Lately I’ve been feeling unable to properly articulate my thoughts and feelings into words that suitably convey them. It’s one of those days when my true introvert takes over and I want to hide under a rock. And not say a word. On those days, I don’t recognize myself And my own nonchalance confounds me. I want to just sit. Not lie down, just sit and stare. I don’t have the energy to smile and pretend to be happy or to care about conversations I would usually care about. I can’t look those I love in the eyes. Can’t bear to see them so concerned, so perturbed that the ball of cheer they used to know is completely opposite to her usual self. I can’t look at them because most of them will not understand that I just want to be alone. Because I don’t want to bawl and make a fool of myself in public. I can’t tell them that I’m sad because I’m homesick or because no one really understands sometimes.
I can’t say all these because then I sound cliche. Like all those “teenagers”. I can’t listen to myself complain about how lost I feel and how no one understands and so I say “I’m fine” and attempt a smile while I hope they believe the smile. I also hope no one believes my fake smile sometimes because I know I do a really bad job at it and it would be heartbreaking if anyone I knew or was close to was really stupid enough to fall for it. Sometimes when I feel this way, I’m happy because then I can honestly say how I feel about certain things and my ruthlessness feels so good. It surprises me and terrifies me, but the release is so selfishly refreshing. It’s my own hideous oxymoron. I see the surprise and fear reflected in their own eyes and I’m happy to have done a good and proper ruthless job.
Then I go home and sulk quietly. I might write about it and then post it five weeks after because I really don’t want anyone trying to decipher me, or even worse, succeeding. After all mystery is supposed to be attractive.And then I pray. I pray that my God understands that I’m just a teenager with all these hormones and disturbances. I know he sees my true self and my heart and he knows I’m no ruthless person. Well, most times.
And then when the storm has passed, I slowly feel myself bloom. Ever so slowly. And smiling feels real and not like my face is unmoving plastic. And my heart beats better. And I’m happy again. And my friends recognize me. And they pretend that everything I’d said in honesty was just me under the influence. I try to consolidate those things, make them realize the truth, but it really is up to them.
I’m now just a happy bunny and I really don’t care.