Being alone is SCARYYYY
ok. so everyone has his or her own atrocious dark side exposed when we are having a troubled times and is on the lowest state imaginable. i do have mine and miraculously, i wrote it in Microsoft Word (stumbled across it while spring cleaning my lappy).my hands are all sweaty reading it halfway-spooked the shit out of me.ill copy it for you to read.*seriously, dont waste your time reading it, better google some random hot guy.i was whatafucking with self*(PG 13-rated).HERE GOES SOME SHITTY STUFF TO FILL MY EMPTY BLOG—->
You sit at the edge of the world,I am in a crater that’s no more.Worlds without lettersStanding in the shadow of the door.
The moon shines down on a sleeping lizard,Little fish rain down from the sky.Outside the window there are soldiers,Steeling themselves to die.
Kafka sits in a chair by the shore,Thinking of the pendulum that moves the world, it seems.When your heart is closed,The shadow of the unmoving Sphinx,Becomes a knife that pierces your dreams.
The drowning girl’s fingersSearch for the entrance stone, and more.Lifting the hem of the azure dress,She gazes-At Kafka on the shore.
What is luck? My birthday is about five months to come. But what is luck anyway? I once thought it doesn’t have a name or a shape. A question wells up inside me. A question so big it plugs my throat and makes it harder to breathe. Next thing I know, I cried. I never cry so much in my entire life. But lately, I cried unconsciously and uncontrollably. Maybe luck is a phase. It’s the adulthood phase. Yes. That is my acceptance speech.
To tell you the truth have never been in such a condition before. It’s in a state I have never experience and had never fathom anyway. I could not find a way to express this. So I blog this as a way of channelling it so that I won’t end up electrocuted at the asylum. I am a mediocre girl. I do not need such attention. I do not know and I do not have a clue. Whenever I think of something or anything lately, I cried. And when I do not think of anything too, I cried too. I am not a doctor. Forgive me if my diagnosis is wrong. But maybe I’m having depression bouts. I’m losing part of my life. The other side of me.
I am posting the minutest details of my pointless life that I do not even care. You know, I don’t even know why I cry in the first place. I keep trace in mind what is wrong with me but I can’t even decipher my own head. So tonight is the night of deciphering the labyrinths juice fluxing in my head?I hope so.There are three prime suspects. 1) The past 2) the future and 3) the present.Well you see, I lost my senses lately. I could not feel anything. No, I am not the new Helen Keller or anything. Nothingness can increase in value. It’s soaring in value. In my case I lost the catalyst of living. You know. The reason to live. It is gone. I don’t really know what is going on biologically, spiritually or anally. It happens to me a lot of times. Sure, there are those moments. But in my case it has gotten too much. It’s been way too long to recover, I do not even know when to wake up. And I have a sound and healthy brain. I have never feed it with cocaine. Nor marijuana. But why are you acting this way brain? My body is in an erectile dysfunction. They do not follow me. I want to recover. Regain my consciousness. But it just won’t budge. I think I need a psychoanalyst to solve this arithmetic problems in my head. I can’t conquer my own heart and soul. Now that will lead to another problem. Moolah. Money. Cash.
I love the playground. Playground. When I was small, I rarely go to one. And as far as I can remember, I make full use of it whenever I have the chance to go there. I guess I am overly passive when I was a kid, I tend to go to the playground when I am alone. I love the stillness. The nothingness. The smell of dirt. The silence of it. It is undeniably an indescribably hunch. I cannot explain it. Until now. That was the moment that I cherish when I was a kid. I can wander alone. Into my own time warp. You know when you feels like the time stops ticking by. I love to play the swings and shut my eyes tightly and fell the breeze swooshing , my tummy has a funny feeling and my head went tingly. But I do not want to open my eyes back again. Physically and mentally, I am in my own dimensions. I love being a loner at some point. But I have to wake up and realise that there are things to do. I have to finish chores, helps mum, feed the kois, play with my faux Barbie dolls. Somehow I naturally shattered the nothingness and head backs home . Go back to the trivial things that I hate.Déjà vu. It goes back in circle. This time it is in anticlockwise motion. I do not want to stay in the nothingness no more. Wake me up. I miss the trivial things. I hate being alone. I hate the smell of dirt. I hate the smell of my own sins. I despise myself for not making it this time. I am staying way too long in the playground. Shatter this stupid container of mine please. I am mad at everyone. I am mad at my own self. Depreciating myself for no reason. It is not PMS for sure. I haven’t laugh for about the weeks now. It’s not healthy, I know. I have never communicate to anyone during this period of time, let alone sexual contact. I mean, I do talk when the need arose. I mean real communication. I did not have one since three weeks ago. I answered questions but I do not post any questions. I nod and shake my head all the time. and if I need to ,I don’t talk. I shouts. There are moments when I don’t even know whether I should nod or shake my head. It’s just the