My So Called Life

‘Have you ever thought about why do you feel the way you feel?’
‘What feeling exactly are we talking about?’ Sophia answers with a chuckle
‘Any of those you’re feeling. All of them, really’
‘It’s a… variable feast, you know.’ She says as she looks to the side, examining the room.
‘I do. Don’t change the subject, though. Why do you think you feel like that?’
‘That’s… super easy. I feel lost because I can’t seem to get myself together, I don’t know who I am anymore or how I got here. I feel alone because I don’t believe in people anymore, I miss the friendships I used to believe in, those super-powerful and full of love. I feel insecure because I’m unlovable, I don’t feel like anyone loves me for me. I don’t feel like anyone loves me at all, really. I feel broken because all of this together is just a little too much for someone as fragile as me. I don’t feel like I’m good enough, for anything, because nothing ever works out my way, reality never turns out to be at least half as good as my dreams. I’m unhappy because I don’t feel like I even remember what being happy feels like. I can’t remember the last time I smiled honestly, let alone felt at total peace with myself. Enough?’ and this last word comes out sharp, as an ironic attempt of showing the doctor she knows nothing. It’s a long rant, but it sounds as if Sophia already gave it a lot of thought, already discussed it at least with herself. The room is quite for a second or two while the doctor examines her eyes and Sophia stares back at her.
‘That’s a… pretty exact way of putting it. Seems like you’ve given it a lot of thought in the past.’
And another ironic chuckle. ‘Thought? That’s all I ever do, doc.’
‘How about changing any of it? Have you tried doing that?’
‘The thing is, as much as we all hate to admit it, our life is mostly shaped by the people around us, by the way they treat us. And I don’t want to change any of them, don’t want to make them act in a certain way because that would be plain fake. And the only thing I hate more than being alone and miserable is having fake support and friendship.’
‘I see…’ it takes doctor a few seconds to think about these words

‘You mentioned before that you like writing-‘
She gets cut off. ‘Are you suggesting that I stop doing it or are you suggesting me to go get lost in my world of words? Let me tell you something, none of it will help, really. If I stop I change nothing, I just have more time to waste. And if I get lost in that world I’ll get even more disconnected from the ‘real’ world or whatever. Either way – I stay alone. Any other ideas?’ And another sharp tone.
‘I just wanted to ask you why don’t you share some of your writing with at least one of your close friends? If it’s so scary to talk about what’s going on in your head then maybe giving them a chance to read it would be an easier solution.’
‘The idea of simply talking about it is not scary. What’s scary is the thought of being naked with anyone. At the end of the day, all they’re going to do is hurt me once they leave.’
‘ Why are you so convinced they’re gonna leave you?’
‘People always leave. That’s how it works, doc. They come, use what they need, throw you away like a piece of trash and continue with their life. Makes me sick to my stomach. And hurts like hell.’

‘I see you’ve been hurt in the past by some people.’
‘Some?’ another ironic chuckle. ‘All I got from people was pain. Pain caused by the lack of their love, care, respect or whatever other feeling you want to mention and connect with friendship. They walk away and leave a hole. It hurts. Not in the imagination, not in the mind. It’s that real, eats-you-out-and-spits-you-out-alive kind of hurt. It’s the hurt that makes you want to cry all the time but you run out of tears at a certain moment. The hurt that makes you want to die and free them of your existence. Why free them? Because, for some stupid reason, you still love them no matter what. That’s what gives them the power to hurt you again and what makes you feel like shit. Sorry, worthless piece of shit. ‘
‘I see. Is there at least one person you consider to be a real friend?’
‘No, not really. I mean, would a real friend call everything that’s going on in your head stupid? Or would a real friend disappear and not call for a month? Those are the basic two categories I have. Real friends live in my head.’
‘Do you feel like any of it is your fault?’
‘Any? All of it is my fault because people can’t break you if you don’t let them and well, I do. I can tell them all to piss off and go fuck themselves but no, I’m the puppy that keeps coming back into their life when they need me to. Pick up the pieces, listen, sort them out, glue them back together. And no one’s around when I need some glue.’
‘Did you talk to them about it?’
‘And tell them what? That they are not real friends? C’mon, as if anyone is gonna listen to that. They’ll find my issues pointless anyways. They say I tend to make problems up simply because I overthink things. I don’t believe in that word – overthinking – it’s a word made up by people who tend not to think and who are afraid of it. There are certain things in life you can never have or do too much like love, think, believe and listen.’

