Diary Entry 19 February 2021
It is all too much for me.
Today is Friday. On Monday school starts again. We had a week off now, and on Wednesday we received the news that the Junior Cert won’t be taking place this year, – due to the coronavirus. It was finally cancelled after many weeks of talking back and forth. The astonishing thing is that I couldn’t imagine doing the Junior Cert since the first day I attended secondary school. Which means, I somehow already knew there wouldn’t be one. Because always when teachers said, for example: “You have to be able to know twenty poems off by heart before the Junior Cert”, my subconscious always whispered to me: ‘Don’t stress about it, you won’t have a Junior Cert anyway.’ And that’s why I never worried about it. Meaning; whenever I thought about everything I have to learn and know off by heart for it, I always worried and was stressed, but that passed after a few seconds when I remembered it won’t happen. And I couldn’t imagine it anyway.
I was very happy about the news, but mostly because it approved what I already knew. No-one knows more than that yet…- how I will be graded in each subject, whom I will be graded from, if there will be smaller exams… But that is not important to me right now.
What is important to me right now, is how heavily I was disappointed on Wednesday evening. I didn’t know it would affect me like this, because I also didn’t expect it to turn out like this.
At 8pm I had an appointment with a female psychic-medium. Sandra was her name. I was so nervous the more 8pm approached. I absolutely wanted my burning questions – which could’ve helped me so much further – to get answered. Questions I struggle with every day. Questions that cut me open internally. Questions that keep building up tears in my eyes. Question that were so important to me but weren’t answered. None of them.
Everything she said or told me or gave me as a tip or suggested, made me feel even more stressed. It didn’t resolve anything but added more questions to all of it. The only question I could ask, between all her muttering, was what the name of my protector angel is. I wanted to know this so I had someone to address, so I could talk to him when I felt down. I had too much hope too early – if I even became hopeful. Because she had no answer to it, she claimed she doesn’t communicate with angels, but rather with dead ancestors. Apart from that she told me how protector angels aren’t friends. Thanks. After she said this, I just wanted the time to pass by even faster. I would’ve preferred just to hang up. But I stayed put, as she continued to explain; angels don’t get personal. They are just there and protect you but don’t get closer to you. Now my daily guide isn’t even fully there for me. Even he isn’t my friend.
I couldn’t ask a single other question. She talked continuously, without a pause. She talked about people my age in general and not me specifically. She kept giving examples of situations in her life. I didn’t feel…good…at all. The clock ticked slowly, and I often had to put effort into listening to her, because I was only being disappointed and therefore I kept zoning out.
She mainly talked about dreams, – that I should write mine down, because apparently I will connect more with the outside world this way. But I didn’t want that. I only told her I often get déjà vu and then she started talking way more intensely about it. I didn’t want to keep an empty copy in every drawer of the house where I write down those experiences. It was too much work for me and not the right thing. I also never mentioned that I could communicate with the outside world through my dreams.
Sandra suggested I meditate for ten minutes twice a week, but I didn’t want to. It’s not that I’m not willing to do it, but it’s just that I don’t necessarily want to get in contact with the world, because I want to help people differently – without having special abilities.
“It is normal what you are going through and how you feel. You are not alone. I am not doing anything that you or others can’t do either”, she said. That was one of the least helpful things someone could’ve said to me. I wanted to be different so badly. Because I felt that way. I didn’t want it to be normal what I’m going through, because I wanted to help people later on with my experiences. And if one more person claims I am not alone, I will throw them out the window. I know I have people around me. I know. I know! But I still have the feeling of being alone and this statement changes nothing.
My deep-in-my-heart-lying questions weren’t addressed. There was no chance for it, so I will have to continue walking around with those pains. My doubt, whether my situation is hard or if it is normal and I am just exaggerating, was deepened. “Will I be able to help people later on in life with what I am going through now? Will my Diary be successful?” stayed unanswered. “Am I ruining my future if I hold onto it, imagine it, hope it happens and think about it and believe in it? Just like my job or my husband, my kids?” continued to drill through me.
I never truly knew what the feeling of disappointment felt like, but it wasn’t nice. I was very sad and couldn’t fully grasp or realize it. While mom and dad continued talking about what I had told them, I went upstairs and got ready for bed with thick, overflowing tears. There was a heavy emptiness inside of me. Maybe that puts the disappointment into words.
As if everything weren’t enough already, the topic of ‘keeping your sexuality a secret’ hit me right into my heart again yesterday evening. It is astonishing what people are still like. How they handle that subject. People are scared to reveal their sexuality, because they would be looked at differently then. Because we don’t accept it and find it disgusting or wrong. People are ashamed of what they like. They are ashamed of loving who they want to, and of being the way they are, and of showing who they are, because society doesn’t want it that way. Friends leave those people. Family members distance themselves from them and they are being restricted from everything around them. This is a huge problem on this earth. Even famous people that are gay or lesbians sometimes have to keep their sexuality a secret. Not just that, they also have to pretend like they are in a heterosexual relationship even though they aren’t. They aren’t allowed to be free or show who they are and that hurts me. It hurts me when people aren’t allowed to show who they love because we – the society – doesn’t think it’s right. Who is even allowed to decide what is wrong or right? Who can even say there is something like “right” or “wrong”?
Frightening that is. Just frightening. And this topic pulls me down again and again. Even if I had a bad experience with sexuality myself. I have behaved unforgiveable, but the thing is, I couldn’t do it differently because I felt uncomfortable inside myself. I felt so unbearably uncomfortable in my own body and I was really scared of becoming gay. I had to distance myself from her (the girl who told me she was in love with me) so I felt a little better, but even up to today I still don’t feel good in relation to that topic. I feel so disgusting in between, so uncomfortable and it is so unpleasant in my own body. Due to this reason, I never wear tight clothing, because I just can’t. And because I also feel so uncomfortable towards dad, it started to make all these problems arise between us last year. Even today I don’t feel at home in my own body. I don’t feel comfortable.
So many thoughts went through my head yesterday. I wanted to give up. Never come out of bed again. But that wasn’t an option. Instead, the tears came again. Again and again.
It was all too much. It is all too much.
I had a terrible night. I slept and dreamed very uneasy. I often woke up and got frightened by my reality. I often woke up and felt stressed about having to remember and write down my dreams, because Sandra had said so. I often woke up because I felt the presence of ghosts – I thought anyway – but I didn’t want that.
When I woke up in the morning, I felt forced to write down my dreams and didn’t want to. But I did it anyway, because I had no other option. I fell asleep again, dreamed uneasy, woke up with a shock and wasn’t in the mood for anything. I didn’t want to write down what I had dreamed, I didn’t want to continue sleeping, I didn’t want to get up, it was a hard reality. My hard reality.
I am asking myself what else has to come. The appointment with Viola (my new psychologist) was set for 4pm. The session was supposed to be a couple hours ago now. Last time she was good for me, and I was very nervous again before this appointment, but I wanted to do it. Everything was too much for me. But it is sad – no, shit – absolutely shit – damn – stupid – ahhhhh – that she had Wi-Fi problems and therefore the appointment was rescheduled to tomorrow. This time no tears could come. It was too much for me. What else has to come? Can it please go uphill!?
I just don’t know any further.
Thank you for reading, until the next Entry!