same. I just feel that I am too lazy to ask. That it is off limits. That is out of my so called container. I just don’t want to. And I did not make any eye contacts at all. Frankly speaking, I am disgusted by the look of my acquaintances. It just so happened. Their facial features will etch the fort I build. For instance, when my mum talk to me, I felt such a strong feeling that urge me to slap her and spat her in the face. Sometimes it can get real scary, I would not let anybody know how horrid my beastly mind can stoop to torture. I don’t know what demonic creature has gotten into me. I tend to hate everything. Everything, I mean it. I am only at peace when I am alone. The problem is I don’t know what is wrong with me. I don’t know what I’m mad at. I am at a complete loss for words. Or taste.There are moments when I do not know how to separate the dream and the reality. I wake up and thought my dream the night before is happening but then it is not. It happens too many times I wish I could shoot my head. My brain just does not following me. I am hallucinating. And I dream of nothing. I think of nothing. And do things just so. I once text my sister this out of consciousness-> “FUCK YOU FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKING BITCH FUCKING WHORE FUCKING CUNT JUST DON’T MESS UP WITH MY LIFE FUCK OFF FUCK YOU”. I don’t remember doing it. It’s no longer funny when it happens a lot.She said I am a psycho. Yes, if and only if. I want to be one. Help me to be one. At least I would not trapped in my own maze. Please. I need someone. Professional help might do. Decipher me please. Why am I feeling so sad over nothingness? Why is my heart weeping at a loss of emptiness?Maybe I should pour it. I hate it when forces tend to mingle with my future. Please buzz off. I hate it when my parents plan my future. I guess that is how strong a rebel is. It can topple government. It can topple man. It can topple me off guard. I hate how I have to choose my life the way they wanted it to. Why can’t I choose the path I want it to bend? I have never talked this to anyone. Not even my reflection. But I lost the key to mould my future twice. And not that I don’t confront it to them. I tried. Tried. And tried. And fail gloriously. How much is my life worth to them? Why can’t I have the power to devour my life?
Dear ma and pa,Dad, I know I am an extra baggage to you. You don’t know what effort did I made when I was a kid to shine to your eyes. And I know that you hate me. I still can hear your shouts at me when you scold me over things that I don’t do. And you won’t even want to try to believe. You do not know the extra mile I do to get to the top of the class. Mum, I never disobey anything you ask me to. You love my eldest sister to the extent that you neglected the others. Mum, you don’t know how much I love you. I waited for you at the report card session so long until the school ended. And you did not show up. You said you will. But you did not. I had cried silently that night mum. I bit my lips till it bled so that I would not let a sound. Why do have me in the first place if you don’t love me? I tried to commit suicide twice. I once downed acid. And I survived. What if I died? Will they love me then? I hate family arguments. Maybe I hit puberty while the families on a rough ride. But everybody else did. Why can’t I move on? I’m trapped to the past. Like paintings. It’s there. Does paintings have memories? Like Kafka on the shore? I still remember the moments when they do not believe in me. they thought I am not a bright girl and I could sense that they oblige to care of me over their mortal sins. They like my eldest sister because she is smart and excel in anything she do. Now that she is gone leaving the family penniless with turmoil that she engraved forever, they thought I will be the scapegoat to repay them in the future. I don’t mind if its money. But it is my future. I will live it. I will cruise with it. Not you. its mine. My life. they do not let me go overseas. And here I am. When new doors open, they ask me to shuts it. I’m not doing okay. Why? Why? Can I live just this once? I know they talk behind my backs. Mum lied to me. She faked her crying just so I said no to the offer. She said she would not let anybody know the secret but then she tells everyone. I know I act like a child. Like a cry-baby. And immature pre pubescent teenybopper. But what option do I have when all my siblings turn their backs on me over rancid explanation that’s not even mine? I hope I heard them wrong. But then it’s true. They act like they care. But then they mocked at me every time I’m not looking. Seriously, what am I to them? An outsiders? I heard she tells lie about me to people. I heard every single word she bitch about me.Do we owe an infinite sum of price to the owner of which private parts we came from? Do we owe our life to them? Isn’t God created us? Gautama Buddha or Jesus. Yes they are the loan sharks I owe my life to. But mother and father?Swinging the swing is not easy. Sometimes you landed on the wrong foot and ended up with scars. Who knows, baddies might turn up. Stray dogs or wild boars might appear. You swing it best when you swing it the pace you want it to. Feel the breeze. Trapped in the moment. The smell. Swing, swing.
Maybe it is me. I am trapped in a painting.
——>i was like, WTF?. i couldn't even read it quarterly and i feel boring as shit. *YAWNWORTHY
Hell hath no fury like an angry and confused woman.i should interact more with people,and be positive. oh, and God,spare me.please.
