False Hopes

Everything is just going into hell of a repetition and I couldn’t stand it anymore. Everything is going the same and I’m stuck on the same pattern.

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11:54pm • Sept. 26, 2017

I hate this Life.

I hate this fucking life. I hate my life and everything in it. And I mean, everything. Everything that’s happening… everything that’s been going on. I hated this fucked up life of mine. And above all, I hate myself the most. Everything is just going into hell of a repetition and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I swear, I’d give up any moment with just one tap on the shoulder. Everything is just the same. Everything sucks.– To which one day felt exactly like another… Everything is repeating itself. Day after day, week after week, month after month… Damn, even year after year! I am losing my mind and I cannot escape this hell! I’m so tired of this shit. I can’t do this anymore. Everything is going the same and I’m stuck on the same pattern.

I hate this Life? –such a cliché line, I know. But believe me when I say that I know how “cliché” exactly feels like. How frustrating it is? Oh, dear! You have no idea.

I’m so… so tired giving up each day and then trying to be optimistic the next day, because who knows what might happen if I just get at least a little bit hopeful… Besides, it’s what they all say. Hope. “Just Hope”. –It is something they all believe in. And it’s something they all hold on to, — to convince themselves to never give up because there’s that. Yeah, that thing.

And I didn’t know it then. I didn’t know that hope can be lethal. Hope is fatal. Period. I didn’t know that hope will kill you. Hope can kill you, when there’s too much of it. And that Hope, will actually kill you in the end. That it’ll one day turn into this kind of poisonous potion eventually… And while everyday you keep drinking it; trying to fill up your heart and trying to convince your mind… Trying to keep that dream alive. We drank into it. Into the idea that hope was some kind of medicine; a cure, perhaps. To keep our sanity. Insisting that hope will save us.

But hope have saved us.

From ourselves, from our own negations. From our own doubts… and fears, and our own questions. Just so we would shut up, and just Hope, instead. Or maybe we use it as a form of escaping… because we do not have the courage to accept and face what happens but instead prefer to hope for the better, if not for the best. Knowing we, fool people that we are, would accept anything the world tells us to believe. The society could’ve put stones in our mouths and yet, we would’ve swallowed it in the blink of an eye. We believe everything that we hear and see… But in denial to our own feelings. Couldn’t accept what we already feel. Wouldn’t believe all of which we’ve really had experienced.

Hope. Motherfvcker

It had killed us in the most subtle way… In a way that we, ourselves, wouldn’t even recognize at all. Hell, hope is even more cunning than a wolf,– if I say so myself. It was pretty unrecognizable to the point that we couldn’t even understand what was happening. We are blinded by the thought that hope, and only hope would save us. Hope is something we hold onto when there is nothing else that we can do. We subconsciously think that hope will save us, but it won’t. Only Faith, will.

We hope and hope… Until we wake up one day, and realize we’re empty. We simply give up and cling unto the idea of hope because we can no longer do anything. We thought it was okay to hope, and that it’s a normal thing to do because everyone does it. Everyone always hope for the best. Hope for the better. Hope for more. You see, that is our mistake; we put it all into hope so much and forget to do something for ourselves. — In our own. Forgetting that hope can do nothing for you but to keep you positive. To give you something that will fire you up to always keep you warm inside. Maybe the fault is in ours, after all. And not to blame it all out to hope itself. We made ourselves believe. We made ourselves believe so much… in which we, ourselves, had made.

Maybe they were right when they say that everything that’s too much is bad. Because hope has been a drug, for us…– or for me, at least. I took too much of it and got so high. So high that I couldn’t even remember what I did next. Maybe I got into a deep slumber and forgot to move on my feet. Maybe I enjoyed partying so much and forgotten how to go back home. Maybe… maybe it was wrong to hope. Maybe it was wrong for me because I had gone this way; Maybe I should’ve never took dose of that toxic pill of hope each time I was down. Because I never knew it’d only turn out to be like this. I should’ve let myself succumb into doom and let myself burn instead. Maybe it would’ve gone better that way.

But then I hoped because there is nothing else that is left for me to do. I can’t do anything to change it; to reverse my life. And if there is anything else that I can do, that is to hope. To hope that things would get better, somehow.

I hope one day we never have to hope. We only have to believe and then it will happen. But then that’s the thing. Because nothing really happens.

