I’ve never been used to things going my way. So naturally, when a mess approaches, I can’t say I’m not used to it. When uncertainties hit, I’m supposed to handle it with grace; that has always been what I’m supposed to do. But, of course, I still find myself sitting alone in the corner of my room, wallowing in self-pity, being mad at the ways of the universe. It’s just this time it feels a little bit.. messier. There, I thought, that’s my excuse; it feels a little bit messier.

I don’t have a grasp of anything that’s going on around me, it’s almost like I’m being drowned by these stupid thoughts and emotions. Everything seems to go by really fast and I’m struggling to keep up. I thought I’d be used to it by now. As I said, I’m used to things not working out. I’ve always liked the outcome better this way; the universe has always given me what I need. I like to pretend that whatever I’m going through, good or bad, it’s all just part of some grand scheme by the universe.

Then comes the flood of doubts and questions. Is that just something I convinced myself to believe so I don’t have to carry the burden of regret? I’m starting to wonder if my disappointments were all part of a big mastermind plan of God or if it’s just… what it is. My pain wasn’t part of some stupid grand scheme, it’s exactly just that: pain. Purposeless and hollow pain.

For every person that didn’t stay and every little thing that never worked out; they all hold tiny bits of regret. Even when I genuinely appreciate where I am now, it’s still so easy to slip back into the delusion of what could’ve been. I can only wonder what would happen if that one thing didn’t happen… or if that one other thing did happen. I can still see glances of her sometimes, the kind of person I could’ve become. She seems delightful… so full of life. I think it would’ve been fun to be her. I find my mind being filled with every compilation of what could’ve been and every version I could’ve become.

The delusions became invasive. I did what I knew best; sitting in the corner of my room, wondering what I did to deserve being this alone… or maybe rather feeling this alone. Why couldn’t it work out? What is it about me that makes me so unimportant? What is so wrong about me that makes them think of me as someone worth leaving? How can I let people change the trajectory of my life by doing the smallest things while I’m over here fighting to leave some trail in their lives? The universe doesn’t love me enough to have things work out for me. The stars just won’t align for me. That’s just the fact that I have to accept.

After all, I’ve always thought of myself as the escaper. I was always the kid who ran away to her imaginary world to escape the ugly truth of reality. I just don’t have the gift. The gift of accepting things as they are; the gift of saying “it is well with my soul” whenever an inconvenience happens. That’s who I am. I am someone who gives up.

… Or maybe not? Fuck me. I knew this would happen. It appeared that I’m still a believer after all, maybe that’s just one of the intricacies of growing up as a Christian. I like to pretend I hate the way I believe in things, but I think that maybe that one stupid trait is what really kept me alive all this time. I wonder if this tiny glimmer of hope also came from my knowledge. The knowledge that I have been through worse before; the knowledge that I have survived every hardship thrown in my way; the knowledge that even when things never worked out as I wanted them to, everything still fell into place. I don’t know if that will be the case this time. I don’t have any proof that things will fall into place as they did before, but I can’t lie and say I don’t have faith that they will.

I find myself getting back up again every morning. Even at my worst moments, I can’t seem to give in to the self-pity hole. That’s not who I am. I am not someone who gives up; I am someone who holds on. In a hindsight, I will be alright. I don’t know that for a fact, but I’ll keep believing for now. Until this childlike version of me who believes in good things leaves my body, I will not go anywhere. I will hold on to see the bigger picture.

For there is a possibility that I was wrong. I may not be an escaper after all, a believer is what I am. The delusions weren’t a form of escape; they were a form of hope. I kept falling into the delusions because I have hope that things could be better, that things will get better. I have faith that the stars will find their ways to align for me.