Sometimes it really breaks me

...that I have no one to depend on when I have money issues. Ever since I was fourteen, I have had to take care of myself financially, pay my own bills and other expenses. And ever since I moved to my apartment, I have had to pay my own rent too.

Hell, it just bugs me when people boast about how their parents have bought them a car or paid their rents for the rest of the year or bought them food.

I have no parents to depend on this. Actually, I'm the one who's there for my dad, when he needs money.
Every. Single. Fucking. Time.
Even when he was still drinking. I was basically the one who bought him the booze sometimes.

I struggle and struggle and try to save up money, but it's hard. It's hard because of all those bills and rents and hell, all the pretty things I like to buy when I'm feeling upset, because they make me feel better for a while. I buy them because I'm the only one who can buy them for me.

And then, later, I feel guilty for spending money on something I like, because I could've spent the money on something I need.


God, I hate being poor, so if you are out there, make me rich. Preferably soon.

What I have realized recently

...is that there is undoubtedly something really wrong with me.

I had a decent day today, nothing went wrong. I actually had some fun.
Now I'm sitting on my bed, crying my heart out for god knows why. And this happens rather frequently nowadays...

Yeah, so long, sanity.
Won't be missin' ya.

Do I have anything to look forward to on 2012?

My mind is blank.

How to stop a storm?

It's been storming for a few days already, not only outside my window but in my life as well. The storm outside is raging and furious, making trees fall and causing power cuts.
The storm inside me is smaller and calmer, but still it's making me waver.

I don't exactly know where it came from, this thunderstorm. Maybe it was because of Christmas, maybe it's because tomorrow my mother would turn 60. Maybe it's because soon comes the new year and I'm not really prepared to face another year without her. Probably it's because of everything.

It snowed on Christmas. It made me happy. Without snow, it might have been even more miserable - not saying that I didn't have a nice Christmas, it's just... What I have come to realize is that Christmas is never going to be the same without her.

It snowed on Christmas and it made me happy, but how do I stop this storm inside of me now? I don't know, but I will. Someday.




PS. Hey you. You awesome person. If you're reading this, I'm sorry that I haven't been in contact for a few days. I'm sorry that I won't probably be able to be in contact with you for the next few days as well. I'm sorry that I have been avoiding you - well, I have been running away from everyone, actually. But stop worrying, because I'm pretty sure you are. You shouldn't. I am... I will be fine. Just wait for me. Give me some time.
I'll make all this up to by letting you stab me ten times the next time we chat, alright?


PPS. It felt kind of weird to send you this via Facebook or something (I tried!), so I'm blogging it instead and making it all in public. Ha.
Sorry........

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.