Nameless and Deserted Little One

So Darling, when you take it please bury it deep within the gardens of weeds because maybe then, it’ll grow roots…Maybe then it’ll grow flower. And then you can think that it is still alive.

Jul. 12, 2018 • 6:50pm

Sometimes sadness is so enormous that you feel it everywhere; in everything you do… That it can swallow you anywhere you go. It follows you. It’s always there everywhere you go. I feel like I can no longer write anymore. Or do anything on my own. I feel like… I feel like it can get to me anytime and I can do nothing but give up. I feel like I can’t handle this anymore. It’s dragging me down… and little by little I sunk. I do not know what to do… I do not know what to do.

I realized sadness is not a place; nor it is a thing. It is a feeling. And yeah, maybe I’m the only one…– the only living human not to know about that. And I, too, am a fool. I try everything… try everything to flee. But I cannot. I just can’t. It feels so heavy… So heavy that I can barely breathe. I feel my chest tight; as if some huge rock was onto it. This… this pain is so very unrealistic. Unforgivable. I feel like I’m going to cry, but no tears would come out. One moment I wanted to scream, the next moment I want to vanish. I wanted to vanish into thin air.

And then I can’t.

But if only I can, I would.

I am exhausted. Exhausted living. Trying to know what this life is all about. Seeking… Searching meaning and answers. But not even one would show up. I am deserted. I wish… I wish I could just die without any trail. I wanted to go…. Somewhere far far away from here. I wanted to go to the stars if that is even possible. I wanted to die with them. Even though I’m not worthy. Or maybe go to the moon; ask her why she feels empty. Be at her side; try to understand her. I wanted to lay there… Just lay there. With no gravity; nor oxygen. I wanted to die there. With no one to see me, no one to be there. I wanted to be alone. To die alone. I want to let myself be.

And eventually this tired body of mine will rot, and I hope there is no worm there… For I am scared. Scared of them. Always scared of little things. Of petty little things… Even scared of myself sometimes. Of what I can, — and cannot do. See, I am crazy. Lost my sanity a long time ago… Been like this for a while now. And I hate this. I hate me. I so so hate…. Myself.

One moment I wanted to go back to sleep, the next moment wanted to scream. One moment I wanted to scream; the next moment I wanted to see the stars and go there. That’s just me… Me and my insanity. I do not know how to get hold of reality anymore and I can’t stand it.

I do not know where to start. I do not know where to go back to. There is nothing for me here… This place is not for me. I do not belong here. I am… I am… Lost. Always like this. I do not know what to do. I’m always alone but why I feel so alone? Right now. I feel like my heart is breaking into million pieces… and I can’t fix it. But I love fixing things. How the hell I wasn’t able to fix my own heart? My own soul? How do I start? What do I do? Please somebody tell me what to do. I can’t even dare pick up the broken pieces, I’m afraid I’ll bleed. I am numb, but I still bleed? But I’m not afraid of pain…. The pain is in me. I am pain. And I hate myself.

I should heal this broken heart of mine but I’m afraid I do not know how. I cannot go around wearing this. One’s heart should be whole. Not broken; not shattered. I hope I can wear mine even just a half. But how do I share mine when it’s not even whole to start with? How do I love when I, myself do not love who I am?

But I should know who I am.

And that’s the thing. That’s always the thing. I do not know who I am, nor whom I should be. I do not know.

I just don’t.

And you, if you are kind enough to tell me who I am… Then I should give my heart to you as a reward. This heart of mine should suffice as the prize, like a worthy one.– as though it isn’t shattered; as though it’s still beating. And when that time comes, I hope you’ll accept this cold heart of mine even though broken. Even though dead. I’m sorry, that’s all I have to offer… For an insane, and homeless creature like me, that’s all I’ve got. That’s all I have. And I’m giving you all of me. So Darling, when you take it please bury it deep within the gardens of weeds because maybe then, it’ll grow roots… Roots that looked like veins. And you shall water it. Water it…

Maybe then it’ll grow flower.

And then you can think that it is still alive.

