My Life: As You Know It

I don’t really know how I feel; I don’t even really know how to describe how I feel. I’ll try to make it come to some sense, however, if I succeed in this, it would be the biggest accomplishment I’ve done in a while.

I woke up feeling tired—I always wake up tired. It doesn’t matter how many or how little hours of sleep I had prior to “waking up”. It’s strange and I resent that fact. Today didn’t seem any different than any other day, but then it dawned on me that I’m where I usually find myself. Slightly depressed. Depression is something that I’ve become accustomed to, I don’t know if it’s because it runs in my family or it’s because I’ve bottled up so many suppressed feelings over the years and suddenly they want to take control and force me to realize that perhaps I am broken and I need to realize that.

Broken is a definition that I’ve always tried to distance myself from because (a) I never thought it could be possible and (b) I always knew what I wanted in life. You see, I’ve had a pretty fucked up childhood, but hey, I know there’s some people out there who have had it worse and I’m not putting any self importance in my matter, but I just want to release what I’m feeling and perhaps, writing it out and having a complete stranger read this will, maybe, in some weird way, help me.

I mentioned in a previous post that my father is Middle Eastern, born and raised, so you can imagine how stuck in his culture he was when he came to America. My mother is from South America, so you can probably see the problem coming together already.

MUSLIM + CATHOLIC = DISASTER (ESPECIALLY FOR CHILDREN)

**Not in all cases, of course, but at least in mine.

I was brought up like a boy. I wasn’t allowed to wear shorts, skirts, short sleeved shirts, tank-tops, nail polish, light-up sneakers… The list goes on. I was brought up to believe many things were “bad” and so that’s how I viewed them. My dad taught me to be someone he wanted me to be and always told me that I was Muslim and that was that. I had no say in the matter. He forced me to go to a Masjid (mosque), learn about the Koran and cover myself from head to toe. I hated it and I hated him for making me do all these things especially because it wasn’t my freewill, I felt trapped. Now, I don’t want to go into details about every single thing that went wrong in my childhood, but let’s just say that I don’t really remember having one and that’s bad enough.

My dad did some pretty messed up psychological things to me and my brother—brainwashing us and of the sort. Maybe I’ll get into that later when I feel more inclined to writing about more detailed and painful memories.

The point is, I’m starting to believe that all my depression problems began because of my father. Sometimes I start to feel like crying for no apparent reason and it makes me angry. I don’t typically think I can ever say I’ve been happy, at least not for more than a day. Do you know what my New Year’s resolution was this year? To be happy. Not to lose weight, not to do good in school, but just to find happiness. True happiness. Is that so much to ask for? It seems like I’m always confined to this shadow that likes to overcast on me. I wish I could stab it to death so that maybe, just maybe, for once I could feel okay.

So basically I went through a minor depression phase, but then I realized that there isn’t a point in allowing myself to mope about things I don’t have the answers to. Bottom line is, there is always someone less fortunate than oneself, so be grateful for what one has. With that said, I’m changing it up. I will not allow myself to slump and if I get distracted and end up slumping, I will pick myself up and move on. I’m tired of the victimizing torture we all seem to fall behind when we don’t feel like acting the part that we should. We’re human, we get tired of being strong for not only ourselves, but for those around us. It’s an unbelievably draining job sometimes. 

Life is short so I’m vowing to try and live it to its greatest potential. I will try to learn to love, take bigger risks, challenge myself more, embrace life for what it is: an experience. 

I may have unresolved issues, yes, but there isn’t anything I can really change from my past, so why dwell on it? And perhaps I don’t have experience in love and I’m afraid of getting attached to someone, but I’ll get over it and one day, when I’m ready, it’ll happen and I’ll accept it willingly. 

So, on a positive conclusion, be yourself, enjoy life, and love vividly because at the end of the day, we only have one shot at it, so don’t waste it.

I never thought anything was really wrong with me just because I never cared for or wanted a relationship—I figured that there were people that were meant for relationships and those who were not (me being the “not”). I thought it normal, you know? Like it was me and my independent ways of thinking. 

When I was younger, in my mid to late teen years, I was so eager to fall in love. Any guy that would give me attention could just [so easily] wedge himself into my life. I mean, talk about desperate! I went through a period where I fell for a pretty boy who could never possibly be in a relationship with anyone because he was already in one with himself, a cocaine user and dealer, a “player” who turned out to be a man whore/prostitute, and a thief who not only was a pathological liar, but cheated on me with a girl that wasn’t even pretty, not in the least bit! I mean, really. If you’re going to cheat on me, at least let her be more attractive than me—make me feel a little bit better about myself. I guess it was because I wouldn’t give out and thank goodness I didn’t, I probably would have ended up with crabs or something (you should of seen the girl I’m talking about). Anyway, so you see, I never had great experiences with any Prince Charming(s) and perhaps that is why now, at my age, I’m left with the conclusion that men are no good for me. I honestly don’t know what it is that keeps me from being in a relationship, yes I’ve had less than amazing trials and errors with men, but I don’t think that’s it. I don’t believe that I have a fear of men breaking my heart. I don’t even know if I have a fear against men or relationships.

I’ve never been an affectionate person and most people would probably tell you that I’m “rough around the edges” and I speak my mind freely, sometimes a little too freely (for comfort), but I don’t see any other way of being able to simply express me. 

Affection makes me feel awkward and weird and I never really react well to it, some people may even think that I’m not human because of how cold I act (well, to them, at least I seem “cold”). 

My friend Ryan pointed out to me that I may have a disease (if you want to call it a disease) called “sexual anorexia”. At first, I thought, “nah”, but then when I read the article I started to believe that it could be true after all. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s when one doesn’t desire sex or affection from others (something like that anyway). Truth be told, it kind of sounded like me when I read it. Now, I’m not classifying myself on the matter yet, but I intend on doing more research on it and seeing if it does in fact apply to me. If it does (apply to me), I wonder what the recommended procedures are for a person trying to recover from being a sexual anorexic…? And what causes someone to become a sexual anorexic?

What is it about young people nowadays? It’s all about who one’s “sexing it up” with and all that bull. What happened to the good old days when it was about romance and winning a woman’s affection? Sometimes I really wish I had been born in those times, maybe my life would have turned out differently (thus far). I’ve made many decisions in my lifetime that have definitely caused it to be as different from any other twenty-two year old I’ve ever come to know. “What might that be?”  Well, I’ll just be honest, I’m still a virgin. Is that I gasp I heard? Well, it is what it is and perhaps I wouldn’t still be one had anything else gone differently growing up.

Now, I’m not going to get all into the details of my childhood, but let’s just say (for the sake of time) that I learned about sex at a very young age and not so much because my parents gave me the talk about the “birds and the bees” (which I never heard, by the way) but because I was cursed with being sexually harassed throughout my elementary and middle school years. Now, by sexual harassment, I mean the kind of curiosity that young boys always get at those ages—snapping girls’ training bras, slapping and grabbing girl’s butts, etc. You get the point. It wasn’t ever anything major or serious, but being the way I was brought up (having a Middle Eastern father) I always had to defend my honor and for that I got into my fair-share of fights. It was enough trauma to get me to be paranoid enough to believe that even now, all men want is that big cherry. So with that said, I’ve never dated. I’ve been on one date and I’ve had one half-ass boyfriend whom I broke up with after a month and no, he did not get lucky. 

So you see my dilemma.