The first time I remember feeling really sad was when I was 12.
I think, at that point, I felt that way because the only friend I had suddenly left for another school. I liked that classmate; he was someone who’d read my old comic books, and sometimes, he’d even act out the characters’ voices. We’d draw heroes and monsters too, and I noticed that he really tried hard to make his own figures on paper, even when they looked kinda funky. He was left-handed, which looked to my 12-year-old eyes like he was straining himself too hard. I didn’t consider other classmates as close, and when he vanished, I missed him for a while. I forgot about him eventually, a few months later.
That was the catalyst, I think, that made me really aware of my emotions. I felt so alone at times during that period, that I’d just feign sickness and stay home. School was deathly boring, too, and I didn’t have any friends among my classmates. As a boy and as a teen, I didn’t open up to my parents because I felt like I was gonna burden them with how I felt. I didn’t want that, also because they were preoccupied with my younger siblings. So there I was, setting the good example, always the good brother, always a kid that people thought highly of. I’d lose myself in my drawings, in the comic books and toys I owned, in the songs that felt so welcoming. But I always felt alone.
Of course, I’ve gained some true friendships along the way, through the years. Religion became useful to me, too, but I didn’t realize then that it was just a crutch. Whenever I felt sad because of one thing or another, I didn’t know how to express it, and this feeling often mutated into anger. I didn’t blame my family for anything. I just felt inadequate or unwanted sometimes, which is pretty normal, I suppose. I was able to suppress a lot of things, though, because I thought that other people probably have worse things to worry about. Still, I knew that my emotions and dissatisfaction were valid.
Maybe I talk about this now because a friend told me about that 12-year-old kid in the
Did I feel like ending it all when things got bad, back then? Sometimes, yes. I’ll admit that much. But I always found a silver lining, and reasons to go on.
I lightened up and changed, eventually. I discarded religion eventually, too. That sounds easy but it wasn’t. It was really tough, sometimes, but I didn’t feel happy with it. The unspoken pressure to be the ideal brother was gone, too, so I didn’t feel like I was setting a bad example. Besides, I assume my siblings know why I’m this way--restless and headstrong--and they respect my space.
During some of my “dark 20s” days, I’d just feel like I was going through all sorts of crap, and it was my friends who’d remind me to be strong. My mom was there to talk to as well, the few times when I felt I couldn’t hold it in any longer. And for that, I’m really grateful to them. I’m doing my damnedest not to tear up right now.
As a grownup, I try to be more sensitive to others’ needs. I still feel bad, occasionally, because I’m far from perfect. It’s not often, but when I feel that way these days, or when I feel like I failed some people, my chest hurts. It’s brief, but it does. I don’t really whine about it. I just shut up, and try to clear my head. And exhale.
Anyway, the sadness disappears, too. I’ve felt and known true happiness. I still do. I’ve earned some rewards, and share what I can. I don’t try to justify my failures, at least most of the time. I don’t believe in the zodiac, but it’s funny that I’m a Scorpio through and through. Well, I’m just what I am. So few people get that, but I’m glad that I don’t have to conform to anyone’s imagined template of me.
Yeah, blogging as therapy. An actual shrink might want me to figure it all out by myself, anyway. Abandonment issues, feelings of insecurity, my goddamn drama… they all started when I was 12.
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