The empty feeling returned this evening - it's been such an alien emotion. I actually haven't felt empty since April.
I honestly don't have a clue how it came back. This time, just trying to be with it and repeating that it's not who I am. Just an emotion. Everyone has them.
I'm just laughing at myself. Loneliness creeping up on you. And you went back on Shiamatch. No biggie. Just go off of it again.
But why does it always hurt me so deeply every time I hear about someone getting/being married and actually being happy? It's not only that, just talking to people in general leaves me feeling so empty.
Possibly because I know I'll never have it. It doesn't really feel like a choice. Although, it obviously is.
I suppose this is London finally worming it's way into my psyche and dragging me down - again.
But why am I choosing to blame a blank city when....
I just hate myself for expressing myself and no longer being a 'good girl'. I detest myself for being me. How utterly futile an exercise when you're stuck with you and better off liking yourself.
Analysed this way too much, but I feel like writing and writing and writing. A nice change from the block I've had for a year.
I wish more people would realise this:
"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing. " Macbeth, W. Shakespeare
This always resonated within me. It is now. I am looking at myself from above and from within and I'm laughing at how trapped I am here. Having to make retarded small talk and sometimes choosing to do so and work within this failed social system and I don't fit. Anywhere. Still don't fit within myself.
All these bloody words. They never made me feel better. The only thing that made me feel better was drugs. Even if it was homeopathy, it was still outside of me.
That's why counselling is such a crock. I feel all closed up in that strait jacket all over again.
The image of me cutting my arm with a sharp knife just came to mind. Just cry and cry and let it out. Maybe tomorrow is a better day. (Poets of the Fall)
But I hate writing all this positivity bullshit when it's completely the opposite of what I feel.
I look around and I see people and I curse myself for ever having chosen to come down here and act out the bloody human experience. Such a futile exercise. Making issues out of non-issues. Me, firstly. Take this post as a prime example.
I don't want to marry. I don't want kids. Il n'y a rien plus.
De plus, I keep missing out on the events, meetings and workshops that might benefit me. My memory's really bad.
But, please remember Sukaina, you're a long way from lying on bed and staring at the wall. And you could always walk in front of the cars on London Road in rush hour. They'd never stop in time.
Or you could do the tube jumping thing and have Fati curse you for being so selfish while she's on her way to see yet another West End musical/play.
Could the mania really die down so quickly after the summer solstice, I wonder? Better think again about the SAD light.
Ah, l'éspoir du mort me donne la vie.... I love that.
I honestly don't have a clue how it came back. This time, just trying to be with it and repeating that it's not who I am. Just an emotion. Everyone has them.
I'm just laughing at myself. Loneliness creeping up on you. And you went back on Shiamatch. No biggie. Just go off of it again.
But why does it always hurt me so deeply every time I hear about someone getting/being married and actually being happy? It's not only that, just talking to people in general leaves me feeling so empty.
Possibly because I know I'll never have it. It doesn't really feel like a choice. Although, it obviously is.
I suppose this is London finally worming it's way into my psyche and dragging me down - again.
But why am I choosing to blame a blank city when....
I just hate myself for expressing myself and no longer being a 'good girl'. I detest myself for being me. How utterly futile an exercise when you're stuck with you and better off liking yourself.
Analysed this way too much, but I feel like writing and writing and writing. A nice change from the block I've had for a year.
I wish more people would realise this:
"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing. " Macbeth, W. Shakespeare
This always resonated within me. It is now. I am looking at myself from above and from within and I'm laughing at how trapped I am here. Having to make retarded small talk and sometimes choosing to do so and work within this failed social system and I don't fit. Anywhere. Still don't fit within myself.
All these bloody words. They never made me feel better. The only thing that made me feel better was drugs. Even if it was homeopathy, it was still outside of me.
That's why counselling is such a crock. I feel all closed up in that strait jacket all over again.
The image of me cutting my arm with a sharp knife just came to mind. Just cry and cry and let it out. Maybe tomorrow is a better day. (Poets of the Fall)
But I hate writing all this positivity bullshit when it's completely the opposite of what I feel.
I look around and I see people and I curse myself for ever having chosen to come down here and act out the bloody human experience. Such a futile exercise. Making issues out of non-issues. Me, firstly. Take this post as a prime example.
I don't want to marry. I don't want kids. Il n'y a rien plus.
De plus, I keep missing out on the events, meetings and workshops that might benefit me. My memory's really bad.
But, please remember Sukaina, you're a long way from lying on bed and staring at the wall. And you could always walk in front of the cars on London Road in rush hour. They'd never stop in time.
Or you could do the tube jumping thing and have Fati curse you for being so selfish while she's on her way to see yet another West End musical/play.
Could the mania really die down so quickly after the summer solstice, I wonder? Better think again about the SAD light.
Ah, l'éspoir du mort me donne la vie.... I love that.
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