So there are people I care deeply about. I don’t know, caring must be some strange compulsion of mine – I just can’t help it. Most of the time I wish I didn’t care about these people. I mean, I don’t want to care, especially because most of these people are only acquaintances who I imagine wouldn’t try to give two shits about me. Maybe. I’ve been surprised in the past. Then again, I’ve also been disappointed.
I care about how he feels. I’m concerned for his safety and mental health. I don’t want him to feel sad or alone. And I want him to understand that I care that much. But I don’t, because I have no right to. We aren’t that close. I don’t even know if we’re friends. This makes me out to be a total creep. And he doesn’t care about me – he wouldn’t care that I care. The fact that I want him to be happy means nothing to him. Only, I don’t know that, and I’m too scared to find out. Because that would leave me in too vulnerable a state. Not to mention, it may turn out that I care a great deal more than I thought, which may very well break my damn heart. Because even though I care about him, I don’t trust him. I don’t think I can trust anyone other than the few that I do already.
For the record, “he” is no specific person. “He” is everyone.
All this trouble, and it’s not even a romantic sentiment. At least I don’t think it is – if it were, would I know? Anyway, I imagine I’ll never find out. I think I’ve already resigned myself to living and dying alone. And it’s not that I don’t mind – in fact, I have this foreboding sense of despair whenever I think about my future.
I really hate to be so melodramatic.
This makes me remember the last time I tried to “open” myself up. Only disaster. Three weeks, I almost couldn’t function: I literally felt my eyes drooping. When I relaxed my face muscles, they formed a frown. I couldn’t walk upright, because my chest felt heavy; I was dragging my heart across the floor. People around me noticed something was wrong – I don’t think I cared enough to try and hide it. I was grateful that no one really pushed the issue.
Even after this great winter break, I harbor no new hope for future relationships (or current and developing ones, for that matter). I don’t expect much out of anything.
The worst part is, I think I’m trying to prevent any more. It helps me cut down on people to care about. But damn people have to be so nice.
Which creates a completely different problem. For the past couple years, I’ve noticed a growing lack of sympathy. It’s not entirely unexpected, especially since for the most part this concerns people I don’t know personally. I don’t want to talk about it too much. And it’s not even out of shame for not caring. Actually, I don’t really know what. How do I explain something to paper? There’s not even a need for me to.
I don’t know what kind of person I am. I just know that I’m not sad. I’m not an idealist. I’m not expecting any sort of relief by making this public. I certainly don’t expect any comfort from whatever anyone has to say, because I’m not looking for comfort. I just need for people to understand me a little better. It may be a little bleak, but I’m alright with all of this.
Some wouldn’t accept it, but I just want you to know that even though a lot of times I feel helpless, alone, and unfulfilled, I have enough moments of fun, happiness, rainbows, and sunshine out my ass to sustain my will to live and enjoy living.
