I’m very melancholic.
A movie, a song, even a writing could hit me right on the spot. I almost think of it as chronic, up until I see some of my friends whom from my point of view love to create drama for themselves. That’s when I started feeling normal.
I never told a soul about this, not until a couple of days ago. Everyone always praised me for being very social, proactive, easy to talk to, likes to mingle, have high self-esteem…so on and o forth. Those appraisals never fail to burden me. Gnawing over my very social existent.
What they don’t know is that everyday I put up a lie. A compilation of lies that will rise so high that I use it as a fort to protect me from I don’t know what. Those lies are not always lies, most of the times they were just fake smiles, fake mood swings, fake laugh, fake craziness……..anything to put me through the day and spare me from imploding in front of a crowd.
This is sick, isn’t it? However, I put effort and ethics to this too. I always try to not hurt anyone in the process….but actually, there is always people that can be hurt by this…….my parents and myself.
As a kid, I got bullied. A lot. From friends at school, even from my own family members. I was dark in complexion, and none of my living relatives were as dark as I was. I also had high-pitched voice. Combinations of both gave people the creative instinct to create names and remarks about me and towards me. Some times in a jokingly kind of way, a “trying-hard-to-impress” kind of way, a superiority vs inferiority attack kind of way, and of course “self-proving” kind of way.
I could never see those remarks they made as jokes, because it always hurt and it never gets better, even now. My mom always said that we should always be thankful for our being, and that I should be thankful for mine. So I did, I tried, and still am. But I never understood why do people have to point out my imperfection, the one that I did not make myself. The one God gave me. The one they considered as flaw.
Growing up, I had a hard battle with myself. I tried very hard to put on a face and act tough, like nothing is wrong, like I accept myself and I don’t care what they think. But the fact was, and still is, I do care. I do take it personally, I do feel hurt because of it……and at times I do hate myself for it.
This part, I blame myself even more. If my mom finds out about this, she will be very sad. That her daughter cannot accept the skin she has been living with her whole life. That the daughter she thinks is tough and solid is actually as weak as a dying orchid. That her daughter lied to her most of her life growing up. That her daughter still can’t love herself, even now.
I pity myself. I pity myself for accepting the insults, for laughing along while people were laughing at me, for insulting myself with them. It hurts my pride, my self-esteem, my self-worthiness. And yet, all I ever did until now is to fake……everything, anything. Just to get by each day and each moment.
I want to stop being that. I want to stop hurting myself and start living. Living with my own skin, loving it and be thankful for it. It’s about time I do this, but where to start? How?