Maybe One day

I’m not okay, and I want to be.

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May 31, 2016 • 1:37am

I’m not okay and I want to be. I want to be okay one day.

Im not okay! Okay?

I fucking hate hearing questions like, “how are you?” Like, how am I supposed to answer that? Here– lost, empty, broken, exhausted, frustrated, burnt out, fed up, indifferent. “I’m okay” I’d say, instead. They ask you all sorts of questions like how are you, when you’re apparently not okay. Okay, maybe not. Maybe not obviously, but, come on! Because I’m not fine at all. Finding answers to that is depressing alone; much less bringing it up and remembering why you’re actually so depressed.

They’d ask something like, “how are you?” And then I ask myself the same question: “How am I?”

They ask those questions that drives you insane. They ask questions like nothing, and you’d find potential answers like crazy. When I ask myself the same question… like, “how am I again? “Oh, I’m miserable.” Whenever they ask me, I’ll instantly ask myself the same question. And I’m losing my sanity just to find answer to it. But I don’t wanna look like a fool in front of someone who asks me a very simple question. And I’ll realize immediately that’s why we have this term “okay” to answer just that; that is why I say “I’m okay”, we all do. But truth is, it’s not really that simple. That question is really not simple at all; it’s frustrating AF. As frustrating as math equation. It brings me paranoia. Like I’m really. being. paranoid. It stress me out; it’s not simple for me at all. It’s so complicated, tricky… so confusing. They’ll ask you how are you and then you remember you’re actually depressed, miserable and lost. It’s not fun to talk to. All it does is tear you apart, crush you and depress the hell out of you. That question only reminds you that you’re not okay at all.

But I understand the concern. I understand the good intention of the question. It’s the most noble question, the most acceptable standard a person can do. And the noblest of all humanity and of the human race. The most catastrophic yet the most basic.

I don’t hate people for asking me such questions. I hate myself for having no real answer. I hate myself for being troubled. I hate myself for panicking; hate that I’m getting anxious every time I hear it especially when I asked myself how I really am. It’s easy faking it to people, but faking it to yourself only makes you feel desperate than ever… It’s like any moment, my mind’s gonna blow up because I don’t know, I don’t understand and it’s killing me.

The question itself is killing me. My mind is killing me for having no clear answer; my paranoia is killing me. It’s. Just. Killing. Me. And every time,– it killed me. And every time it kills me, I die.– apparently, inside.

I wanna stop dying. I wanna wake up and know that I’m okay. I wanna wake up one day and know I am totally okay. And I know why because I’m fucking sure why. Because I finally know how it feels like.

I’m hoping for the day I’ll be okay. I’m still hoping for that day.

Maybe one day…

Life Like Seasons

“People come and go, in and out of each other’s lives like it’s nothing. So I don’t know how/why this should be a big deal.” – Lauren Barnholdt

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June 6, 2016 • 11:41pm

But that’s because people come and go.

“People come and go…”

Sounds so simple, isn’t it? But when you really think critically about it, it isn’t really. That. Simple. People seems to forget the drain and emptiness that you feel, and tend to say these kind of phrase to make it sound so simple… plain… and easy. People come and go. But, really? Is it really that simple? Or… easy? It almost sounds like it’s nothing. People come and go like it’s nothing. People love to make it sound like it’s nothing. Like, some kind of material thing that has a lower value than itself; or that it cost nothing . It sounds so cheap and petty. Because truth is, it’s just nothing, no big deal at all. They always make it sound like that. Same as “move on” or “let go” or… “Forget”. F^ck that.

And it’s times like these… where I’d think to myself, ‘these shallow folks do not really know pain. They don’t even understand a thing about it.’ And then my negative view, and cynical perception about them goes on… and on… and on. Again.

Wow. What a brilliant phrase it is that reminds us of how awfully destructed we became when left by the people that doesn’t even meant to last. Fantastic. Exquisite. I think I want to laugh… and cry. How pathetic it actually is that we hold on so tightly to them, and then one day… let go; move on, because people come and go. That’s all.

Unbelievable.

It drives me nuttier than ever.

