Some events in the past week have made me realise that people assume something from me, and they do not attempt to understand at all.
It never ceases to amaze me how the days pass me by. I try and ignore the constant ticking of my watch - always reminding me that time is passing by, and so are the days; nothing I can do will ever stop it.
I give up... I have to stop for I am tired and weary.
People pass me by in the streets, my friends - if I choose to give them that title, do not realise how tired I am; both mentally and physically. People only choose to see what they want to see, they will judge a book by its cover and even though my appearance is like that of any other guy - they do not realise what I have been through, what I have experienced, what scars I carry with me.
It irks me constantly that people assume I am fine based on my appearance.
I'm not fine...
Every day, I am in pain. That annoying, nagging sensation that has been with me for the past four years since my operation, is always there; painkillers do nothing to rid it, just to dull it.
I cannot sleep easily at night, sleeping pills help me get little sleep, which is never enough. I can never rid myself of this pain and yet I must put on a smile to please everyone else every single day - what people see on the outside is a facade, a mask; they will never truly see what I battle with on the inside.
Many a people are allowed to have their off-days - those moments where their life is chaotic and messy. Yet I cannot have such a day. If I show a moment of weakness, a slip of my true emotions to the outside world, then people would condone me for it.
There have been many a time where I am just inches away from shouting in someone's face, or to pummel a wall to the point where my fists bleed and my attention from the pain in my back is now focused on the pain in my fists; for a brief moment, I feel nothing. But I must hold myself back from doing such things and instead contain the pain and anger building up inside of me.
Day by day, white tablets dull the pain, but never eradicate it. It is a parasite feasting on me, giving great pleasure in hurting me, inflicting pain on me. As a constant reminder, the scar I bear burns itself into me - I am all far too aware of it, for without it, there would also be no pain.
They go together like a hand in a glove, without one that other would not exist. Their purpose? To be made known to me, to make me aware of their presence, their existence and their joy of imposing pain to me every day. And every day I carry them with me, hiding them from the outside world, almost protecting them from the judgement of those around me.
Yet, no one will truly understand what I have seen, experienced, witnessed since the operation; how do you explain in words without really feeling it personally? People will continue on assuming I am fine, and I will continue to wear my mask to make them happy - acceptance is being hopeful, but existing in the background is a reality.
No one will ever experience what lies beneath my skin, but I wish they could be more open-minded and imagine what I have gone through; rather than just shrugging it off and not attempting at all...
That's just wishful thinking.