I’m not brave, I never was. Neither am I strong nor spirited. Never was and I don’t think I ever will be. So it just kind of confuses me when people tell me to be; like, when did I ever even seemingly show off strength that you’d expect such from me?
I’ve always been weak. I’ll always be weak. Because that’s just how I am. I never claimed to be strong, at least not that I could remember. And the thing about me is that no matter what shit I get through, I don’t get through it because I’m “strong”. I only get through it because I have no other choice and when I do go through shit I’m just so messed up and crumbling to pieces that I barely make it. But somehow I do; and it’s not because I’m strong.
It’s so frustrating and, frankly, hardly comforting when people tell me: “Oh, Alaska, you should be strong. We’re here for you.” And I just stare at them thinking: and what good does that do me? Huh? Tell me how your being “there” helps me? But, of course, we all know the answer to that. It helps to know you’re not alone; that even if you go through things there are people there who look out for you and care for you. But the thing is, I don’t want them there. I need them there; I just don’t want them there. I don’t need them to see how weak I really am and how messed up I am and how I can barely trod on through life. It’s embarrassing to let them see the side of me that has no will to live anymore.
It’s humiliating—degrading, even—to have them pitying me for not having any strength. I don’t need their help for me to be able to carry on. I can take care of myself—well, not really but I can handle things just fine on my own. And that’s my pride talking—whatever’s left of it. I’ve always been just full of pride that it disgusts me so much that I’ve become so much weaker than I used to be; that I’ve become this docile self-harming weakling.
And I just don’t know what to do with myself anymore.
I don’t want to kill myself and make my mum feel like she is/was a sad excuse for a parent. I don’t want her to blame herself or to feel like she didn’t do her job right.
I don’t want to leave my little brother. I may be cold and crude towards him but I love him nevertheless. And I don’t want him to go through whatever crap is ahead for our family. And he’s sort of a mess himself and I don’t want to be the reason he’d lose whatever progress he’s made. Plus, I don’t want to add shit to this family. I can feel that they might blame mom or my biological dad for this. Although, I’d accept for my father to take the blame for his lack of physical and emotional presence through the years, it wouldn’t be right and if the dead could feel guilt then I sure as hell will feel guilty.
And if I die I’d never be able to do all those things that I’ve wanted to: make a kick-ass music video, direct and write a life-changing independent film, change the generic and mainstream media, be a radio or TV show host, be a mom, do something I’ve been too scared to do, own a bookstore or thrift shop, get myself a bunch of vinyl records and listen to them with my very own player, learn to play the drums, travel around the world and live in Europe and Japan, watch at least some of my favorite band’s concerts and meet them, read all the books in my bookshelf and watch all the movies on my list, own a house by the beach or lake, take my grandma, mum, and brothers to another country, learn to drive and own a car, get rich and spend a huge chunk of my wealth on charity thing to help build shelters, hospitals and schools, help homeless and jobless people, get my family our own mausoleum, build a library, get stray cats and dogs off the streets and find them proper homes, etc.
So it’s kind of sad that there’s so much I want to do but so little will left in me to live long enough to do them.