I have grown up as a shy, introvert person. Silence and solitude are fine for me. Lot of people, noise, too much social interaction make me sick. I can’t show up to somebody and approach for friendship. I don’t mind to have my lunch alone. Nonetheless I don’t like to be left out or abandoned by society. I never had many friends to play with but I was happy and contented with my life.
I was close to my mom in my childhood. There were like two girls in my class, who knew everything about my life. I had my diary. So I could talk/write about the things in my mind. After I moved out, life has changed in many aspects. I’m no more school going kid, I can’t meet my childhood friends on regular basis. The difference in opinion with my parents has made me dettached from them too.
I have my own problems. Work stress, trying to stay positive when my self esteem has reached its ground level, acting like a strong independent woman while I long for somebody to grab my favourite ice-cream and show up at 2 a.m., somebody to lend me a shoulder to lean on. Most of my anxiety come from the thought that I’m not doing justice to myself. It’s like a guilt that haunts me and I keep running away without any destination.
I have an elder sibling. I used to share my problems with her. But now I see that she has greater problems in her life. Maybe that’s the reason she doesn’t understand my problems very well. You can’t tell a homeless and jobless person that you hate your job, you hate your small dark room, you hate the food you have everyday. Because his/her main demand is to get a roof and some food but yours is to get better than what you have. Don’t get me wrong, neither sissy is homeless and unemployed nor I hate my job. Our problems are very different. When I discussed my problems with her, she tried to console me and everytime her consolation ended up in comparison between her life and my life. So she would start with saying nice optimistic staffs and end with, “… hence your life is so much better than mine. So just chill” everytime. Sharing my problems with her don’t make me feel better, so I stopped telling her things that bother me.
My mom is happy if I have a decent job, dad is happy if I can earn to offer my family luxury. Who doesn’t want to be rich? Money cannot buy everything but money can make my reduced hairline come back, can make my skin flawless, can get me some followers, can do many other things. My objective is to find balance between work and life. My parents don’t understand this idea. I need time to spend with myself, to read a novel, to visit a cafè, to travel, to write about things. I don’t know if that’s possible with a 9-to-5 job. Last week I had a bad blood with my father in this regard. He thinks that I’m spending too much while earning very little. I was very upset about this for the whole week. I thought of every possible way to cut down my expenses. The best thing I can do is to reduce my visit to home. My one visit costs around half of a month’s salary and that’s too much to bear. Living in a metro city is lot more expensive than in a small town where I grew up. They just don’t understand my situation. Now I just gave up explaining this to them, rather I remain silent. I cry myself to sleep wondering how I could make things better, I search for answers for all the accusations on me.
My friends think I’m being dramatic. Some think I just need a boyfriend, some think I’m just a hopeless fool who doesn’t have a say of her own. My negative posts on Facebook have earned me a lot of clueless well wishers. I hate talking about my problems to people who can’t make me feel better, who can’t make me get over. This is just like a pillow I’m cring on. It’s better than human because I can’t expect anything from a lifeless object.
Sometimes I just want to close myself in a cupboard and stay there for a while, for a long while…