So, what a waste it actually was that we spent most of our precious time with those people who were meant to be strangers one day. Who was meant to be yours for now, and then for somebody else’s on the next day. Or to be your life for now, and then, the causation of your destruction later. Or… the very source of your happiness today and then the emptiness of your whole existence, eventually. Or to be your world right now, and be the reason why you’d want to flee this very real world someday… What, Some people were meant to be by your side in your whole life… and then you’d wake up one day, and suddenly they weren’t there anymore, and never coming back? Because people come and go. That is all? I mean, just. Like. That? I don’t know what frustrates me more,– that people make it sound so facile and shallow, or the reality that it is, in fact, true. That I finally have to acknowledge to myself that it is one of truest thing of the few truths I ever have to know. That… it hurts to know it really sounds just like that. Simple and plain. When it’s not — when it’s really not.

That’s what life is about: People come and go.

We spend our times, — even the happiest ones, with them. And then we have to accept the fact one day, that they’re gone. That they’re off to somewhere we cannot go, let alone reach. That they have to leave us when the time comes, not because they want to, but because they needed to. That this life, isn’t meant to be lived forever. And that this, too, come and go to all of us. We are not meant to last to each other. At times, I’d think about how people come and go into my life. And then I’d think to myself, have I ever come to someone else’s life, or have I already go away? Am I already gone somewhere in their lives? I mean, how does that feel like to them, is it as painful as mine when people go and leave? But then I’d realize immediately that there’s in fact no one; there’s nobody, that I have ever involved my life with. No one.

“People come and go. BE PREPARED.”

People come and go but the mermories will last forever — even if you don’t want to. Even if you don’t prefer to. Sometimes I think it’s better when memories just die along with them when they leave, but they don’t. We carry those memories with us, until it kills us in the most unforgiving, yet subtle way than it may seem. Until we die, until we move on, until we learn to live again. Until we let go of them. We carry those memories along with us as we go through life. And so is pain. We bear those pain of the memories we had and pretend we don’t feel them. We hide and bury them within the deepest parts of us just so it won’t destroy us. But we can’t get rid of them. It’s borne within us and cannot be taken away, because even memories are part of who we are today. No matter how good, no matter how bad. We are who are today because of those memories and experiences.

We are who we are because of what makes us. And even though painful, that includes our past.

But people come and go. Just like days, just like time. Just like seasons, — just like life. Just like everything else. We cannot stop the inevitable from happening, we cannot stop changes. We can’t stop the world from spinning whenever we feel tired. We can only let ourselves go with the flow of everyday life. We can’t stop our wounds from hurting and bleeding, but we will learn to heal, somehow. We can’t forget the memories of us with them but we can always try to make new ones and hope that it will outgrow the first ones. We make new to replace the old. We can’t make those people come back to us but we can always try to meet new ones.

Welcoming what’s new.

Because people come and go. You have to know this painful truth about life even if you don’t want to; even if you ain’t ready. Even if you’re never prepared for it. To make new ones, and hope that it won’t go like a cycle… but it has no guarantee. Life comes to us very vaguely. And we have to continue living even if we don’t understand such a thing. And that’s the tragedy of living.

People come and go. We, come and and go. Everything is. And as much as it hurts to know the truth… Life, come  and go to each of us. And I think the bottom line is,

To never let your life be taken for granted.

“We are so important to some; but we are just… passing through.”

Inexplicable State

You can’t explain yourself to people. It’s either exhausting; or there’s no way out.

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June 5, 2016 • 1:43 am

It’s not strange when we hide our pain to ourselves. It’s strange when we don’t. It’s strange when we talk about it to others. It’s strange when we tell them. Because pain is a feeling, and is supposed to be felt. Just like love, just like passion, just like happiness or any other sensitivity we have inside us. And somehow, I find myself lost of words for it, I bet some of you too. I guess maybe that’s why. Maybe that’s why we can’t ever explain it sometimes because it’s too hard for us to find a word to frame it when there’s no any. And it is because it’s a feeling inside, not a thing outside of us that can easily be seen, explained… or even describe.

