Not me.

This post is going to be slightly emo, but I'll do you a favor by starting off on a happy note. There are less than two weeks left of school before finals week, in which I have ONE FINAL by the way, so life is good in that area. Summer is almost here, and all I want to do is use the time to rest. Because I'm exhausted.

My mood has been a freaking roller coaster these past couple of weeks. I mean, I have my days, but I thought I had accepted it and was determined to just enjoy life and be happy with what I have right now. But... there's always "but". But I've just been a little stressed out, and in the midst of all that stress came the wave of self-pity and loathing. It just happens sometimes, and I don't like it. It's these specific low periods that I honestly just want to lay down my load, close my eyes and just leave it. And I hate myself for it. For actually allowing myself to believe that dying would be the easy way out. That's just how I feel right now, because I'm just so tired of fighting this fight. 

It's impossible to describe in words what this is doing to me, but I wish so much that I could explain. Because I need so badly to get it off my shoulders, for someone to be able to understand, for someone to relate. I just want someone to know what the hell I'm going through so that I won't be alone in this battle anymore. I hate this feeling of being trapped in my own body, of refusing to believe that this battered body belongs to me. That I was chosen to bear the burden of this defective product. I need God, but I feel so forsaken. What made Him think that I could handle this? I'm obviously not handling it. Sometimes, when I wake up in the morning, my hand will twitch out of reflex and such a simple action will send a jolt of pain down my entire arm, and it's just those tiny situations that serve as constant reminders of my misfortune. Misfortune? I don't know what to call it. Condemnation. Curse. Punishment for whatever horrible things I've done in the past. I find myself in bed twelve to fifteen hours every day, trying to sleep even when I'm not tired, just so I won't have to be in pain.

My friends have been really supportive and careful with me, which I appreciate so much. If I'm lucky, they'll slow down for me or even help me achieve daily tasks before I have the chance to embarrass myself by failing at simple tasks like opening a door or picking something up off the floor. Goodness, I feel so pathetic. But what I don't understand is when friends who know how fragile I am and how easily I hurt will be aggressive with me anyway. It makes me angry, at them for being insensitive and at myself for being so fragile in the first place. But it just makes me want to ask them if they hate me or if they're just sadistic to begin with. But I guess I can't blame them entirely, because they'll never be able to feel it for themselves. No one really understands why I can't do so many things, but it's enough that they nod their heads and try to help me out. 

I hate being this person. The person who can't.