Right off the bat, I just want to say that I'm not feeling nearly as awful as I'd be when writing a Turkey post, as group therapy is reinforcing what my counsellor has told me before: that I'm way too harsh on myself and I beat myself up too much. And so I'm well on a personal journey to learning to accept and let things be, learning to be happier, in a sense. Learning healthier thinking habits. Yes, I'm so insecure about myself to the point where I need trained counsellors, several therapists and even more therapy goers to tell me I beat myself up too much before I dare believe I'm being too harsh on myself. Fuck. Me.
I'm... just... here to indulge in some procrastination, from trying to write a rather difficult post on fourth wall, about my bullying in brief and codad/ wbb in more detail, sort of as a psych profile to outline my upbringing, and to perhaps try to sell the idea that I'm dealing with PTSD. Most of its symptoms do seem to match, some scarily well. It's just how I've come to rationalise my thoughts, feelings, and reactions. I may well be wrong, and to be honest it scares me to be right about mental issues because I always seem to dig up the worst sounding terms to label myself with.
And I'm also here to indulge in what I'd like to call "routine relapsing", because as my professional trained psychotherapists and their weekly handouts have stated, relapses are normal and to be expected on the path to recovery, and the important point is to not be too harsh on yourself, lest you feel worse about yourself and go back to square one for a true relapse. And, hey, I had an episode this morning before bed.
-details doctored out-
I'm just extremely hurt and puzzled that another woman, also taking a Business course, would be injected with the same "poison" by the Business course, see the world for what it truly is, and realise how worthless I am, and thus desert me. I'm so confused and hurt I'm coming up with whack ass scenarios like that in my head.
But, you know, it's fine. All of it.
No, really, that's not spite or sarcasm! Why don't you believe me?!
I've come to accept that I can't control how others feel. That is to say, I've come to learn and accept that I shouldn't hold myself responsible for how others perceive my words and actions, and in turn, to not hold myself responsible for how others feel.
I've learnt... well, I'm learning, anyway, to not give a damn, and to discern what I should or shouldn't give a damn about. My problem is that I care - too much. About others specifically. I want to be happy. I want everyone close to me to be happy. I want the world to be happy. But that's really stupid, isn't it? The world isn't that perfect, and neither am I. What position am I in to decide for others what happiness should be, to impose my own idea and brand of happiness onto them, especially when I myself am not happy? How hypocritical is that of me?
You're free to think what you will of me. I've stopped caring. I think it's high time I hardened my heart for good, and felt proud for it. If I can make you happy, if I can brighten your life in any way, hey, great! If not, pfft, right?
It's weird. It's not like I'm in denial, lying to myself. Yet for some odd reason I feel so... angry, saying all this. It's like I believe wholeheartedly what I'm saying, but I'm so so angry at myself for having come to this conclusion, like I don't wanna believe what I'm saying, but resigned in fighting common sense. Like I'm saying it all not because I've finally achieved peace and understanding, but rather out of spite.
Which leads me nicely to the Turkish part of this post.
This past Saturday night/ Sunday morning, I was suddenly invited out for a Karaoke session by JJ and YS. Can you believe that we've known each other for almost ten years now, yet have never heard each other sing? I'll spare you the details, mostly because there aren't much; it was three brothers going for a sing and enjoying every moment of it, myself included. Heck, I was even praised for my singing voice, and YS even said I should seriously considering writing my own songs, HA! I know I'm no pop star material, but the compliment certainly did float my boat all the way around the globe. Group therapy has also taught me to not be so skeptical of praise from others, and, you know, this whole "being too hard on myself" thing. I think the compliment really opened up my voice more, even after the 3 hour session.
But then I reach home, alone, in the dead of night, ahah.
I don't know, dear blog. I really don't know what came over me. It wasn't like I was sad, or lonely, or helpless, as are my usual excuses. Quite the opposite, actually: I was happy, I had good friends, good company, and I was feeling great about myself. And I know, I know full well, that looking Cypy up, digging up the past and what would never have been, would do me nothing but harm. I don't know why, knowing all this, I went and did it anyway.
I suppose I really want a woman, a love interest, to share moments like these with. That, or maybe I sang too many sad songs in Karaoke because my taste in music is weird and I'm so badly catered to in a predominantly Chinese centred K scene in Singapore, so what little songs I knew in the database are all pretty sad romantic crap and to emotionally invest myself into the songs to make them sound good I had to really deep fry myself in those emotions. I dunno, take your pick of excuses.
I just looked up her Instagram. I'd have kept that accursed app deleted from my phone had it not been for my sis always wanting to send me cat pictures. I tell myself it's of no use blaming society and materialistic model girls on Instagram that make me feel worthless in comparison and anxious with inadequacy when I could just not look at the damn app entirely. I tell myself it's up to me and my own self control, of which I apparently have none, because I looked up Cypy.
