The World can Burn for all I Care

Am I the only one born with empathy? Why does no one f-cking care?

I’m scared I’ll leave this world with regrets. Not regrets of how I didn’t live well or how I didn’t achieve as much as I wanted, but regrets of how I spent my life being quiet—of taking everything in, of being overly tolerant because I’m empathetic. Regrets of not speaking freely because what if I offend someone? What if they find me annoying?

I’ve lived with people who found me exhausting, who found me annoying, they hated the way I breathe, complained of the way I chew, the way I yawn, the way I slept, I wasn’t allowed to laugh out loud because “A woman isn’t supposed to laugh that way” they’d say “Why do you walk that way? its not very lady-like of you. Are you possessed?” “No don’t cross your legs that way; you’re blocking your blessings” “You shouldn’t call yourself beautiful, God doesn’t like that, let others do it for you”

Everything I did was annoying, nothing was ever satisfying or good enough for them and yet, I took it all in, accepting their words because… what if they’re right? What if I’m really the way they say I am?

I wanted to tell them how much it hurts, how much it made me feel low of myself. Couldn’t they see what they were doing to me? Why did they act so freely while I held back? Am I the only one born with empathy? Why does no one fucking care?

You’re hurting me. Do you realize you’re hurting me? I laugh at your jokes because I fear if I don’t I’ll be chastised. I smile when I’m sad cause I fear if I don’t, I’ll be attacked for killing the mood—the vibe. I agree to everything you say cause I’m tired, I don’t feel the need to argue, to tell you you’re wrong, to tell you that I don’t want to do it the way you said I should do it, to beg you to please listen to my own opinions. I agree because you’d never listen to me anyway. My opinion has never mattered. You don’t care!

So what do I do when I die and the only thing I did in life was pretend? The only thing I did was look in the mirror every day and smile so wide my cheeks hurt because if I don’t, you’ll get mad. You will say I’ve come again. And then, you’ll pretend you care and start asking what the problem is like you weren’t the cause. You’re so cruel! You’re all so cruel!

I can hear the voices in my head. They’re screaming for a way out, they want to be heard, I can feel their hands on my lips, begging me to open up and say what I feel, say how I feel. They know. They can see the pain. They can feel it. They’re tired too.

But I’ve become numb. I’ve become so immune to this world, to family, to friends, to the society, to the church, to the community. Who cares what I’m doing with my life? I don’t care that you care. I don’t care that you keep asking why I’m not in a relationship, why I don’t have a stable job. I don’t give a fuck anymore. The society can burn for all I care.

You keep begging, begging me not fall into depression, not to let it consume me because you know. You know if it does, you’ll lose me. You want me to keep smiling. To stay strong. To take everything as it is. But you don’t see that you’ve clipped my wings. My depression episodes scares you more than it scares me. You know! You know what would happen if I let the darkness take me. You know I’d be gone forever. Alive, but gone.

I want to live. But I don’t want to fake my happiness. I don’t want to act like everything is fine when it’s not. I want to scream at the world—for being so unkind. For hurting me in ways I’d never hurt others. I want to get drunk by the riverside. I want to get high and forget who I am for a moment. I don’t want to exist anymore.

I hate that I’m so empathetic. I feel people’s pain too much, its why I don’t say the things in my head cause I’ll hurt you. I’ll hurt everyone. I pray, deep down, that maybe, maybe they’ll feel that way about me and not hurt me. And not treat me like someone who’s suppossed to be strong.

I’m not strong. I get hurt, a lot. I hide it. I hide my pain. I did that a lot as a kid, it became a part of me. You’d never see me crying except I want you too. You’d never know I’m hurting except I let you. I’ve mastered the art of hiding my pain. I hate it.

I hate it so much!

I hate everyone!

I can’t even say how I feel without feeling bad. Without feeling like I’m begging for attention, but what’s wrong with begging for attention? Does it make one a loser? What’s wrong with being a loser? Why do anyone care. I can’t cry anymore because it feels like I’m doing too much but I’m not. I’m really hurting. My head hurts! My chest hurts! My eyes hurts! Everywhere hurts!

I listen attentively. I care a lot because I know what it feels like to not be cared for. What it feels like to scream at the crowd and no one cares to listen, but you can see the crowd and they’re staring at you. You can see them staring. You wait, wait for some kind of reaction, a little show of care, a little love, a little help, but no one is moving towards you. They’re walking away, far away. You keep screaming but they don’t care. “It’s your life” they say, “Deal with it. We have our own issues to face.”

But you know, you know if they all come to you for help, you’d listen to them. Because you know how it feels to not be heard.

Maybe, on judgement day, I’ll be patted on the back for being so empathetic. For holding back. Maybe!

Or maybe, I’ll crash out before then.