I just realized how care-less I am. How I don’t share my “real” feelings to real people, including my family, and how much I’ve been idling around like I am certain of the future. But the truth is that I’m scared – scared of what may never come and the regrets of not doing what I should’ve done. And yet, what the heck am I doing? Nothing; just the best way to cripple my existence.
I feel helpless, directionless and wretched. I know it’s never a good idea to bring down one’s self. I am in charge of what to feel and how to seize each and every day. That I can never blame anyone on my own mistakes, even if it would help me feel better. But I guess I am too frail to say no this melancholic state. The only good thing is that I am surrounded by people who understand – people that I’m trying to loosen the bonds with.
And maybe, just maybe, this is the source of my dismay. I have mingled with various personalities that I came to forget my own. I have enjoyed the short-lived happiness, which I know isn’t wrong, but surely not good enough for me. It’s this state of change that’s drowning me. Yet I may need to. I really don’t know what to do. I don’t want to look needy, though. Ahh, pride, maybe, eh?!
At first, I thought this may disappoint people. So I realized, I no longer care what they say - just like what I used to believe; unless they slap me back to reality and convince me that I don’t belong to the gloomy wilderness that I’m heading to. I thought I should not force myself to please them. Although being with them brightens up my aura. It’s so perplexing, and painful. But it seems I have to go through this, once and for all.
I now understand that I am truly miserable since I just can’t stop myself from writing even the most senseless of stuff. I write from the heart, though. No editing, no revising, no proofreading – all fresh from the mind to the keyboard and monitor. Maybe, I have always been like that. I admire great and aspiring writers; I feel jealous at times, but I don’t really care whenever I write. I don’t care how I sound, I just let go of the thoughts like it’s the best thing to do when venting out.
I can’t even stop myself from sharing, and posting. I talk like crazy to my newfound shock-absorber or my human stress ball. Feels good to have someone listening to your angst and rants. But I feel scared from time to time, thinking I might get used to it. Oh, so I’ve spent long years getting close to people that I developed the fear of losing them. Reason why I’m trying to loosen the knots intensely tying me to them. I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t want to be alone, yet it feels I’m home.
Honestly, I’m kind of torturing myself. I feel like I need to be punished. That I don’t deserve to be loved because I don’t know how to return the favour. How can I enjoy spending time with my friends when I can’t, or don’t, openly express my devotion to my family. It’s just so unfair to them (my family). I don’t know how to be caring to my siblings, and my parents; or that I’m not used to doing thoughtful things. Reason why I’m always scolded. They say I’m “walang pakialam” and that I’d rather live alone or choose “friends” instead.
If I get the opportunity to bond with my family, I see to it we all enjoy. But most of the time, we’d always be disrupted by something sensitive that’s enough to ruin the mood of the moment. It sucks and it’s traumatic. So I don’t really initiate much of our family get-together or even the simplest form of reunion. Besides, I don’t have that so-so kind of family or the one that we usually find appealing and a very good example. We all have our issues and circumstances. I say I have been through a lot; enough to make me bitter, more defensive and somehow, stronger yet unhappy. I looked for happiness in the simplest of things, yet I don’t feel worthy.
*Sigh. ‘nuff said. Don’t know what can save me. But I’ll try to move on from this alone. Scribbling my thoughts, and part of my emotions, is more than enough to lessen my load. Perhaps, I really need detachment for now…
I feel helpless, directionless and wretched. I know it’s never a good idea to bring down one’s self. I am in charge of what to feel and how to seize each and every day. That I can never blame anyone on my own mistakes, even if it would help me feel better. But I guess I am too frail to say no this melancholic state. The only good thing is that I am surrounded by people who understand – people that I’m trying to loosen the bonds with.
And maybe, just maybe, this is the source of my dismay. I have mingled with various personalities that I came to forget my own. I have enjoyed the short-lived happiness, which I know isn’t wrong, but surely not good enough for me. It’s this state of change that’s drowning me. Yet I may need to. I really don’t know what to do. I don’t want to look needy, though. Ahh, pride, maybe, eh?!
At first, I thought this may disappoint people. So I realized, I no longer care what they say - just like what I used to believe; unless they slap me back to reality and convince me that I don’t belong to the gloomy wilderness that I’m heading to. I thought I should not force myself to please them. Although being with them brightens up my aura. It’s so perplexing, and painful. But it seems I have to go through this, once and for all.
I now understand that I am truly miserable since I just can’t stop myself from writing even the most senseless of stuff. I write from the heart, though. No editing, no revising, no proofreading – all fresh from the mind to the keyboard and monitor. Maybe, I have always been like that. I admire great and aspiring writers; I feel jealous at times, but I don’t really care whenever I write. I don’t care how I sound, I just let go of the thoughts like it’s the best thing to do when venting out.
I can’t even stop myself from sharing, and posting. I talk like crazy to my newfound shock-absorber or my human stress ball. Feels good to have someone listening to your angst and rants. But I feel scared from time to time, thinking I might get used to it. Oh, so I’ve spent long years getting close to people that I developed the fear of losing them. Reason why I’m trying to loosen the knots intensely tying me to them. I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t want to be alone, yet it feels I’m home.
Honestly, I’m kind of torturing myself. I feel like I need to be punished. That I don’t deserve to be loved because I don’t know how to return the favour. How can I enjoy spending time with my friends when I can’t, or don’t, openly express my devotion to my family. It’s just so unfair to them (my family). I don’t know how to be caring to my siblings, and my parents; or that I’m not used to doing thoughtful things. Reason why I’m always scolded. They say I’m “walang pakialam” and that I’d rather live alone or choose “friends” instead.
If I get the opportunity to bond with my family, I see to it we all enjoy. But most of the time, we’d always be disrupted by something sensitive that’s enough to ruin the mood of the moment. It sucks and it’s traumatic. So I don’t really initiate much of our family get-together or even the simplest form of reunion. Besides, I don’t have that so-so kind of family or the one that we usually find appealing and a very good example. We all have our issues and circumstances. I say I have been through a lot; enough to make me bitter, more defensive and somehow, stronger yet unhappy. I looked for happiness in the simplest of things, yet I don’t feel worthy.
*Sigh. ‘nuff said. Don’t know what can save me. But I’ll try to move on from this alone. Scribbling my thoughts, and part of my emotions, is more than enough to lessen my load. Perhaps, I really need detachment for now…
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