I Decided To Blog

I cannot flee this madness and insanity that is tied within me; but I at least want to be able to do something with it. I wanted to write in order to free myself from the past.

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                           June 2, 2016 | 6:46pm

Why I made this blog

I began this blog with the hope that I just might be able to free myself from what’s been tethering me from over the past years now… I realized, I have to be okay — that I need to. I want to be able to free myself from the past; from everything that’s been locking me up inside a box. And there’s no one to help me but myself. And that I’ll have to help myself real soon. I want these thoughts out of my mind, and these ugly feelings I’ve always felt inside, to let go what’s hurting… I want to be able to release them all. I want them out of my system. I want them gone, I wanted to let it all go, that is all.

But I was terribly alone. There’s no one to talk to. There’s no one who can even understand; had I ever tried to open up about it. I want a friend who will understand, and who will listen. But they’re all out there, having their own lives. And I don’t have the nerve to burden them with what’s supposed to be just my own troubles, either. I can’t just do that. Or at least, I don’t want let myself to. Even if they’d be kind to want to listen, had I’ve had the courage to tell them… I know, I’m not supposed to. Because it’s not the kind of thing they need to hear, even if they’d be willing to. Besides, I don’t even know how to find a word to begin with, anyway. And…we’re growing up and even though painful, we grow apart. And that’s the reality of life. You have to grow on your own, too.

Everything has changed. Our situations have changed; they’re all busy. We’re not that able to tell our own jokes, our stories and even our problems anymore. (the same way as before). We used to be very transparent with just about anything, and everything, which is every-single-thing. And now we just became mum with each other. But that’s because we have no time.

I write because I want to be free. To be free from what’s been hurting inside me, to be free from my own thoughts, that’s never been so good to me (for they’re just so toxic) and may seem to become worse, if I still continue letting them eat me away, alive. To become free from my frustrations, anxiety, procrastination and paranoia. I cannot flee this madness and insanity that is tied within me; but I at least want to be able to do something with it. I wanted to write in order to free myself from the past. 

From Everything.

I want to release the burden and be able to breathe again. I’m trying to save myself; I’m trying to live.
It’s been five years since I ever wrote a piece of what I’m feeling. I used to be a “journal kind of girl”. I was that highschool girl who used to write every significant event in her life. Even those petty little things if I ever feel like it. I’ve used up several notebooks/journal already on those highschool days, just writing about what happened or what I feel. I was that girl who’s very fond of writing every bits of her fun memories, or anger, frustrations, or any sorts of emotion.

But that was before.

Until the darkest days of my life have come and turned into years, and years… I wanted to write it all down. All my sadness and anger and melancholies. All of it. But somehow, I just find it dreary, and inappropriate enough to just write it all down when I know there’s nothing to it; nothing good, or worthy about it that I could ever write about. My life has been so full of miseries and sorrow and grief… I do not buy the idea of writing them, and then one day, suddenly finding them; scrolling into this journal unintentionally and read about those terrible experiences and words full hate; and regret and loathe myself for it. 

I’m tired of hating myself; I’ve hated myself enough.

I never want to blame myself again one day, only because I’ve just written a story full of crap. I said, I won’t write about those sad and ugly things that has happened to me. At all. I don’t want to talk about those gloomy things, I only want to write about the positive ones… I want to write about the good ones, because one day, I want to look back to it, go back reading them, and find a beautiful piece of stories on it. I said, maybe one day I can write again. Perhaps, I’ll be able to write again in time, because there’s something good again that’ll happen. So I decided, I’ll write only when there’s finally a good thing that I can tell and write about. But then again it was just me, being a dreamer. Trying to be all optimist.

But I was wrong.

It has been five long years and yet, there’s nothing beautiful thing that has ever come to me. All I got was hate and exasperation…and frustration, and depression…

I am full of pain and agony. All the pain does is to torture the hell out of me. I figured, I should’ve just wrote it all instead. Maybe it would’ve helped me; maybe I’ll feel a little bit better or a little bit free… 

And I’ve come to realize that there’s no such thing as beautiful.
It’s not perfect; even being beautiful means you need to have a little flaws. And being beautiful means having both the good and the bad sides. Not all stories are all good and all beautiful. That it’ll only become beautiful when it has the good part in it despite the many bad parts..

Even mine does. 

So last year, 2015, I started my blog on tumblr. But then I realized, there’s something more… there’s this something else I wanted. I was never satisfied. I figured, perhaps I need another blog elsewhere. And at some point, I build it here in WordPress because regardless of being real sleek,  you can have the privacy you want and you’ll feel more free to talk about yourself without the fear that someone will know you, lol. That is also why I don’t want to put my name in here. At least, not yet. But hopefully one day, I’ll find the courage to.

I could’ve just easily write down my thoughts on the journal again, instead. But I fear someone might just read it when I clumsily left it behind. And I think this is a better option, or maybe even more. You know, with all those passwords, security and all that.

So…yeah, I guess I made this blog to help myself up. To be able to feel free, even just in the form of writing. Because I want to be okay.

I decided to help myself up to be okay, because I would’ve just killed myself otherwise. 

Lol, just kidding. 😝

Author: The Realist in the Abyss

I feel like a freaking lunatic. Wandering around... not knowing who I am... or what I do. And I'm still trying to figure it all out, too. But perhaps I'll always be unknown to me; I'll always be that girl. The girl in the abyss.

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