What's my problem?

What's my problem? That is such a weird question. Growing up I knew I was peculiar, people often pointed out my hetrochromia, my skin shade, my heavy build. But nobody would specifically tell me why my existence was a problem to them. I often shy away from talking to people. Days go by and I am unaware that my behavior is not welcome in places. The thing is, I am absolutely unaware of what my problem is. 

"Focus Lavanya" the most annoying statement of all. I am focused, i will do any given task, I can accomplish any set of goals, if told what to do. 

But what happens when no one tells me what to do or no one asks me a question. In these situation, I walk around like a mind-numb zombie. I wait for an interaction to come my way. I wait in my anxiety for something to happen. Nothing happens. 

I have categorized myself as a self-diagnosed ADHD. I think that solves the issue. But no, not even close. Even if I know what the issue is, the solution is still not in my reach. I also have a history of self-harm and suicide attempts. But that never seems to be the topic of discussion. 

So, even if I can list my issues, Suicidal, lack focus, and so called ADHD. It still doesn't solve the issue. 

The thing is, there are so many chapters of my life that I cant really talk about, I cant slip them up in a normal conversation, I cant, for the love of my happiness, accept the existence of those chapters in my life. 

Growing up, my mother had very few but serious rules. Do no talk about your life with outsiders, Do not mention your core memories to anyone, Do not let anyone know how scared you are and Do not let anyone know that you are alone. 

My mother always painted this picture for me. In it the world was a dark, cold place. The only real true feeling of warmth existed in her arms, by her side or inside the house. 

Now at 22, I have finalized that the only cold place in this world is inside my house. Although, I love being with my family and never intentionally want to hurt them. Yet, old rules turn up in conversations and I hide inside my brain. Most of the time my mother knows how to creep inside the walls, and break the safe places to get exactly what she wants from my mind. 

 

To counter that, I started to live in a place in my mind. I call it the "Plausible Deniability Room".

There is a chance I want to be an actor, but yes becoming an IAS is also plausible. Oh no, I don't smoke, but yes I used to and am still quitting. Sure, I love you but yes I might be still terrified of you. I know not the best example, but to sum up. Its a place that keeps my truth hidden, and my lies justified. 

I can hardly understand it myself but it keeps me safe from a shit tone of guilt and getting sabotaged by her. But the problem of this "Plausible Place" is. Now, I live with my mother inside my head. 

I long for the lavanya who was chirpy and would be impromptu, yet I know it in my guts that, that person does not exist anymore. 

So, exactly what is my problem?

My problem is that at the age of 16, I attempted suicide, I am still sour that I survived. 

My problem is that the suicide attempt overlapped with the first ever accomplishment of my life. 

My problem is that, I didn't want to accomplish a 90% score for myself. 

My problem is that no one showed up to see me get my medal of accomplishment. 

My problem is that I was never given a chance to enjoy the achievement for myself. 

My problem is that some other chapters happened during this duration, but I cant publicly talk about them, even on this blog. 

My problem is that every single time I try to face this world. I realize that I don't  know what am I facing. 

My problem is that every time, every where  I am just an annoyance to someone or the other and yes I have read a thousand quotes about how to be unapologetically yourself. Still I know somewhere that unless I am perfect I should not be happy with myself. 

My dilemma is to accept myself with the story that has been. OR wait for new stories to happen so that I can describe myself as anyone other than a depressed person. 

The only thing that actually makes sense to me at this age is that apparently money solves the issue. 

You earn, you get yourself a house, you disconnect from the toxicity and live wherever you want. 

I don't even think about becoming someone. 

I just think about living this human life as peacefully as possible.