Who’s Pain Is Bigger?

Wednesday, 1st April 2015

So it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything on my blog. I guess it’s just that easy to be swept up with Life. I thought I’d be one of those people that would have everything under control, but you don’t realise how easy it is for days to merge into weeks, months, years and you find yourself looking back ten years from now thinking ‘when did all that happen?’ or ‘where did the time go?’.

As cliché as that is, it happens. I mean there’s always truth behind every cliché.

Well, like my past blog posts, I don’t have a specific topic to touch on. I just read a post on the Humans of New York about a guy who lost his wife when she gave birth to their child and I got choked up thinking about just how much pain he’d have had to go through.

It made me feel guilty.

You know those days when you’re feeling low and everything about your life up till now stops making sense? You’re sitting there wondering what the hell you’re even doing with the gift you’ve been given and you feel even lower because, even though you have the resources to make your life great, you’re just sitting in a corner or on the bed feeling sorry for yourself and the troubles you’re going through.

I do that sometimes. I don’t plan it, but it happens and everything that’s bothering me or stressing me out just bubbles over and I cry. I cry so hard for myself and for the people surrounding me and for the lack of courage I have. I can’t tell anyone how I’m really feeling and it’s not because they wouldn’t listen or care but it’s because when I say it out loud it starts to feel so small and stupid that I feel even worse for thinking that something like this could even be classified as a problem that causes me pain. Then I read or hear about how much worse other people have it and I feel like an ungrateful, selfish little girl because my troubles aren’t even a tenth as bad as theirs are and if they can pick themselves up and move on and try to be happy, then why can’t I?

It makes me feel like I don’t have a right to be upset, but that’s not true.

How does anyone classify pain and the degree with which it effects individuals? How can something so abstract such as pain and happiness even be compared? No two people are the same and no two people feel the same way about the same thing. And yet we still find ourselves comparing these abstract emotions. It’s a twisted form of self-masochism where we make ourselves feel worse by realising that we shouldn’t even be feeling bad in the first place.

I’m just rambling on and on about something that I can’t express clearly but it’s so present in my life and I’m sure in the lives of everyone else on this earth, if not now then later, and it amazes me that despite knowing the facts we still compare ourselves to other people.

Not just via emotions but through materialism and vanity.

It needs to stop.

Advertisements

Human?

Sunday, 7th September 2014

 

When what you do isn’t good enough is it even worth trying?

It’s quite a depressing thought but when life hands you lemons sometimes they’re too sour to make lemonade with, you just need to throw them out. I’ve tried finding my way but the leash on my neck gets yanked before I can get far enough to touch greener pastures. I’m reminded that I’m not worth it. That my purpose is not self discovery and growth, but rather fulfilling duties to please others: parents, relatives, friends. It comes to a point where I don’t know who I am anymore or whether it’s worth finding out. Now I’m too scared to. I might not like what I see; a coward that can’t tell people to stop, a pushover that doesn’t want to hurt people because she knows all too well just how much it hurts.

It makes you wonder whether people see it and turn a blind eye because they simply don’t care about you or whether people really never want to delve deeper because then they’d have to help pick up the pieces. It boils down to whether they can’t be bothered enough about you, or just simply can’t be bothered.

So it brings me back to my question from earlier. Is it worth trying? Why try? I don’t know anymore. I’m going through motions, afraid of stepping on feet, forsaking dreams and hobbies because I simply have nowhere to put them. I’m filled to the brim with instructions and forced aspirations I can’t remember what I wanted to do in the first place. And if I can’t remember it, if I couldn’t fight for it, did I ever deserve to want it?

Now someone else’s dream is mine and I’m living it. Someone else’s words are mine and I’m saying them. Someone else’s thoughts are mine and I’m thinking them. Someone else’s life is mine and I’m living it. I’m surviving it.

So what does that make me?