Or maybe it’s hard because it’s hard to find someone who’ll actually listen, who will understand or who won’t judge. Or someone we can really trust, or who will feel the same way. Or someone who can relate, or who can connect with us. And sometimes it’s just hard. And I mean, it’s just plain hard — that is all. Sometimes when you feel all that, everything’s hard… But I guess maybe sometimes, you also need someone who can reach out to you and be there for you. And not because you want to. But because s/he can feel you.

I wonder how hard it was for us to bear all these hurt and harrowing pain inside us and not once have we ever tried to talk about it to anyone.

It must’ve been fcking real hard, I suppose…

I wonder if those pain would appear on our bodies one by one, and if we could walk around seeing those wounds or disease… Would we look at us? Or each other? What would we look like? A casualties? Like, a bloody wounded people that had just gone from a war? Or a people corrupted by a plague? Or maybe we’re people full of scars; we would never even recognize our faces anymore if we ever bumped into each other again.

I mean, pain is pain. No matter what kind of pain it is. We knew it. Whether a loss, heartbreak, agony, misery. — they all feel the same… regardless of the reason. Still tastes like pain. We’ll always recognize it when it comes; always felt familiar. It is what it is. I thought maybe if we could talk about it to others or even just someone, we would feel a little better; a little less alone. A little less miserable. But that was the point. It’s what making it stung even more. When you need one but there’s no one. Unfortunately, I’m not making any sense. I’m trying to make up a word for pain, but here I am saying it’s because you’re all alone? Sucks. But let’s just put it down lightly. Pain is what killing you inside — and it’s what will make you want to kill what’s on the outside.

I wonder how much we have endured just to desperately hide it.

We want someone who’ll gonna be there but there’s no one. Perhaps that’s what makes us feel that we are indeed alone. When we’re alone with our thoughts; alone with our feelings… and fears. It’s when the silence becomes painful, instead of peaceful. The chaos of isolation. The pang of oppression.

But we’re not that desperate. Or at least, we don’t want to appear to be. We don’t want to look like one. I know sometimes it’s because we’re just a little shy… or timid, let’s say. Or maybe because we’re afraid they would reject us. Or most of the time, we want to contain it to ourselves. We don’t want to burden them with loads of what we feel, when we know clearly, that it’s not going be so easy for them. To both bear and understand. You know exactly how that pain feels like and fear that if you share it with them, they’d feel the same way which is apparently,– not a good idea. Which is why you just keep it to yourself.

It’s not that easy to find a word. It’s not easy to find someone. It’s not easy to tell; not easy to talk about. It’s not easy to share. It’s not easy to watch them suffer for it; or with what’s supposed to be just yours. And it’s mostly not easy to keep it to yourself any longer either, when you know it’s already killing you. It’s. Not. Easy.

It’s not easy to cut yourself open and show them that you bleed. To open yourself up and expose your vulnerability… to show them every cracks..

Sometimes nothing’s easy.

But you choose the last choice — to keep it to yourself even if it’s killing you; even if it’s not easy. But to keep it inside you no matter what the cost seems to be a better option, than to cause harm when you share it to them and let them feel the same thing.

And If you’re a grenade and you’re gonna blow up at some point, I bet you’d never want to see anyone to pick you up and kill them, or let them die with you when it’s time for your inevitable explosion.

I bet you’d rather choose to be alone with it, as well. No matter how much it hurts anyway.

To be alone, that is.

But I wish I can tell you. I wish I can make you understand. I wish I can explain to you. But I can’t. I just can’t. I do not know how. Because how can you explain something you don’t even understand yourself? I cannot tell you not because I don’t want to; but because I just don’t really know how. I wish I can describe to you just how I feel… so that you may know, and that I may feel a little less alone, and a little bit free… So that you would get me, so that you will understand what’s going on inside me. But that’s the thing. I’m blowing up and I don’t know what to do. I do not know how to escape; I do not know where to go. I just do not really know how. I’m just simply lost…

And floating.

Sinking Deep

Abyssal thoughts… Abstracted mind.

June 3, 2016 • 11:50 pm

My thoughts are so distant. 

