I’m a mess. That’s my motto. It’s what I say to family, friends, acquaintances and past loves (lol, plural?). But, recently I’ve been seeing that I’m not actually a mess. I may be fucked up and totally screwed for this year and the next and just a chaotic maniac ready to blow up at a minute’s notice, but I’m not a mess. Life itself is messy. Life is the biggest mess of all.
I’m beginning to see how life messes you up in the biggest way possible. I mean, you’re 21, you’re in love, you’re graduating, you’re living your life and BAM. Suddenly, you’re 21, you’re heartbroken, you’re unemployed, and your main objective is getting up at 2 P.M.
I usually refrain from giving specific details because of the people who know me and might read this but I’m tired, it’s late, and I spent that last few hours calling my friend and crying. Why do I cry so much? Why does everyone tell me to stop caring? Why do I care so much? Who do I care at all? Why do I care about people who don’t give a rat’s ass about me? Why am I me? Why can’t I be someone else?
Why, why, why. Life, I’m talking to you. Why have you made me this way?
I’m taking the coward’s way out. I’m so much more messed up than I should be, so I’ll blame Life. I had a great childhood, it was beautiful and full of amazing memories. Middle school/adolescent life up till 10th grade was amazing. I had a few bumpy rides, unfaithful friends, rumors, bullies. But I overcame. In 7th grade, I ditched the friends who weren’t true and made new ones, the friends I’m going to have for life.
It’s weird to think of that, because today Nour wouldn’t ever do that. 11th grade Nour, after she left U.A.E. and everything she knew, everything that was familiar, decided she wanted to be friends with two people. And she did become friends with them, while simultaneously becoming friendly (strictly) with the whole grade.
Today Nour is shy, depressed, currently wearing an oversized jumper and sweatpants, is listening to video game music (ugh, can’t I just shut up about that kind of music?!!?) and thinking of her broken heart. I have a broken heart, it’s broken, and I never say it out loud lest someone would hear it. “Someone” she says, as though she’s not thinking of just one person.
Responsible Nour wouldn’t post this. I’m not responsible right now.
Life has messed me up. Because one day, I decided that in college, with no one around me, I was gonna stick to myself. College/Uni Life were not “The Best Years of My Life.” I demand a recount. 3 years and a half, I made minimal friends, went home straight after classes, was a solid B+, A- student, studied, learned to love Journalism. That half year that was left, I finally emerged from my shell.
The Shell/Bubble was created in college, not school, as I previously assumed. It was conceptualized in school, where I knew all my friends would eventually leave me, and I would be alone once again. It came to be in university.
God, what is this post about? In all honesty, I’m just talking about how messed up I am but trying to prove I’m not a mess.
To give some structure to this, let me lay it down. You’re not a mess. You are wonderful, you are beautiful, and you are RARE. That’s not a word we see very often, right? We all strive to be unique and rare and just plain great. We all strive to make someone else see it in us. Then we get married and have babies (or not, it’s your choice).
“If you ever think you’re a mess, you’re not. Life is a mess. Life is messy. And it’s bound to get some of it’s mess on you. So shrug it off. You’re not a mess. You’re amazing,” She said to herself.