Earlier this evening, Ricky and I had another argument again.
I blamed him for being boring and for being too busy. I blamed him for not being spontaneous enough and for being too predictable. I blamed him for being too boring because he’s studying a lot, so that he can finish school and have a future. I blamed his predictability for his hectic career. I blamed him for not having enough time for me. I blamed him for making me rely on Rover, a guy friend, to fill the “boy friend time” that I should be spending with Ricky. I blamed him for making me feel bored in our relationship.
Earlier, when I was clouded in my own misery, I didn’t realize that Ricky doesn’t feel bored in our relationship. He feels uneasy, inadequate but not bored (not that I know of). In my realization, his life, despite hectic and busy, is a lot more challenging and filled with more important things to do. His life is the complete opposite of what I have. I don’t have a hectic schedule and I don’t have deadlines to stress about. I’m a so-called bum, waiting for my “go-signal” to come. I’m the one who’s bored and I’m the one who’s boring. I hate that I blame my boredom to Ricky when it’s me who has the problem.
Lately, I’ve tried to make myself happy. My self-esteem has gotten better. I feel beautiful, yet I feel sad. My depression has gotten worse. I can’t sleep at night. I think a lot. I literally have to wait for the clock to strike to 5 am in order to sleep or I succumb to Nyquil to help me. I don’t know what’s making me more depressed: my life or being surrounded by problematic people. Recently, I’ve been hanging out with people who are having problems with their love life and it’s taking a toll on me. I over think their problems and I try to see their perspective beyond what they can see. I try so hard to help them by listening but I’ve only made things worse for me: I become their “shock-absorber.”
Truly, I am a wallflower and I am slowly getting sucked into my own endless thoughts and it’s eating me alive. Running doesn’t help much. I like to think that I run and sweat, but I don’t know if I’m really losing weight. I could care less if I lose weight since I know my physical health is okay. However, my mental health has been a little unhealthy. I’ve been depressed, I see shadows moving bigger- as if they are closing in on me. I’ve thought about hanging myself and ending it all and yet, I’m scared to do it, because I still believe that I have a “half full” cup of hope. Also, I am very fake. I put this facade that I’m very happy, but deep down inside, I’m hanging on a single thread and I’m about to fall down into a pit of dark, melancholic abyss. No one knows how miserable I am, except Ricky.
I feel miserable, but somehow, there is still a small torch of hope- flickering inside me. A “green light” as F. Scott Fitzgerald defined it in his novel, The Great Gatsby: “a single green light, minute and faraway.” These are the moments when I need to keep that torch burning brighter and stronger. I have to sustain my own hope inside me because it’s what keeps me going. I know that I’m in a complete turmoil right now, but I know that all things will work out fine. I truly know this.