Sometimes, things happen and an entire weekend becomes a blur. Were I somebody else, it would have probably been spent partying with friends or going out. Instead, considering who I am, my weekends was spent plotting to not repeat the mistakes of Germany during World War II in Hearts of Iron 3. And while this particular endeavor didn’t work out (who would have thought that allowing Nationalist Spain to the Axis would have opened a second front and essentially spell doom for our plans), it was a nice way to spend the day while chatting away with a friend and trying to escape the reality that we are both in a terrible situation.
He’s stuck in a third world country, thinking that he just wasted a few years of his life in University, forcing himself to learn a language so that he has a chance when (and I would like to think it is actually a question of when) he moves at a better life. It is very similar to what I have been going through for a while, and it bothers me that I have no answer for him. There is no solution beyond merely fighting on (and having something worth fighting for), and hope that what your try results in something usable. It’s a fight against time and against yourself, in which there are no winners. Instead, he fights for a chance to keep fighting.
And here I sit, wondering what I can do to help. I don’t regret the weekend, even if by most people’s standards it was a complete waste of time. I believe it was important for him and for myself. Now, though, as the week starts for most people, I feel that it is time to pretend to be an adult and at least attempt, once again, to do what needs to be done.
Here is to a good start of the week.
A few weeks ago, I ordered Rivstart and Friday it arrived. It reminds me a lot of the textbooks I used to have for high-school, but for some reason this one feel… different. Probably because I decided to buy this one instead of merely being required to buy one for school. All in all, a Swedish textbook and feeling again that excitement to learn is more than enough for me to justify the purchase. Now just to make it a habit to go through it every day a little bit, and to listen to the audio tracks.
Beyond that, conversation with a very dear friend resulted in some ideas for things I could write. It is always exciting to have an audience for the writing, regardless of what it is. Nothing quite like knowing that somebody out there is looking forward to what you have to say, to what worlds you imagine and the characters that inhabit them to drive that desire to put the pen to paper and write. After all, it is always nice to be recognized.
It’s that time already, huh? Enrollment for the upcoming school year have opened, and so the thought that I’ll have to enroll for the next year weights in my mind. And the entirety of my body screams that it is a terrible idea, that I shouldn’t go forward with it. My mind disagrees, of course, it believes that this is the best course of action. I will need a job and if I want to get one, then I should get a degree (besides, the IT field pays well, right?). There is also the subject of the scholarship, which means I am essentially being paid to study. Anybody sane knows which one is the correct choice. I know which one is the correct one.
But… when there is no drive, no motivation to study something… it becomes hard. The financial incentive isn’t there. I don’t have any desire to succeed in the field and when it comes to the necessity to live, I would personally take another route (one that would probably be harder, but at least it would be mine). And it has all been spoiled further by my mother’s repeated attempts to convince me to keep working at it by saying that I need a degree for others. And… I know she means well, but it really makes me angry because it feels like my own happiness doesn’t matter as much as that piece of paper because “it’ll open many doors”.
I just don’t think I can handle the emotional toll of another academic year. The last few years of high-school were harsh, spent mostly in a dead emotional state, one that I do not wish to return to.
I don’t think I ever had many friends. Always shy and not very motivated to meet new people, even in the simpler times of childhood. But some always stuck around, for reasons that I still do not know. But they remained when all else changed, and these people I could call friends. I’m happy that I could and still can call them friends. Even if we must part.
I’m… sad. Sadder than I believed I would be, but not as sad as I expected to be. it is a numb sadness made out of resignation, guilt and understanding that touches my soul, one suppressed by the belief that I don’t have the right to be sad. And then I’m left with nothing, only the memories. The good, the bad. The mistakes. The successes. A journey that I can’t tell if it shouldn’t have happened as it did, or if it will turn out to worth it.
All that I can muster now, after all the dust settled down, is a wish: “I hope they live a happy life”. I owe them much… too much to do anything but watch as we both turn the page and being a new chapter.
A toast for you, dear friend.
Sometimes I wish I could numb myself, stop the pain I feel, the necessity for affection and love. Sometimes, I wish I could extinguish the life out of me, certain that the resulting person would probably do a better job at being useful and entertaining to others – at being somebody worth having around, even if only for funny or the silly, in a relationship so shallow that it might as well not exist.
An empty husk, a shadow of my former self… yet better. After all, who cares about the rest, about what goes inside? Who cares about everything that is left unsaid? Listen. Make them laugh. Encourage them to become better versions than who they are, and support them along the way. That should be enough. Even only two out of three should go a long way. At the very least, I would be a good way to kill time with. And then life would come back and they’d forget, storing the memories away as some sort of fuel to get through the boring day-to-day, only remembering – if at all – when it was time once again to live. Not that I would care, being used for this very task.
I can’t help but think of all the people that would remain happy with it. At worse I’d fade from memory, and at best they get to keep me around, creating memories with me. Certainly, my parents would be some to remain happy. I would finally be fixed! No longer in pain, no longer swinging from being at the edge to feeling like today is the best day of my life. They’d see a mask of happiness, and they would believe it. Why wouldn’t they? And so would my acquaintances. I know, I’m indulging, but I doubt there would be any remarks… or if any, they’d probably say that I’m better now.
And I’m willing to take the leap. I’m willing to choose what I consider death if it means doing my part on helping others enjoy themselves. If that decision leads to someone else being slightly happier than they would have been otherwise, it would seem selfish to me not to take it.
This two weeks have been particularly harsh. Forced to go alone through the day (metaphorically), I’ve been dragging myself from day to day. I would love to say that I’m stronger now, that I’m better prepared to deal with bad days. After all, I did try to pick up a routine (and at least I’ve finally put work into my health) and look for other venues to keep my mind entertained enough to not think about… things. Maybe even start working towards my dreams instead of merely thinking about them.
But I’m not. I don’t feel stronger. Instead, I feel closer to the breaking point. Torn between saying something or simply staying quiet and adjusting my expectations, the stress slowly builds up on my mind as I suffer from
wanting needing more than what I have. Slowly, I feel myself give in… closer to betraying my own principles and who I am in hopes of finding some respite.
I’m desperately holding on to the few things that I have, even if they only appear for a few fleeting moments, while frantically trying to find more.