The life in the diary – XIX

Fiction
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May 17, 2013

I am so confused nowadays. I did not want to put these in writing, as I believe writing things solidifies them, but I guess I gotta talk to at least myself about it.

I met this man a couple of days ago at our work place. He is one of these new recruits that does an amazing job. He is humble though, not hinting much about his success or capabilities. He does not over-look those he meets or talks. Nor wear designer suits that do all the talk. No. He is just a regular guy with a nice attire, perfect manners, and humility. I like these in him.

He looks so healthy and full of life. He also happens to show interest in me. That is what I react to strangely. I do not want it.

Compare him with me and I see a sick person. A person who has been struck not once but twice. I am not naive to think that it is over yet. I know my chances. And chances are scary.

I cannot breathe sometime when I remember these. Fear suffocates me. Depresses me. I want to quit all for once and all. The truth is that I am more scared about these thoughts than the future health-related risks of mine. It is a vicious cycle. The only way is to distract my thoughts from them. Changing from one mental state to other, from one world of thoughts to other, is tiring. But at least it gives my mind a chance to breathe.

I want to rebel at life sometimes. Where was the nice life full of goodness and happiness? The life that we grew up with reading in the fairy tales. I am upset with this entire process; noone prepares you for the life as it is.

I am no longer a kid. I think you stop being a kid when you face life alone for the first time and then it is never the same after that.

I feel like a damaged good. Something that is not good enough. Something unreliable, unstable, unwanted. I cannot get rid of these thoughts even though I know that I should keep going and even though I know that I survived hard times and possibly am stronger than I think I am. Yet, it has not happened yet.

Whenever I find hope and excitement in life, something inside me reminds me that it is of no use to want these. That I am not good enough to even hope for things that I would otherwise be entitled to. Like taking up a new job with more responsibilities. Like putting down a mortgage and buying a house. Like imagining the next day, the next year, or my old age and retired life. Like falling in love. No, I no longer have the right to dream – my wings are broken permanently.

When one cannot dream, then what is left of the meaning of life, what is left of the joy of life?

I like the fact that he is interested in me. But, no – I cannot want it…

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The life in the diary – XIX
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