I hate the past. Why can’t we just leave it behind? Why does what happened before have to matter to now? I loved history at school but I suppose that was because I was too young to have a history of my own then. I didn’t understand what the past was going to mean to me in the future.
Time again, eh? It makes your head explode.
This time two years ago I was happy. Truly – I was happy. Sure I had a broken brain but I was in charge – I was managing it and life was good. Then, one day it all changed. It really was as quick as that. One day I had one life and the next day I had another life. I never wanted the other life. I wasn’t built for it. You see this life that I have? I’m not supposed to be in it.
Let’s get rid of all that broken brain stuff. Broken brain is a big problem but, in the main scheme of things it’s the least of the things I have to worry about. The truth of it is, the biggest thing, and the rawest thing, and the thing that hurts the most is the fact that I am lonely.
I’m lonely because I’m alone. That stands to reason. I had a birthday the other day and do you know how many people I spoke to on my birthday? One. That’s one fellow human being – not just on any day, but on my birthday. By the way – I have two parents and one sibling. You can do the maths there, can’t you? I’m not a bad person. I’m not a horrible person. I’m just a frightened person. Or does being frightened make you bad and horrible? Is it another one of those rules that I don’t quite understand.
Where is everybody? Where are those people that I care so much for that it HURTS? Why do I care so much that it HURTS for people who aren’t even attached enough to drop me a line on my birthday? Why does any of this matter to me? If you tell people you don’t care about your birthday you shouldn’t be surprised that they don’t care either, should you?
What’s the matter with me?
I’m also lonely because my head seems to be different. It’s not that I think I’m special or unique – it’s just that my brain doesn’t seem to work like other peoples. Sometimes I say things and people look at me like I’m a freak or an alien or something. How do I always manage to get it so wrong? How did I end up being not real or proper? Am I really an alien from planet odd? Why can’t I be like everybody else?
Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m mental or just a bit of a weido… Either way, I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.
Am I feeling sorry for myself? You betcha! Do I have good reason? Who knows?
Love from WeeGee – all mixed up and lonely and overwhelmed xxx