It’s so odd, so strange, and so peculiar… It’s taking me to places… — a space of nowhere. Into this unknown abyss. It’s doing me no good. It’s dragging me off the shore and pulling me down the deepest chasm. A place of the unknown. I am drifting away… Slowly sinking inside the huge gaping void; a gulf of solitude. It’s taking me in places I can’t be found; where I am so alone. A place where no one can reach me nor understand me… let alone why I’m here. These thoughts are locking me up into the isolation; and the solitary zone of emptiness… a world not my own. But the world I can own. A place I never knew existed; a place that hides inside me, a place where I came from. A place where I lost myself and still the place where I can find myself subsisting again. It was the flashback of who I used to be.

A place in me. A place for me.

A place that’s dark. So dark, I can’t see a part of me… a place for my sad, sad soul. A place where the chaos is coming from… and where serenity lies. The unfamiliar vast space that’s becoming a home. A home where I belong; a home I tried to run away from. A bastille where I’ve been locked up for aeon and the nirvana where I can find myself free. It’s the paradox of where my fear lurks and where all my dream lies… A place of the unknown where I know who I am and I can be; and where I become unknowable to others.

A place so fictitious…

A blank canvas. A place where I have the will to make it real. A land of my troubled disposition; and a cryptic mind. A house of my discontented soul, but a home for the coldest truth. There await the lies and the logic. The betrayal and the verity, the genuine and visionary. The place where I found nothing… and where I am nothing. The house for my nothingness. The space and the capacity of delusions and imagination. The place of reality, of my abstracted mind and subtle sanity.

A vacant space. An empty cosmos.

The home of my loathsome past and lamented heart. A wracked plans and obstructed aspirations. A place where I found my hope wasting away; rusting. The place where my declining life and broken dreams were buried long ago. A hollow; yet empty reservoir…

A memoir of my existence.

A vast hollowing mess… The abyss where I lost myself and the only place where I can be found.

A place so hideous yet the place where I’ve also found possibilities. A place so unknown, and yet the place where I can find the purpose and the deepest meaning. A place for chances, and peace… and hope. A place of ending and starting over again; a place for a great quest. A place of destruction and standing up and moving on… The journey of hurting, suffering, and learning. A place of hoping, and living, and surviving. A place for making things happen again. A place of changes and imperfections.

A place of realization.

A darkest space where I find the girl on the abyss.

A place so ugly, but remains the place where I’ve found myself free.

Jones of Wanting and Learning

We can’t really stop wanting not because it’s what we only live for; but because it’s what gives us hope, sometimes. We can’t make ourselves stop growing.

May 31, 2016  •  11:11pm

Maybe life is easy. 

Maybe we are the ones who always tend to complicate things; everything. We try to find meaning for these things; we make words for every single thing. We seek reasons for every act. Make theories for every matter. We want to discover things; we want to know this, and know that. We want to go there and see these things we want. We name every little things, so that we know what to call them. We want to do this; we want to do that. We want to learn, we want to make things… We want to make things happen.

We want and we want… and then we want even more. Maybe we want too much that we forget who we are, what we have, and what we really are? We do all these things, and we leave every bits of piece of us in each and everything that we put through… and then when it all pass by, they take those little parts of us until we eventually feel empty. And here we are, worrying about how we can find those parts of us that we’ve lost in the process. And then it becomes time for us to find what we’ve lost; to find who we are… To find what it is that we’ve lost.

To find ourselves again.

We walk and walk through this journey of knowing everything. Everything that can be learned. Everything that can be reached; everything and anything that we can possibly imagine… And it is only in the end that we think for ourselves. It’s still on the last part where we realize we should find ourselves, too. — it’s always been at the end, that we realize the subtle mistakes that were unbeknownst to us at first. But shouldn’t we find ourselves first before trying to find anyone or anything else? Shouldn’t we put ourselves first before we put other things up? Cannot we complete others if we’re not even whole yet? If we, ourselves are still incomplete?

Maybe we want too much that we forget what we have in our hands; what we already have. Maybe we keep on looking in front of us and we keep on wondering what’s on the other side, and we badly want to go there. We keep on looking forward; keep on wanting those things ahead of us… The light in front of us on the other side is almost blinding us. We didn’t notice we spend most of our time just looking forward. We completely forget to appreciate where we are; who we are with, and what we have right now. We tend to forget things so easily; almost instantly, when we should really seize them.

