It has been a while since my last entry. As a matter of fact, it has been a while since I last wrote anything substantial. I used to believe that writing was therapeutic, but perhaps a part of me was arrogant enough to believe that someone wanted to know what I thought. After certain things have happened, I kind of made myself believe that whatever it is I have to say, it’s not important enough to put into writing. It’s slightly illogical, if you think about it, because this blog has close to zero audience, except for my best friends who checked it sometimes.
A large part of it is also me looking back and realising most of my writing was about something bad that I thought had happened to me, or how sad I was. It’s not that I am happy all the time now, but I just don’t want to always embrace that part of myself. ‘I feel like every time I see you something dramatic has happened’, a friend told me once. He wasn’t wrong, in my head something dramatic was always happening.
A lot has happened in between, good and bad things, but right now it’s a slightly bad period. I sometimes feel so cut off from people that some days I even ask myself if I need to stay in this conversation, or can I just leave? I run out of patience so easily, and I just say to myself, ‘If I don’t feel like staying, I should leave.’ I wonder if that’s a good thought, but a part of me prefers this extreme version than the previous version that would stay no matter how uncomfortable I felt.
There are different aspects of interaction about which I quickly lose patience. Sometimes it’s what they say, and other times it’s how they say it. Most of all, however, it’s a bit more simple than that. It’s just how I feel around them. If I don’t like who I am when I am around them, I make sure to just disappear as quick as possible. Right now, I just tell myself, why should I stay if this is not going anywhere positive for either of us?
Some relationships do make me sad when I leave, I admit, and yet if I had stayed, what good would it have done? I can no longer understand my previous self, or other people with whom I once shared similar traits. Why did I stay for that long? Why didn’t I leave? Why did I think that I was overthinking, and that it was all in my head? Whether or not a person is good in reality, if I start questioning them, it’s pretty obvious that we are incompatible as friends.
There are different kinds of people, and for some reason I don’t feel that pressured to make them like me anymore. People come, people go. They don’t tend to stay the same, and neither do I, so I feel as though I’m just accepting that fact.
the forgotten one 