She isn't very active on Instagram, with very few new photos. But then I decided to be a smartass and check out her story, which shows her kissing a guy on the cheek in the dark, with some text along the lines of, "welcome back from reservist". Aaaaand that's when I knew I went and done fucked up.
I was irreversibly bitter and angry for, what, that entire day. I couldn't get it out of my mind. I couldn't stop swarming myself with negative, useless, bitter, spiteful thoughts and scenarios. Stuff like, -this stuff really isn't fit for public consumption-. But at the same time I also very strongly wish I didn't care enough to have these thoughts and scenarios to begin with.
Whenever I think of how the relationship between Cypy and I soured to an end, I can't help but to blame it all on myself. I always view the ending of that friendship that has spanned some ten years as me not being good enough for her. I'm not handsome enough, I'm not rich enough, I'm not generous enough, etc.. And, well, I don't distribute the blame of that entirely to my self esteem and self blaming issues either, because she has made it abundantly clear that I'm an ugly sack of shit on top of not putting enough effort into his appearance. She can with no hesitation tell me straight to my face that she wouldn't date me even if I were the last guy on earth. She says she wants a rich husband who'd keep her fed for the rest of her life because why else would a woman marry, right? She loves a "hot guy" and if there's anything the last ten years I've spent with her tells me, that's like, priority number one for her. If a guy is hot she can overlook any flaw and wrongdoing, time and again, actively finding excuses and justifications for his behavior each and every time, simply because he's hot.
Take that however you will, but to me, especially in self beating up mode, that means that she's an exceptionally kind and accepting woman; after all, that's what I loved about her, wasn't it? And if she's that cold towards me, especially nearing the end of our friendship, that must mean that I'm doing something horrendously wrong, right? After all, she was for the longest time one of the most understanding, accepting, and wonderful woman in my life, bar none. Not even my own family can say they've made me more comfortable than she did. I at one point felt so indebted to her that I felt like I could spend the rest of my life taking care of her and making her happy, and still be unable to return the favour of her friendship. In a sense, I think I redefined a lot of myself, and my expectations, in accordance to the time I've spent with her. She made me :THIS: happy, and I believe what I felt towards her to be strong enough to see us through marriage till death does us part. I believed THAT much in my own idea of happiness and our chemistry. And so it's only fair that I make her as happy as she made me, isn't it? If she wants a hot guy... if she wants a rich guy... then... well, there's no other option but to pursue those goals to make her happy, is there? Even if it drives me up the wall insane.
But, in keeping with the theme of group therapy and what I've learnt from all the help I've gotten from mental health professionals... I think I've come to see things a little differently now. All I can say is I tried my best, gave it my all, and I was 110% honest, sincere, and open throughout, which is to say, sometimes a little too much so. And, well, she has every right to pursue her own brand, her own idea of happiness, just as I have tried to with my own, even when it meant forcing it down her throat at times. Maybe it was stupid of me to have believed that two people could share the same idea of happiness and be bound together by that idea and goal. But I know what makes me happy. I know what I want out of a woman, out of a marriage, and if she can't be happy with what I want and what I can offer her, then simply put she's not wife material, even if she made me the happiest I've been my whole life thus far.
I can't control what she wants and feels. I've given my best and I'm proud of myself for that. That's enough. Or, at least, that'll have to be enough. I'll have to make do. Most importantly, I cannot shoulder the blame for her preferences in a relationship any more, and I'm glad I seem to finally have realised that, perhaps a little late. I deserve better. I want better. I don't regret cutting her from my life the way I did, but I'd be lying if I said I don't think of her at least several times a day, every day.
I suppose, using the excuse of hypocrisy as a crutch, that I've learnt to prioritise my own happiness over those of others.
Maybe it's because I'm super lonely. Maybe that's why I'm so upset that I've come to this conclusion that my own happiness takes priority over that of others', and that only people who find my company helpful should stay, and that I should only stay in the company of those who make me happy. I feel that it's so... surface level, you know? With --, --, and Cypy, it has went way past surface level. And when things are way past surface level... what are friends if they don't stick with you through thick and thin? What are friends who just up and walk away the moment something upsets them? I want to feel connected, valued, cherished, helped, elevated, and I want to do the same for others. I want friendships and relationships where the other party's best interests are a personal priority, which just can't happen if people are so nonchalant with dropping people who fail to make them happy. I kinda... want to try. And I want others to try for me as well, to make each other happy.
I suppose I'm upset because walking away is such an easy, cop out answer. Yet I've this sneaking suspicion that I'd be wholly okay with the common sense of walking away from others who don't make me happy, if I weren't so lonely myself.
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