A fear.

I'm afraid of corpses.

When my mother died four years ago, we went to see her for the last time at the morgue. All my sisters went and caressed my mother's bald head or hold her cold hand. And then they all made room for me, stepped aside, since I was just standing there, in the corner, feeling empty. I didn't want to, but everyone expected me to, so I touched her hand.
I kept thinking "why should I do this? This is not my mother", but I couldn't refuse, everyone was staring at me. And to be honest, I felt really sick and I just wanted to wash my hands over and over and over, until my skin would peel off.
But I didn't. I washed my hands only once, got in the elevator with everyone. After that I don't remember anything, how we got home... I only remember that the weather was cold.

Then, in 2009, after two years from my mothers death, we went to the capital city with my class. It was a school trip, and we went to see some exhibitions. And then there was photographs a person had taken in a morgue. Pictures of dead people, corpses, crying relatives.
It was the worst panic attack I have ever had. I felt I couldn't breathe, all I could do was just stand there feeling sick until someone asked if everything was alright and I ran away.
Sitting next to my teacher in the vestibule, waiting for the rest of the class come out from the exhibition hall, I cried.

So yes. I never really tell people this, but I'm afraid of corpses more than anything (or I've yet to find a thing that would scare me more than a corpse).

I wonder.

Lately, I have heard about happy things that have happened to my friends - one of them just got engaged, the other one has already been engaged for two years. Everyone seems to be in a happy relationship, one has dated the same guy for six months, one for seven.

I don't really know what love is, or what it's like to have a crush on someone. A real crush that sticks to you like a gum to your hair.
I have dated twice. At first, I thought I really was in love - or at least had a crush on them. But I wonder, was it really love? If yes, how can it be that feelings wither away so fast? The first time - six months and then I ended it. The second time - only two months.
If it wasn't love... Then what is? I used to think... No, I'm not sure what I used to think. I don't even know what I think  right now.

I hate that I'm the one who has to hurt people. I would rather be dumped by a guy I really really like, than break someone's heart. Giving someone hope, telling that I like him too... I'm afraid to do that anymore, even if I felt that way.
Because in the end, I might just end up hurting him.

I wonder why someone could love me. I might just be something broken, something damaged.


PS. I also wonder - as that seems to be the theme of the day - if people who are reading this think I'm really depressed/depressing person. I can assure you, I am not (at least I hope so!).
This blog is just a way for me to let out all my deepest dreams, hopes, thoughts, fears, the things I can't really bring myself to talk about. Because I am what I am - an awkward person.

What do you think of me?

Once - not long ago - when I got from school, some of my classmates were heading to the same direction as me. I wanted to go with them, but it felt awkward to ask if they wanted to go with me. So I didn't. They looked like they had fun, like they always do. I probably looked just like a fool.

There are times when I wonder what people think of me. The ones I dated and then threw away; are they hating me now, thinking that I'm cruel? The ones I have fun with at school; are they relieved that they don't have to spend time with me outside school? The ones I consider as my closest friends, but with whom I fail to keep contact sometimes; are they disappointed in me?
The ones to whom I wasn't able to offer my help when they needed it; can they ever trust me again?


What do you think of me? I'd like to ask, but I can't.


I wish I had the courage to even put these words on a little piece of paper and send it to them. I wish I had the courage to ask my classmates to walk with me if they're going to the same direction.

I wish I could stop being this stupid-cruel-insecure-weak-awkward-bad friend-liar that I am.

Sometimes.

Sometimes I feel like things I see in the past haven't happened to me. Sometimes I feel like I don't know how I am. Sometimes, when I look in to a mirror, I don't recognize the person I see. It's not me.
Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm awake or still dreaming.

Sometimes I wonder, that if this really is just a dream - a dream that has lasted for 4 years now, how will I feel after I wake up? Will I be happy, because I'd get my mother back? Or will I miss the person I am right now, miss all the years I have lived in this dream.
Sometimes I think, that this really is a dream. This whole life is a dream. Like in Matrix, we don't really exist in this place, we're somewhere else, sleeping. And when we die, we finally wake up - or fall asleep again.

Sometimes - like now - I should just go to bed and stop thinking about these things.

I wish I could've done it...

...But I couldn't. All that is left now is just the feeling that I'm not good enough. I don't have the drive to do things, even when I have the time. School is making me busy, yes, but sometimes it's just an excuse for me. When I say that I have a lot of school works to do, am I telling the truth, or just hiding behind a lie?
I'm not too sure about it anymore.
I don't know. They say that I have my own style in writing, that I'm good at what I do. That I have a great imagination. I just say that the stories come to me. I don't make them up, they're there already, waiting to be read. But is that the truth, I don't know. I just have these fingers, they keep writing whatever just comes to my mind.
I don't know if I'm gifted. I'm not sure if I'm worthy enough to call gifted. Not sure if I have talent.
I don't even have the drive, the inspiration to do things.

But writing is still the only thing that I have. The only thing I want to keep doing until my fingers won't move and the blood won't flow in my veins.

...I wish I could've done it, still. But I couldn't.
I might be a liar sometimes, but right now that's the truth and it makes me sad.

But I'll live.