…And I’m led to the question: Who am I really? Am I really the girl that’s shy and quiet, can’t control her emotions, a bit too crazy for to be an average person? The one that can’t stop rambling when she starts? The girl with hardly any friend? The girl that never talks one moment, and then all over the place the next? The socially awkward one?The girl that acts so differently depending on her mood? The bookworm? The girl that hates sport? The girl… the list drags on. And as I was playing back those thousands of memories, as if it was a tape… I think. No. That’s not me? So who am I? _insert my full name here_? Kiwi? Just… one of the many people living in the world? I mean sure. I’m me. You’re you…. but who am I? To be really fully honest… I just. I. Don’t know.
And… and my memories are all blurred. I can’t seem to remember happy things. Maybe I’m too depressed. And when I try to think about all those happy things- they make me even more sad. Like, I think about my past NaNo’s. But then I remember how bad I really am. That I can’t seem to write anything- apart from ranting. And whenever I say: ‘Tomorrow will be better.’ It never is. I try, man, I really do try, to be happy. And I can be happy sometimes. A little too happy. It’s like I use up all my happiness in one big chunk, and then left without, suffering with being unhappy- for so, so long. And how does this link to my memories? And recognising who I am? Well it does- it entirely does. Even if I’m the only person that thinks this- the whole thing links up. It’s confusing, but sure.
Then whenever I think about the past, present and future… Let’s just say the past first, I can’t remember half of my past. When I was just a little kid, learning to talk… I have snippets of memories. Those were good happy times. And the present? Well the present seems to be dragging on and on, and at the same time as I always say ‘the year went by so fast’.. I think about the things I’ve done, and well. Every day seems to be the same. A movie playing on repeat. I do this. Then this. Then that. And then this again. Repeat 365 days. New year. Do this, that, this….
And then I remember. Those times, sometimes, when I’m scrambling for a pen or pencil, anything to jot down my thoughts, to write, my fingers pitter pattering on to the keyboard, my hands aching from writing so much. But those memories feel like such a long time ago. Even if it hasn’t been that long. Cause, like in my new year post I said- I can’t seem to write anything.
And so all I’m left with is… An unhappy girl that doesn’t know who she is thinks all the good times are over…
I don’t know. I just don’t know. This rant didn’t probably even make any sense. I. I just. And I always have to put on a brave face. But. I’m not brave on the inside. No. I want things to get better. I’m trying. I really am. But my new memories aren’t as good as my old. And I want them to be. But they aren’t. Maybe I just need to try harder. But I’ve tried so hard. So, so hard. Don’t give up, I tell myself. And I won’t. It feels good- getting all this out of me. Maybe now I can be happy. I’ll try.