Melody and Melancholy

May 26, 2016

Melody and Melancholy
That’s what you are to me
You’re like a song that sings to me
But we should set our own souls free

And all those days that had gone by
I really miss to see your smile
But just like time, it all pass by
I shall really say goodbye

And I never knew this day would come
I wasn’t ready; but now you’re gone
And there’s so many things that still not done..
I’ll miss the home there, in your arms

And I must keep the things we do
But then I’d come running after you
So I pretend I don’t miss you
But a part of me, will always gonna be just you

So I write the words that would come up
But somehow, they’ll never be enough
You told me, “Never Give up”
And I must follow you, cause you’re the one I love

And I know all poem doesn’t always rhyme
Somehow, I can accept those things in time
But you’re always gonna be in my mind
And I’ll always find a way to feel just fine

And with this wound? There is no cure
We just move on when it’s over
And if there’s a way? I am not sure
But I want myself to feel better 

You’re the Melody and the Melancholy 
You should now set my soul free
But then I am the one who still clings to you, deeply
I think it can only be me, who can set myself free

I shall set my own soul free.

Constant Melancholia

You thought emptiness is safe, you thought emptiness means not having to feel anything at all. You thought emptiness is numbness. But it’s not.

July 14, 2017 • 1am

I don’t know why, but there really comes a time like this… where I just feel really empty. Not knowing why; nor how… My mind just takes me into this seemingly familiar, yet lonely state. Or perhaps my heart does. Or, my soul maybe? There goes that kind of time again where all of a sudden, I feel so lost in the middle of the night… While the rest of the world falls asleep; and where everything seems to be so calm… and peaceful. And where all I was supposed to do was to rest my mind, and ease my soul… but where my heart felt otherwise. There’s that feeling again, that I’m suddenly so lost. And wandering. In the middle of the night. Or that same toxic sensation where I strongly felt that I had just lost something..

Something so precious. Something very important.

And then it won’t cease. And until I’ve gone mad again… –it just wouldn’t stop. It’s ruthless. I felt so powerless– so powerless over it. Can’t even do anything when all I wanted to do was to scream. And not being able to just adds to yet another feeling of desperation. And helplessness. It’s so frustrating. It keeps on making you remember something that felt like happened a century ago… Happened a long time ago… Something, — something that’s already been forgotten, but hurts still when remembered. A pang of something that aches. Of something that lives inside you… and it rests right into your chest. And there, it resides very coolly. Something so nameless, yet so powerful… and painful. Something that’s hard to forget, but even harder to remember. 

There goes that feeling again where it’ll make you feel like you have to know the answer; you have to find something. That something you don’t even know the name. That something you do not even know what to call. But it just aches there; inside your chest. Something you can’t… comprehend. Something so far… far away, yet felt so near. Something that causes you too much nostalgia. Something that never really goes away and keep giving you constant melancholy. It’s just there. It never really goes away. Not after you cried your heart out. Not even after a river of tears. Yes, –not even after crying senselessly. Hopelessly. Helplessly. That pointless and nameless tears you don’t even have an idea what for. It’s just frustrating as hell. You’re crying for no reason. Crying for nothing. You’ve always been a fool like that. It’s so exhausting. Nights always seemed to gone by like this. Without any warning, without any further sign, suddenly you are being dragged in some kind of otherworlds. Where everything is all about sadness, pain, melancholia… nostalgia, and despair…. — Also known as memories

Everything is just… unclear. But you feel it all too well. – all too well. The emptiness? Oh, you’ll never know how much the emptiness hurt; Until you feel that lump in your throat suddenly choking you… Or that pain in the chest you feel when you swallowed the coffee suddenly, not knowing it’s still too hot. Or maybe you know that feeling of drowning? You keep on kicking; keep on trying to hold onto something but there is nothing to hold on to. And you just keep on sinking… and sinking. You thought emptiness is safe, you thought emptiness means not having to feel anything at all. You thought emptiness is numbness. But it’s not. I hope it is; I hope it was. I hope it was that easy to deal with it.– Hold your breath, this is going to be painless because you’ll no longer feel anything.

But the opposite always happens. It is always the contrary of it all… Ironic, just like life. Too cunning to even notice at first, but that is just the way it goes. You thought it’s going to be forgiving, going to be a little easier than it used to. Until you realize it was unbearable. Until you feel it, and know it all. Emptiness is the kind of pain you don’t even believe at first… But it will wreck your mind and kill your soul. It’ll burn you, destroy you in the most subtle way possible. — The kind that’ll take away your sanity. It will leave you nothing… but emptiness. The kind of pain where you just stare into space, not knowing what to do; let alone have an idea what’s going on. The kind where you just kind of drift… here and there; Floating in the middle of nowhere. It’s something like that. It’s as though you’re under a blackspell… where you can’t do anything but you feel it. You feel it all…

And all you can do was endure.

