Although
constantly surrounded by children, I was always a lonely child. Lonely in my
beliefs, in my fears, in my doubts, in my shyness. I had so many questions I
would like to ask, such as knowing what exactly that tiny Santa Claus my
parents had given me was carrying in his bag, or knowing how was it possible
that people would fit inside that shinning box in the living room, or knowing
if witches really existed and if they were ugly as they were usually portrayed,
or understanding why I never looked anything like Barbie or those Disney
princesses. I’ve always had those questions, but I remained quiet, saved them
for myself, too ashamed to admit that I actually wanted to know something. And
this feeling followed me every day of my life. It was around whenever I couldn’t
raise my hand to ask a question during class, or when I simply couldn’t tell me
my boss that I had no idea of what he was talking about, or when I failed to
have the guts of asking this one particular guy how exactly he felt about me. With these constant doubts in my head, if
feels that I’m always away. Anywhere, but here. Never here. And this is very clear whenever he hugs me in
the morning and somehow it feels as if I weren’t there, if feels like I run
away somewhere safe and protect myself from the feeling of being held by the
one I love, as if this could hurt me somehow. Whenever he talks to me, hugs me
or kiss my face in that sweet, unassuming way he always does, it feels like a
dream and one of those dreams you can’t remember of when you wake up.
Twenty
seven years old. I keep telling myself that by this time I should be able to
deal with these love-related issues, that by now my life should be stable and
that I should be happy. When I was younger, I used to close my eyes and think
that somehow, by the time I was on my late 20s, my life would be completely different.
I would have a house, a family, a car, an amazing job, money and beauty. All I
have accomplished by now is the car and it was a gift, actually. I don’t think
I would have made it on my own...When I created this fantasy in my head, I
forgot to design a path, a plan, something that would lead me to this ideal
life. It’s only now that I realize that I failed and I feel that it’s a bit too
late to try to fix it.
I never
dreamed of getting married, it was never a desire I had, but every now and then
I find myself lost in this idea of this
simple marriage in the countryside or by the beach. No priests or anything like
it, just one of the friends I don’t have reading a poem he wrote about me and
my fiancée, who doesn’t exist either; I’m still not quite sure that I’ll ever
want to have kids, but I feel jealous
when I see a picture of my friends’ kids’ birthday and my eyes are filled with
tears whenever I see one of those tiny baby
I’ve always
thought of myself as some peculiar character, a person who is difficult to
understand at first, but who is totally worth the effort afterwards, but now I
just think I’m pathetic, killing myself a little bit everyday trying to please,
trying so hard to make people like me, people who I don’t even care that much
in many cases. I feel constantly lonely,
constantly empty. I have this feeling that something very important is missing in my life and I know it is joy, pleasure, but I can’t seem to get up and do something
about it. Sometimes it feels as if I did not deserve anything good. Am I depressed?
