As of the past few days, or even longer (as... in a way... it's taken all these years I've been this way), I think I am coming 'to terms' with what is causing this. It is a happifying thing to know that. I also got my biology report done in one sitting, in one day, on Monday or Tuesday. I was ... really stunned. Very glad. Ridiculously.
Even though I don't particularly feel it, the way I 'felt' that pays for all of it. It's proof I'm getting better... and it makes me happy. Even when something sad happens... if I have a response to it, it... it's not bad, it's wonderful- I'm not numb, I'm not just not seeing it, I'm having a slight response to it, at least, and it's joyous. Anyway, once I get my head back, I will be able to put my sorrows on God again, and it will all be well. It won't matter. And I'll still be glad that I can feel sorrow.
So... I'm sure I'm getting better. And I'm also sure that it has to do with my surroundings and so on- I know it does. I'm glad that I know that... I'm not going to let myself bewail it for the rest of my life. It is better, even if in a way it is sad, than not being able to tell at all, and only being able to feel miserable in a numb, stupid, most gruelling way.
Even if now I know how much I am a slave to working, and I sort of made my own slavery (though before, it was a wonderful thing, it now has become something... really bad, as it has not been balanced with knowing God can take care of sorrows, and I can just help people bear through them)... and the odd dilemma is that I am unwilling to stop going on, even though I am already crushed... I won't stop doing it. I'm so used to doing it, and I meant to do it from the very moment I began to mature, I think. Even before that I wanted to bear sorrows for people, so, therefore, I would say it's my character.
So, the dilemma is, I am unwilling to stop, but I am not willing to keep on doing it. Why is odd, I suppose, to you all. I am stubborn. If I start doing something with a great meaning to really do it, I won't stop until I'm done unless someone makes me. And all this time, nobody's made me. In a way I'm willing to keep going on, but in a way not- I love to help people, but now, I just can't do it anymore because I'm so crushed that I myself need help, and without help, I won't be able to keep on doing this- but I'm unwilling to stop helping others, to stop trying. And I am unwilling to give up. I also can't really. People still expect me to do things, to conform to what they want, to keep on getting more discontent from it, and I cannot stop when they want it.... I am also held in the reins of the people around me. I won't stop trying to serve them, whether they notice what I'm doing or not (the majority of the time, they don't, really)... and I am not living in my own home, and my own home isn't really a home to me. I'm miserable in it. Discontent. I can't live to do what I wish to do- all I do here, half-willingly and half-unwillingly, is serving others, making sure that they have what they want. When they complain, I feel compelled to go and make it better for them.
And... sometimes I'm told I have to. But I can't really do it anymore. I need to stop and to rest and to simply give up and let myself be crushed, and then God can take the burden and help me up, or help me to someplace where I can just lie down and sleep for a decade and recuperate all the strength that was completely drained from me in more than two years of uselessly trying to make ANYBODY BUT ME be happy, content and not miserable.
And making ungrateful people 'happy' doesn't work- it won't give me any satisfaction now because they keep wanting more. They're hungry for more of my constant saying, 'Okay, I'll try,' or doing the thing without saying. I can tell when my siblings want me not to do something. There are some things I don't do still because I just don't have the time to find out what I'll do to somehow squeeze out of their way... and I say in my mind, 'LIVE WITH IT.' I don't say it to them. I don't want to make them sad. And I don't really feel that way. I still want to make them happy for the endless rest of their lives with me.
Three years. Maybe.... until I can leave this house. Three years of what I see as slavery. Slavery in a home which I don't see as mine, slavery in a city where I can never run about and be *alone*... this city is stuffed with houses, people, and no friends except people at church and at co-ops whom I hardly know anyway, and whom I can't come to know now because I will be forcing the relationship, not letting it chug along by itself.
I want to be with friends, with people who will appreciate me, and really truly know what I'm doing, and what I want to do. This home really tires me to no end. To no visible end- I keep on going even though I do believe I am already crushed.
:/ I know there's more to it than that, but one long post of this will do... farewell!