Having been informed that it is over a month since my last post, and then instructed to write something, I am attempting to think of something to write. It used to come so easily, but now there's no fluency in my mind.
Some days, like yesterday, there is nothing inside my head at all, and I run on auto-pilot. Other days, like today, I'm so crammed full of everything that if and when I explode I'll cause the creation of another universe.
There are so many feelings that I have that I can't and won't write here. I am angry at my inability to express myself, and my ability to do everything wrong. I am also everyone's doormat, according to one wise source.
One feeling I can write about is disappointment. I am not feeling it, but I cause it everywhere I go. I am just not good enough for anyone. Muffy says she loves me, but it's hard to see how when she blitzes me at everything and gets upset when she over-reacts over something and I tell her to grow up, in so many words. I am a bad person for that.
Before you even consider writing a cheerful, optimistic reply, forget it. I don't want to hear it; it doesn't make me feel better, only worse. Keeping quiet will do me good, just like I did you all good without you knowing it when I decided to refuse to tell you about my emotions earlier in this post. I clam up because you are all more important than me, and deep down you don't want to hear about my feelings anyway. Your own problems are each so big that they fill up the year 12 common room, whereas mine are so small and insignificant yet titanic that all I am allowed to do is curl up in a ball and clam up. You don't care about my life, no matter how much you say you do, because to you, you are more important. Like I said before, don't even think about replying with a "We love you Ben" message, cause I don't want to hear it.
So unlike many of you, I do not write this blog as an explosion of emotion, but rather as a reason to have a vacuum of secrecy absorb me. I am expected to be the strong one who takes care of you all, admittedly all in different ways, but nevertheless it's true, and don't deny it. For that reason, I am a clam, and a doormat, and possibly a black hole as well.
Some worthy points of note are that when I say "you", I mean you as a group of readers, not anyone in particular. Also, this is not a suicidal message or anything, just a failed attempt at an explanation of why I feel bad but cannot tell you why, and why whatever you say will only make it worse.
I'm not sure it will get better. I'm a doormat by nature, and sometimes I think God treats me that way too. I mean, I hear often that everything in life has a reason, and that tests set by God are for the good, but when I look at some aspects of my life I don't see any way in which it can help me grow. Take today's Justice lesson for example. I was already having a sucky day, and I'd just seen how good Muffy's presentation was. So imagine my wondrous sense of happiness when I find out that mine pales in comparison to everyone else's, is half as long, has no references, and doesn't answer the question. And I have no cue cards. Not to mention two other people had done the exact same question, and done it better. Out of the nine people presenting, I was ninth even before I had to wait through the first six for my turn. How is that meant to benefit me? It only brings me down, and in particular, makes me guilty for my failures and my crimes.
Everything I do is just wrong, something that cannot be denied because each thing is wrong in a different way. You are also so lucky because I let myself be wronged far too much. I won't give you any examples involving you, but one example is my brother getting "first dibs" on, and spending a subsequent 5 hours in the last two days on, my $120 PS3 game that I bought with my own money and haven't been able to play for the past eight weeks. He does this with all my games, and in your own way each of you exploits me a little, just like I do to you. But you say no when I go too far with something, or point out when I'm exploiting you. I can't do that, and so you are all getting away with it, and I am filling up with sadness.
I am so filled with crap, and it hurts because I can't talk to anyone about it, partly because it wouldn't do any of you any good, and partly because I'm a coward.
Even after all of that I still haven't explained myself properly, and I know that come tonight when you see me at XS and ask what's up that you've been missing, I'll know that you'll have missed the point and I'll still be as misunderstood as ever.