We forget what we should remember and remember what we should forget.

Maybe we should stop wanting?

Maybe we should stop wanting because it’s the roots of our loss and suffering.

We should stop wanting but we can’t.

I guess we can’t stop wanting because it’s what makes us who we are. Wanting. It helps us figure things out; it helps us find the answers. It makes us feel alive, it makes us realize our existence… It gives us hope; it makes us happy. It makes us feel we’re human.

To stop wanting is to stop suffering. But to stop suffering means dying. To stop wanting means the same thing.

To stop wanting means the end.

So what shall we do then, to suffer,– or to die? Maybe we can always endure suffering. Maybe we can, because that’s how we learn. And learning is what makes the suffering worthwhile. To suffer while learning, than to die without knowing anything at all. Because we can’t afford to die without even learning anything.

We lose ourselves in the process of wanting certain things; most of the time, it frustrates the hell out of us. We lose ourselves. Maybe that’s the point. — we lose ourselves, so we eventually learn how to find ourselves again. We suffer, so we can learn to heal our own wounds; and bounce back to normal, even when the scar it had left us would still remain. It breaks us, so we can learn how to fix ourselves… how to be resilient, and how to deal with pain. Things around us are fickle so we can learn to adapt to change. The most unpleasant things happen to us so we’ll know all about imperfections.

Because life isn’t perfect. We ain’t perfect. But the point of life is learning that imperfection is part of us; and we learn to live with those imperfections, at least, eventually. — or inevitably. Because it’s what makes us what we are; and it’s what make life what it is. Imperfection is what completes us; it’s what makes us whole.

So we continue to live the life full of wanting, hurting… and suffering. Losing… and finally,– Learning. It’s what we choose to. In the end, it’s always what we choose to. — even absentmindedly… Because despite of all the torments we get of having the desire to want… we can’t give up wanting because that’s how we live; it’s what we hold on to. It’s what makes us look forward to the better future. — wanting to achieve your goals, wanting to make your wish happen; and wanting your dreams to come true. Wanting for better days to come, and wanting to hope for more. No matter how much that desire may hurt us… no matter what the cost, we can’t just give up wanting. Because that’s how we live. We suffer, and then we learn… so that we can hope, and live again.

So I guess, we can’t really stop wanting because we won’t stop learning and we can’t give up living.

Destitute Phantom

We are the bunches of feelings we hide away… Destitute Phantom we are, we forget we are Humans.

May 30, 2016  •  11:36pm

We’re not invisible. People can see us but they don’t notice us.

Perhaps we’re just a soul walking down the streets? Yes, maybe a group of souls running around the earth. Or maybe… We’re all just a bunches of feelings and emotions? That they just don’t wanna feel us so they tend to dismiss us before we even get a chance to speak.. And they keep doing things… keeping their minds busy so that they could forget about us? They distract themselves to avoid us… They shoo us every time we try to go near them. They don’t wanna see us or feel us…or know us. They want to keep us away from them, they don’t even want to give us a chance to introduce ourselves… Or hear us. They don’t want to hear us knocking on their doors. They want us out of their sights. They escape from us. They walk away…and ignore us. They run away from us when we’re trying to say something…they pretend we’re not here. They want us to go far, far away from them. They want to keep us off their way. They want us gone.

They don’t want us. They don’t want us appearing on their lives. They hate us.

People are cruel. They dismiss every bits of part of us. They’ll walk away when all we wanted was to be heard. They’ll reject us when all we wanted was someone who’ll understand. They’ll elude us when all we wanted was someone to talk to. They’ll leave us when we desperately needed them.

It’s so exhausting. You keep on trying and then people keep on letting you down. We’re trying to be open so that we can share a part of us. And when we’re being open they tend to neglect us and then eventually wonder why we keep ourselves shut up closed.

We are not invisible to each other. People can see us. They just pretend they don’t notice us.