There’s that kind of awful feeling again where I’m faced with these unknown melancholy. Where I felt like searching… Searching for something that cannot be found. That same old frustrating sensation where it almost felt like grieving for something; for someone, that went away. Someone who left without a single word and without any trace. The kind of loneliness where you’re not necessarily sad, but you just felt dying inside. That unending pain you never understand where it’s coming from; or when it would stop. Or whether or not it would. It actually hurts like hell. Because you don’t understand a thing and you just keep dying and dying. You just keep feeling it all when all you wanna do was to stop feeling that way. Slowly, but surely… you are getting empty inside. That desperate moment where you just can’t help but wonder; trying to find an answer… but then there is nothing. And it hurts because you can’t make something out of nothing. And in the end… somewhere along the way, you just let the time decide and surrender it all in its own hands… And you let the night claim you because one way or the other; you still lose your mind in the process.

It’s always been like that for me. Just like tonight. Trying to write this, trying to make up what it is. Trying to make sense of what’s going on; what’s happening… But in the end, that feeling of loss, pain… and oppression of something that I’ve lost; something that I’ve left behind…

It always goes down to one thing.

One person. One subject.

— One girl.

I’ve lost myself.

Unrecognizable Pain 

You’re so used to it but you feel it anyway. You’ve prepared yourself for it, but it still hurts you anyway.

July 3, 2016 · 5:23pm

So now that you know something is likely to happen… Something, is actually going to happen. And you’re trying to prepare yourself for it –or for the worse, rather. You’re preparing for it, and how it will feel like when it comes… You’re practicing like, “this is it… this is how it’s going to feel like..” But then again, when it finally comes right down to you… It will always hurt like hell. Like more than what you thought it ever could… And you will feel as if you’ve never even expected it at all; as if you’ve never prepared for it, when the fact is, you knew it all along. –You knew it from the start. You knew all about it ever since; and from the very beginning… But it’ll go as if you’ve never even had any idea… when you thought you’ve been quite used to it. Immune, even. It’ll always feel like that fresh wound you get whenever you fall on your knees. It’ll feel so raw… So new, and almost foreign. It’ll feel so different… as if you’ve never even felt it before. You’ll never gonna be ready enough; or prepared enough. Or even numb enough to feel the pain. Pain is going to be felt no matter what. It persists; so you see. You wouldn’t even believe how much unrecognizable it’ll going to feel like when it’s actually quite familiar… Because you thought you’ve prepared yourself for it, you thought you’re numb. But here it comes again… And there you go again, never gonna be ready enough for it.

And that is how the pain works. No matter how much you thought you’d been exposed to it– so much, it’ll be that unrecognizable thing when it finally gets back to you. As if you never even knew it to begin with. As if you’ve never had, never experienced, and never have met it before. When in fact, it is what life meant you. It demands to be felt… As John Green would put it. Because it does. And because truth is, it’s going to be there, no matter how much you decide you knew it. No matter how much you proclaim… no matter how much you tell yourself and convince yourself that it’s okay, you’re used to it anyway, you’re immune to it, it’s gonna be fine this time around. But it does not. It doesn’t become fine just because you say so. It’s not gonna be like that; not at all gonna turn out as easy as that. Because no matter how much you thought you’re numb enough, it’s always gonna be there when it decides to. Because pain is pain. And it’s supposed to be felt. Just like happiness, just like anger, or even emptiness. That is how we live… — we feel, even if we no longer want to.  We live in order to feel; we feel because we live… or vice versa. It’s just the way our life is… I guess. You’re so used to it, but you feel it anyway. You’ve prepared yourself for it, but it still hurts you anyway.

We are perceiving pain… in so many ways; or so many levels. And we take it just the same. It hits us… and we get, and take it as it is. Pain. We thought we’d never ever feel it again, at least differently, for we’ve felt it far too many times before. We’re so over it; we’ve had enough. And it’s now part of us, or we’re part of it. It’s just the same, and we’re stronger than ever. It’s no big deal at all. And we’re here, yet again, to face it. It’s okay, it’s nothing. But then… but then when it finally gets back to you again, it’d be unmistakable. It’s pain. The pain we thought would never hurt us, or affect us, or sway us again. The pain that we thought we remember, and knew all too well… It’s unmistakably pain yet again. Pain… Ah, that unmistakable feeling!

