It is easy for me to say I have been hurt. Because I have, I have been hurt. I’m not sure if people realize that, if they see that I am not bulletproof, or if they just look at my smiling face, my behavior, and think I am one of the “perfect” ones, the ones who have it so easy, who never have to struggle, who don’t know what hurt is.
I’m not.
I know what hurt is. I know what lost is. I know what broken is.
It’s leaning against your door, crying and saying it’s over something stupid, when really you know it is something else altogether: this huge, looming grey cloud over your head.
It’s going through your closet to find something to wear and looking at every piece of clothing with disdain. They aren’t good enough. You aren’t good enough.
It’s picking up the phone to call someone because you know you need to talk – and realizing there’s nobody that will listen.
It’s listening that whom u loved more then yourself, wants to marry someone else just because she don’t want to feel any pains.
It’s figuring out who everyone else wants you to be, and becoming that person only after you have hidden your own identity. And doing this not because you want to be better, but because you feel it is the only way to make people notice you.
It’s thinking, I will be better than them. I will be prettier than them – then they’ll see, but then trying it and finding out you’re incapable of being prettier than them. You fail.
It’s talking to an old friend who asks you, “why don’t you have any friends? maybe if you weren’t so quiet,” and then crying to yourself because there are a lot of Maybe Ifs you can come up with. Maybe if I were prettier. Maybe if I weren’t so serious. Maybe if I listened to the same music as them. Maybe if…
It’s finding someone who you think might actually like you and then finding out… they don’t, not like that, and watching things fall apart from there.
It’s the crushing feeling of rejection, of jealousy, of feeling being like nothing next to the boy whom she DO like, and not wanting to admit that because you’re not that boy. You’re not petty, you don’t envy! (But obviously you do.)
It’s realizing you care about people who don’t reciprocate – and learning to be okay with that, to not get bitter.
It’s confusion about who you are versus who everyone expects you to be.
It’s rejection from people you’d wanted to become friends with, they don’t want any contacts from you.
It’s heartbreak that crushes you.
It’s falling down so many times you really don’t want to get back up.
I wore these tears from a long time. May she understand me SOME DAY, Outwardly I was the picture version of who I should have been at the start, of who I think still could have been accepted if only there would have been no CASTES.
But I wasn’t lucky enough.
And I’m not of her caste.
And I’m not okay with that. I realize this, as I am driving home tonight, that I hate who I am. I’m not okay with myself and it has taken a long time to get here, but I finally am not what I wanted. I’m lost somewhere. I don’t understand what it is about me that makes others NOT want to get to know me, and it is not okay. I mean, I hate it, but I think I’m finally – FINALLY – starting to accept that IT’S NOT MY FAULT. I’m the sort of person who’s always taking responsibility for things, but maybe this is something that I can’t keep blaming myself for. Because you know what?
I’m nice.
I’m smart.
I’m funny.
I’m pretty, kind of, sometimes.
I’m kind.
I care, sometimes too much.
I smile. I laugh.
I’m lovely inside. My Mom continually tell me this, but I’m still working on believing her.
But I’m lonely, feeling the pain of being hurt and broken.
So this is it. I’ve been hurt and lost and broken, and those are things I still carry with me. I also want to feel happy like her, I want to live n die with her but I m not the one who says father I cant bear this pain so I agree for what u say.
I also want to make friends, yes, but I don’t need to feel like a piece of crap about myself in the process.
I know who I m. someone hates for who I m.
I know who I am, I like who I am, and though I am not perfect I’m okay with who I am.
But is it fair, that I should be hurt, rejected and broken for who I am.
I’ve been hurt and lost and broken, for who I am.
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