And I think and think and think.

“And then a Plank in Reason, broke,

And I dropped down, and down – “
“I Felt a Funeral, in my Brain,” Emily Dickinson.

5:00 am. I’m tossing my pillow, turning around in my bed. Could see the Sun, tearing apart the clouds, burning a shade of crimson that I cannot quite describe. Beautiful. I haven’t slept yet. Couldn’t sleep. This incessant, nagging, haranguing bubble of thought that claws its way out, piercing and puncturing and ripping and forcing me to be shredding parts of myself; claws its way out as I choke; until its the only thing I can see in the mirror. “I suck.”

And then I tell myself, “shut up and get some sleep.”

Maybe I do get some sleep. Maybe I dream. Its one thing to lose a friend. Its one thing to lose all your friends. But it won’t prepare you to lose your family. The incapability that you feel. I do not want to be honest, but I am going to be anyway. This blog is my escape.

Its 1:00 pm. I’m hearing noises below. Shouting, yelling, swearing. Something breaks. In the living and in myself. I’m scared. I walk down from my room. They were fighting and he slams the door and leaves. She looks at me. Its one thing when strangers tell you things that make you feel like shit. Its one thing when your friends whom you trusted make you feel like shit. But it won’t prepare you to have your mother make you feel that way. That same incessant, nagging haranguing thought that I tried so hard to escape. “I’m worthless.”

But I tell myself, “shut up and get some food.”

Do you know what it feels like to live with hate? So much that it doesn’t seem like something you’re living with but rather something you’re living in. Its one thing to have random dudes hate you. Its one thing to have your friends and family hate you. But none of this will prepare you for when you hate yourself.

Its 6:30 pm. I argue with myself, I list out all the possible reasons of why I deserved whatever was happening to me. Makes no sense, makes no sense, makes no sense. You’re crying but you’ve been taught at home to never cry so you press the sleeves of your shirt or blouse or whatever you call this into your damn eyeballs and dry them out and act like nothing ever happened, but if you could picture an universe inside of yourself, its collapsed already and you’ve gone way too far and way too many years with this pain that won’t ever dilute and feels like a fresh wound that has been sanitized everytime, the sting, the burn, the rage, help help, shut up shut up, quietttttt. I suck.

Its 9:30 pm. I am pissed at myself for having done nothing productive today or anyday. I suck. I tell myself that its okay, its okay. But God, I really don’t agree. I think I’m going too hard on myself. I think I should give myself some time. I think that if I was hard on myself I wouldn’t be such a failure. I think I shouldn’t think all this. I think and I think and I think. I tell myself again that its going to be okay. I wish I could believe myself. But you see that same nagging, incessant, haranguing thought that always failed to leave, dominating all my senses, repeats: I’m worthless.

Its 2:00 am. Something happened in between but goddamn, I can’t seem to be able to write it down. I cry.

Its 5:00 am. I’m tossing my pillow, turning around in my bed. Its a fuckin’ cycle, a spiral that shrinks as you follow it in. Could see the Sun, tearing apart the clouds, burning a shade of crimson that I cannot quite describe. Beautiful. I haven’t slept yet. Couldn’t sle– pause, wait, I breathe. And you know how Marjane Satrapi talks in Persepolis that if a wheel stops, the whole cycle collapses? I followed the spiral outward.

Its been quite a while now that I learnt this: nothing was wrong with me. It doesn’t make sense because I didn’t deserve this. I won’t shut up. I wouldn’t say I realized it out of the blue. Life first shows you hell, you feel like shit. Then it shows you more hell, you feel shittier. And at one point, you notice that you’re only seeing hell and turn away, look around. Thats the moment you need. Your break-through. You’ll be a-okay. You’ll love you and you’ll realize that is all you need for now.

🙂 eh.

I’m right here. Y’all could talk to me whenever. Just drop an email. Or a comment. I could do with some talking, too.

Losing and striving to find yourself

“Dismantle your wounds so you stop living your life by them”
Nikki Rowe

(Note: This blog would suck. Cuz I’ve lost it within that me that makes me write. My other blogs are good tho.)

I feel blank right now. I’ve lost my will to write. Or more likely, I feel there is nothing to write about for me. That is scary, very scary. I haven’t felt that before. I generally read over a dozen books a month, I haven’t been able to finish a single book this month tho. I’ve lost all motivation, I’ve lost all desire. You know one of those moments, when all you feel is that you’re a pit? You feel empty. You tell you are lazy, exhausted, that you are tired. You have no interest to do anything. This apparently is a side effect of depression. Alas, depression itself is a side effect of dying. Almost everything is, really. (JG ref#1047939)

Don’t let yourself fall into that trap. You are stronger than that. I’m forcing myself to try and to write. There was a time when my pen would just keep scratching the paper. I would think and feel that much. When I was at class, when I was eating lunch, when I was out shopping. There would always be something for me to write about. There would always be me reading twice as much as I write. And now I’ve gotta force myself to sit down and jot something. Thats how much I’ve lost myself. But its okay. I’m working on myself.

You could too. Make an oath to differ. To cause a change. Make yourself obedient enough to follow it. Discipline your mind. You are lost only to be found again, anew and awesomer. And the only person who can find you back is you. Don’t give up on the things you love doing. Don’t give up on yourself, ever. I love you, this blog sucks compared to the previous ones but whatever. (Please do take a minute to scroll down and read tho) I’m not giving up. I wrote that. I can still write that. Or better. All we need is ourselves; we’ll be okay:)

P.S. Rereading this, I realize how much a shitty writer I’ve become but I’m feeling so much better after taking effort to write this down.

Remind me to forget

“To be alive is to be missing.”
TATWD. JG.

I miss him. I never thought he’d matter so much to me. I never thought I could love someone that much. I never thought I could. But he made me real, in a way that I thought I couldn’t ever become. I’d made my walls strong enough, I’d made myself cold enough to not feel emotion or hurt. Sleepless nights, no appetite. I thought I wasn’t human. But he made me believe, in love, in our friendship, that it was something I could count on, that we’d be forever. I learnt how to let go of my insecurities and love someone, like squeeze your heart and drain every last bit of love out for them. I hurt. I feared. But I also loved. I became a person from just another species on the animal kingdom. Love is both how you become a person and why. (Another TATWD ref XD)

But then, he played me. I thought you can’t get played by a friend, but yeah, you can. It took me long enough to realize what I meant to him. He told me I wasn’t just a speck of dust but a star; I realized he meant the universe to me and a star was but a speck of dust. I think that I shouldn’t be writing this post, that I shouldn’t value him so much to do this, that I shouldn’t love him anymore, that I should leave him for the way he treated me.

But here I am, still writing this, still posting this, still..

We can all get over that someone. Trust me. It took me a long time, long, long time. But I’m making it. So can you. You can and will go on. You’re independent and strong and everything that you wish you were and weren’t, too. If I can make it, so can you. There might still be a part that hopes for things to go back to how it was. But was it really what I thought it was? Or is that a lie I’m imagining too?