But we’re just like a soul, a feeling and emotion we kept hidden. They’re invisible but we’re not. But people are hiding from each other; afraid of showing up; not wanting to be seen, pretending not to care. Why are these people rejecting each other when they know exactly how to feel the very same thing? We are hiding like crazy that we find ourselves hiding from our own, too.

“Why do people reject me? Why do they always neglect me? Why don’t they understand me?” And then I asked myself the same question.

I can’t demand to ask things from others while I don’t even have it in me. No, I don’t have the right to.

Why am I running away from myself? Why am I dismissing a thought whenever it’s about to get started? Why am I hiding my feelings from me? Why am I refusing to hear myself? Why am I avoiding the thoughts that my mind constantly reminds me?

Because I’m afraid. Afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of facing the truth; afraid of admitting I’m wrong, afraid of getting broken; afraid of everything. Everything that might go wrong. Everything that might destroy me. Again.

I realized, I can’t ask people the questions I still have no answers for myself; while it remains a mere question for me that I’m trying to find an answer to.

I realized… I was this soul, and this feelings, and this emotions I was actually talking about… I am what I do to me. I am what I keep inside me, I am what I hide away. I was making myself invisible to me, when I know every bit of the truth. When I can hear everything my mind says. And I can see myself doing nasty things to me, I can feel every bit of what I feel; everything that comes from my senses… I can see me, I can feel me. But for some inexplicable reason, I’m trying to hide away from me. I always find myself running away from me. I always want to escape. I am one of those people I say.

I was this girl, who notices everything of what people do… and constantly trying to avoid hers. Someone who doesn’t want to talk about it, and avoids bringing it up. Someone who dismiss and disregard her sentiments. I was this cruel girl who hates herself so much that she doesn’t want to hear herself talk about her feelings. 

Because I am these feelings I have no courage to face; the thoughts I do not understand. And the truth I cannot deal with. I am the emotion I’m always trying to dismiss and always wanna hide.

I was this destitute phantom… wandering around, needing something from others; when I don’t even have it from myself.

In Denial By Means

And we are all in denial. But it wasn’t a choice, it’s a necessary preference.

But… No. I’m fine 😉

May 17, 2016

We are all in denial in a lot of ways; in so many levels, to the point that we would never admit it when we’re truly hurting. We’d rather be seen as strong and tough not because we’re cocky or something… But because at some point, it was easier to pretend you’re strong than it is to admit that you’re actually not, and that you’re likely to break into pieces at any moment..

Is it because of Pride

Perhaps. But for me, though– I’d rather say it’s not. For someone who had borne so much; for someone who’ve been hurt so much.. For someone like me, who had been in pain so much. I’d say having just ‘Pride’ — a reason for denying that you’re hurting must be too shallow.

There’s even a lot of reasons for it… e.g. fear. Yes, fear. I seldom say that word because…well, I still don’t know why. But maybe because I just don’t wanna talk about it… Maybe because it’s a sore part for everybody? — Or at least, for me. I still don’t know. But here it is,– fear of getting judged by others; fear of letting them know you inside, fear of letting people get involved in your troubles… and your own private life. Fear of letting them, or anyone in.

Or maybe… simply because you know it very well that they won’t understand it anyway. Or you’re afraid to tell them and realize that they don’t really care. Because you know exactly how it feels like to be rejected, and that your feelings would be, or might become underrated at some point…

Or maybe there’s no one to talk to. 

It’s hard enough to have that heavy load of feelings on your chest, and you’ll look around…and then look for someone to share it to; only to find out that… there’s  nobody. Nobody there for you; and that you’re all alone and it kills you.

Or maybe…it’s just hard. HARD AF. I mean, how do you suppose to tell your feelings to begin with? I mean, dude, it’s a “feeling” and is supposed to be felt; they’re intangible. Sometimes it hurts to open up yourself to someone. Most of the time, it hurts that you can’t find any word to frame your current feelings, or situation… Let alone what’s going on inside you. It’s easy to cry, and we all know that. But who wants to be seen crying? So… I guess it’s easier to pretend you’re okay. (tho, not really)

Sometimes when you’re finally ready to open up to someone, they’re not paying attention — or simply didn’t care at all and it hurts even more. You thought they were there, you thought they’d understand. But they don’t. It hurts so much because you know you needed help; you need them, but it seems that they’re not interested and you don’t want to burden them with your loads of trouble either. It was hard enough to explain to yourself why you’re feeling that way, especially when you don’t really have an answer…– How much more trying to explain it to other people?

