I was thinking tonight, as I cannot sleep, that the thing I hate the most to talk or think about is… myself. And it’s not because I don’t like what I see, it’s just that I can’t understand me. A contradiction, because when I see other people, I find really easy to comprehend what is going on with them, why they behave the way they do, etc. Some of them are a bit more complicated, sometimes brilliant, but it’s just for some fleeting moments, and then they go back to normal. But I’m unable and dumb at understanding myself. Everytime I look seriously inside me, the knot is so mazy I throw my hands to the head and prefer to close my eyes and leave it for another while.
Anyway, the only thing I’ve ever wanted is to do the things normal people do. Normal things like having other people, doing projects and things they feel passionate about, feel connected to family and friends, enjoying watching sports and be truly involved with their lives, feelings and the world in general. And I try to do a little scale version of this kind of normal life for myself, something I can manage, having at least someone, doing something for the future, etc. But I’m never truly connected or convinced about it. Most of it, it’s just a fake. And then I create my own habits and pretend I’m normal and my life is normal, believing in my own lie, but when something happens that breaks the routine, suddenly I look at myself and this life and I can’t scape the truth: I will never be like the others, nor I’ll ever have the things they have, do the things they do. And a storm starts where I make all kind of accusations against me, I try so desperately to know what I’m doing and end up exhausted and sad.
And why am I so special? I’m just an average person, like everyone else. If you see me walking in the street, there’s nothing in me that would make you suspect. When I was young, at school, teachers used to say: ‘This girl is so intelligent, she’ll go far’. And look at me now, I’m just another computer scientist lost in a crowd of people worse or better than me. Where does this perception that I’m strange come from? Maybe it’s just that I’m disconnected from everyone, even from myself. Maybe it’s just that I’m so bad at being with people that I can’t even be with myself. I have no idea of who I am, the only thing I am is loneliness and being strange. And sometimes I feel dispair because of that, because it wasn’t my choice, and I don’t know how to sort my life, or the person I am. And if you knew me, you’d be surprised of reading these things here, because that’s not the image I project to the outside. To the outside I’m a extemely serious and responsible, I’m a person of no jokes, and I can take over any situation regarding work or studies. But when you dig deeper, if I consider you’re a important to me, you’ll soon encounter all the contradictions and chaos within me. You’ll find that I’m botched, that I don’t know what I want. What would do when the time comes and you find out? I can’t ask you to bear with me, I can’t ask you to help me, but it’s the only thing I ever really wanted. And this is my best kept secret.