I think my life is the way it is because I freely let people misunderstand me. I’m not the type of person that goes out of their way to clarify if their character is being assassinated or perceived wrong. When people quote-unquote fail to see me as the same narrative I give out to them, it’s probably not their fault that their perceptions differ from what I expect them to have. I may have portrayed myself poorly or maybe there were points that didn’t get across. So I don’t blame them.

So the cycle is:

• I’m being myself
• I get misunderstood
• I don’t correct anything
• Then I cry to sleep because that sort of misunderstanding is being manifested into mean comments about my character - and I cry because I’m a small person with big feelings

But I don’t cry continuously. I think the easiest way to get rid of sadness is by having something to do. So I enjoy what I do. I work, I do my college assignments, and on my free time I play games with my friends, then I eat, and I sleep. Rinse and repeat. I talked to a therapist about it - thinking it’s a healthy way to live. But I have to come into terms to the fact that it’s not.

It’s unhealthy. Why? From those activities I realise that none of them involved “being a person”. None of them involved having feelings. I don’t talk about myself often. My family, my highschool friends and the reason why I don’t have any, my traumatic experiences, or just any sort of unimportant events in the course of my day-to-day life.

I realise that to my friends - I’m just a persona. I’m not a real person with real feelings. So I get tossed around pretty easily. I still get mad, but I still forgive like I breathe. I’m there when you need me to, and I’m still there when you don’t. All my friends see me in real life and they still get surprised that I’m a real person. I think it would make more sense if I was an AI.

But I am very much real. Let’s talk about myself.

I was born in a mixed religion family. My dad’s a Catholic, my mum’s a Muslim - and they’re all very passionate in what they believe in. My brother had to go through countless therapy to be able to be verbal. I’m autistic. I’m a straight A student. I don’t socialize well. I’m lactose intolerant. I’m allergic to bananas. I’ve been working since I was in middle school and is now mostly dealing with web development.

All around, I’m very much real. But I still don’t like talking about myself. I wish to not be perceived. I very much enjoy being called a “robot”.

I think part of it is because I’ve been alone for most of my life. My parents were so career-driven and were never present throughout my entire childhood. My brother had his own different sets of friends. And I’m just there - and I’ve come into terms with it. My family never bothered to ask if my day went well or not, if I got bullied at school or not, or if the teachers liked me or not. I’ve just been alone most of the time and my feelings have become unimportant as I age.

So I work myself to the bone. I do things 200 percent more than I should. I enjoy it no matter the pay. I think I prefer to be busy at all times, and at first I don’t know why - but by talking to a therapist I now know the reasons why I can’t be left alone with my thoughts for more than fifteen minutes.

I am still in denial with the fact that I am.. real. I’m not some sort of minor character in everybody’s life. Dealing with my own feelings and needs are so scary that I actively avoid it like plague. Sure, sometimes at 3 AM when a sad song comes up I cry like a baby because I desperately need to be loved and cared for like a child. Sometimes I wish I had a normal childhood in which I did not have to worry about my parents’ marital issues. Sometimes I wish I had a normal childhood in which I didn’t almost starve myself to death because no one cared to see if the “diet” that I went through was healthy or not. Sometimes I wish I didn’t start a relationship with a much older guy when I was just a little girl. Sometimes I wish all the mean comments about me from lovely people weren’t real.

Seriously, how do you live with this? How do you live knowing you have these scary thoughts in your head?

But by 6 AM i need to clock in and start working - and those scary feelings are gone the minute I start having something to do.

And it all makes sense. It makes sense why I’m such a workaholic - sometimes I even ask for things to do when all my tasks are done. Everyone wants me to rest, take a break. But dealing with my own thoughts alone is so much tiring than working.

So maybe this is my fate. I’m destined to be a robot. To be unreal. To be a persona. To become a person that is always used and disposed. My life is the way it is because I let people misunderstand me - because I am still figuring things out.