So, in the end… you probably just sit there, not saying anything. But you’re dying inside, breaking… and falling apart. It’s hard you know, — losing your mind, losing yourself… Back then, whenever I hear people saying they want to find themselves…. I was always like, “lol, what are these people? crazy? Hello? How do you lose yourself, is it even possible?” But at nineteen… I know. I know now. Nothing’s impossible. I was just too childish to realize before; immature enough to even understand what life truly meant. I realized, I actually don’t even understand life one bit. Until I find myself on the verge of insanity… I was getting torn between my sanity and losing it. I was losing my mind.. I was losing people.. I was losing my life. And I just wanna be gone

It’s extremely difficult to talk about it without getting yourself burst into flood of tears… It’s like, you hid it well and kept it so long just so no one could ever see it, no one would really know about it… You built these high walls, a great big walls — just to prevent people from breaking in; to keep anyone from jumping inside and invading your privacy. To avoid a single crack get into it… You build it to restrict your feelings, to hold down of yourself. Not to let the floodgates burst open.

It’s hard to make people understand. Especially when you don’t even understand it yourself. It’s hard to say a word. It’s hard to make up a word for it. It’s hard when you badly needed someone, and see that you’re all alone because there’s nobody. It’s hard to keep those feelings up all to yourself because it’s — at some point, fatal and it’s killing you. It’s hard when you desperately wanted to cry, but you can’t. It’s hard to pretend you’re okay but it’s the only way we have. And it wasn’t a choice; but it seems to be the only option that was left for us… denying everything. It’s hard to stay when you badly wanted to go away, but you cannot leave…

When you come to think of it, there’s no easy thing at all. Everything comes at a price. Everything you do, everything you choose,– there’s always gonna be a result for what you’ve done. A consequence, a price. We don’t always have a choice. We don’t always get to choose what we want; especially when it wasn’t even among the given choices that was ahead of us in the first place. Sometimes, we are left alone to choose the only option that was left for us. We don’t really have a choice. Not always. Most of the time… we just have to persist, that’s why we do things even if we don’t want to, even if it hurts us.

Endure what hurts, thank what’s not.

But we are all in denial. And always will be. We can’t talk about it, we don’t want to talk about it. Forget that it hurts, bury it deep inside yourself.– Because it’ll always gonna be hard to talk about what hurts us, to talk about our fears, to talk about our pain… But keeping it inside, and letting it kill you ain’t an easy thing either. But you choose what you think is for the better; what you think is right, what you think is just appropriate. And you think that it was just right to keep it all inside than share it with them; and watch them suffer for what’s supposed to be just your own burden. But it’s hard to put a smile when your tears were brimming on the brink of your eyes… and I know that your chest is about to explode at any given moment, but just breathe..breathe.

Saying a thing ain’t at all easy. But pretending to be just fine ain’t an easy thing, either. But pretending seems to be the best option for that matter.

So… I think we’re neither in denial because of choice. Nor we’re just in denial by chance, we’re not being in denial because we’re killing ourselves and we’re fine with it… and we’re most probably not in denial because it was easier.

We’re in denial because that’s what our situation asks for. And we feel like, it seems to be the only option that was left for us. To avoid killing others when they find out that you’re actually, dying inside.

We like to pretend but we don’t mean to lie. We don’t mean to fool others…or anyone. But we make ourselves believe that we can fool ourselves enough if we just keep on saying, and telling the rest of the world that we’re fine. We keep on fooling ourselves by telling each other we’re okay; that we’d actually believe it, eventually and hopefully.

But we are all in denial by heart. In denial by action. In denial on purpose

I guess we’re in denial by fate. But it’s really hard to talk about it; let alone admit it.

And we are all in denial. But it wasn’t a choice, it’s a necessary preference.

But… no. Really,  I’m fine.