‘So you still believe in something?’
‘As weird as it may sound – yes. In the power of human love. It’s the only thing that can save me from my own self-built prison walls. The only thing that can make me believe in myself. The only thing that can break down the walls I built. The only thing that can make me take off my glittering mask behind which hides a fragile child.’
‘Interesting. Why don’t you search for that kind of love?’
‘Love is not to be found. Love is to be let find you. That’s all there is to it. Someone will walk into your life and hear you, understand you, believe in you, love you. Or that someone will never come. Kind of like a soulmate, someone to put your absolute trust in. Someone who loves you for who you are. You can’t find that, it either comes or doesn’t. All you can do is wait.’
‘Is there someone at least close to that in your life?’
It takes a few seconds, for the first time, to get an answer. ‘Maybe. I’m not really sure. For a while I thought someone does see me and understand. That may be true. But love me? Nope. Respect me? Laughable. Understanding itself is not enough.’
‘What is enough?’ And for the first time the doctor finds herself to be really curious about the answer she was going to get from Sophia. Sophia squints, it’s something she tends to do a lot and answers the questions looking at the wall, or rather through it, staring at the distance and nothingness.
‘Love is. That real, complete, unconditional love. Love that consists of trust, understanding, respect, hope… that’s the kind of love I’m talking about. Loving someone for who they are when the masks are down. Loving someone enough that they never put a mask on in front of you. Loving someone so much that they know you’re there for them, any time of day or night. Believing that they are destined for greatness even when they don’t. Picking up the pieces of their broken self and putting them back together even if it takes forever.’ And a smile, a real one this time.
‘Do you think that exists anymore?’
‘Not really. But, I still have my hope up. Someone once told me my hoping will kill me and I think they were rather right. But if I stop hoping I’ll kill myself in a matter of days.’

‘Do you think about suicide often?’
‘Hah, I think it goes through my head at least once a day. I think that the basis of human existence lies in the sadness that would be left behind if he was to die, especially at a young age. As time goes by, I’m more and more convinced that my death would bring no difference into the world. It wouldn’t bring happiness, let’s keep that clear, but people won’t be sad without me. They wouldn’t miss me, really. Maybe, for a few days or weeks but soon enough I’d be forgotten completely. So, if I make no difference in the world – what the fuck am I doing here?’
‘How come you never even tried to commit suicide?’
‘Suicide is in a way a cry for help and attention. Knowing Murphy’s hatred towards me, I would probably stay alive and feel even more miserable after it. On the other hand, I still have the hope that things will change for the better. I’m a hopeless dreamer, doc.’
‘You are a contradictory mash up.’
‘I know.’ And they share a small laugh.

‘Do you think there’s a reason people don’t understand you?’
‘I think there’s a reason for everything. People don’t understand me because I rarely try to explain things, that’s number one. Number two, they don’t try hard enough. Number three, we live in different worlds. I’m an idealist, living in the world of thoughts, ideas and hope. Other people are realists, living in a world of facts and rights and wrongs. I don’t believe in right and wrong, I believe in doing what brings you happiness or not doing it, right and wrong are made up ideas so that the society can control our actions. Sometimes I think the point of religion and politics is to impose something on people so that they can’t ever be happy, and for that fact search for hope in places like churches or in hopes of a better future with a new government. At the end of the day, if you think hard enough, you realize we all just stay miserable.’
‘You have a way with words. I see that you choose them wisely.’
‘There’s nothing wise about me or anything I say. I just try my best to find the words that mimic my thoughts. It’s not wise or clever, it’s just the most precise.’

‘Do you always see yourself in the negative light?’
‘Negative? It’s just realistic. I see myself as the person I am, with all my virtues and flaws. I tend not to beatify anything or see myself as more than I am. Lying to myself won’t change me, it will make me feel better. Feeling better on the basis of something you made up is pretty fucked up, if you ask me.’

‘Why are you so sad?’
‘I think I like you, doc. You ask all the questions I keep hoping my friends would ask and really mean it. Sometimes they ask, but they never really want to hear the answer, they just ask a question in order to feel better, like they have to, it’s an obligation because I listen to them. If they don’t ask then they are just lame wankers. It’s all about how they feel, not me.’
‘You still haven’t answered my question.’
‘See, you even have a better observation than they do. I usually answer their question with something totally different and they either don’t notice or don’t care. Probably don’t care.’

The doctor gives her a look and she knows she needs to answer the question for real. ‘I’m sad because people don’t see me. I’m sad because I don’t feel like anyone really loves me. I’m sad because none of my dreams ever came true. I’m sad because there’s no one that really cares enough to be there for me. I’m sad because I’m all alone and people think I’m the person with most friends in the world. I’m sad because people who matter to me don’t care at all. I’m sad because I’m unable to walk away, that’s how much I love them. I’m sad because life became a burden and I don’t know how to deal with it. And I’m sad because the more I love people the less they care about me.’
‘So, as much as you claim to be a loner who likes being alone and as much as you claim to be introspective and introvert most of your sadness comes from your relationship with other people.’
‘Nobody chooses to be alone for no reason. I choose to be alone because it feels… less lonely. When you’re alone and you feel alone – that’s fucked up. When you’re around people and you still feel alone – that’s… a whole new dimension of fucked up. It’s so fucked up that you need to make up a new word for fucked up.’

‘You seem to have all the answers.’
‘I do have the answers. I don’t have any solutions. Answers all by themselves don’t change a thing. For things to change you need action and, as you said – it’s all up to other people and not me. All I can do is wait and hope that the waiting won’t eventually kill me.’
‘Be happy or die trying.’
‘Be happy or die waiting.’