why I started to avoid people. If there was nobody around me, nobody could hurt me, those were my thoughts. So I spent hour after hour, day after day and night after night in my room, with the curtains pulled so I didn’t have to look outside. I felt like someone who was suffering from Epidermolysis bullosa only that my heart was turned inside out. To me, going outside and talking to people was like taking a shower of pain. A shower of tiny little bombs that would explode in my heart and leave it like a battlefield.

To make it short, I couldn’t stand myself, I couldn’t stand anybody else and I saw no point in life. I saw my future as a future I’d be living out on the streets, with nobody to give me a smile or sympathy, let alone a job. Desperation came as a veil, covering my body and sight. It told me that there was no carrying on. I agreed with desperation, after all she raised a valid point. Also, one had to die eventually, why not accelerate it if there is nothing to live for and no happiness for me. I honestly did not want spend another 60 years of my life just waiting for death. I stopped caring, I felt tired, I wanted to sleep. I didn’t want to go on. That is when I swallowed all those pills at once whilst crying my heart out, hoping it would all be over soon.


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