It’ll always feel as fresh as new.

And I guess… I guess, or at least I’d like to think that… it is something that’s made for us to recognize happiness when it finally comes our way. To become desperate enough of wanting not to feel… and then something very nice, something that really feels so good comes along again and suddenly we don’t want it to stop. We just want to feel that way forever that we just wanna keep it in our hearts. At least, that kind of possibilities… 

And I, for one, think that… we’re all somehow waiting for that. For that kind of moment to pass… To meet our path… To come our way; to wander on our direction at least once. Or for happiness to finally turn our way; to go this way; instead of going there where we cannot reach it… If it would just give us a chance; a one rare shot… Our lives would not only become beautiful, but maybe even so much more meaningful and significant. Life would be better that way, if I say so myself. Because we are, at the end of the day… all empty and lost souls yearning for that seldom moment.

Or so I thought.

Longing for Something

We’ll continue yearning for that something that we lost, but never had…

December 14, 2016 · 11:43pm

So, we’re downright broken and we don’t really know why. But that’s not exactly true. Sometimes we’re broken and we just don’t understand how, because everything just seems to… crumble; and fall apart. Including ourselves, of course. To the point that we can no longer figure out what it is, or who it was that’s been broken.

Everything’s in shambles; all is chaos. And everything is a blur. We’re still having the aftermath of the catastrophe that we’ve had… and we cannot think properly; or see clearly. We are still being blinded by the ashes from the wildfire. And we are still numb from having cramps for cowering too long. We’re just so lost, that is. But maybe we’re broken from everything… from every little thing. Because small things cannot break you; that would be a lie. At least, not exactly. Because the only things that can really break you must be… those great, big things. The things that are bigger than you… or shall I say, the things that make you. The moment when it all come crashing down on you… you, certainly, fall apart as well. And perhaps that is our predicament. To be in such a horrible state of being shattered and not being able to know how, let alone know why. I suppose that’s our greatest torment; we’re all so caught up on everything… and everything falls apart. We are broken by our own chaos. We’ve been broken by our own mere expectations; from our own way of perception… and sometimes, delusion. We hold on to that everything we thought was true. That everything that we thought we had. We made ourselves believe. We created our own demons… we destroy ourselves by continuously feeding our own illusion. In the end, we only end up bringing chaos upon our own. We disappoint ourselves; We devastate ourselves.

We will wake up… day after day, with a faint thought that… something must’ve been broken, because we feel a little empty inside. Or feeling that we’ve just lost a part of us… We’ll catch ourselves sometimes, from time to time, wondering what we’ve been missing because it feels… different. We’ll continue seeking for that something we don’t really know about. Something we can’t… figure out. We’ll continue yearning for that something that we lost, but never had. We’ll die each day knowing that we can no longer find it, have it, or feel it again. We’ll die of nostalgia every time we happen to remember it. That nostalgic sensation is what will make you stay awake at night; it’s what will make you want to cry during the twilight time. It’s what will make you want to dream at sleepless nights… but you can’t, because it’ll become the nightmare you’d want to wake up from. The very reason for every waking hour… or the insomnia for what’s supposed to be just sleeping hours. It’s the nostalgia that will make you miss everything… even the very things that you still have in you. It will make you want to mourn for yourself because it’d feel like you had lost yourself too. It will make you see the sunsets… a little differently. Perhaps you’d see it as romantic, or maybe even more so dramatic that you’d want to cry for it. But it is because you feel like you’re missing something; someone, you don’t even know about. You won’t understand it either. You’ll continue to grieve for something you don’t even know to begin with. It will become your melancholia at night; or eveytime some familiar music plays in the background… You’ll continue wandering about; feeling lost… and broken. You’ll find yourself lost and lonely after waking up from the afternoon nap; not knowing why. You’ll find yourself wanting to cry after that siesta no matter how good that sleep was. You’ll always going to feel homesick at your very own home. You’ll constantly long for that something, you’d want to go home to a place where it used to feel like home… to the point that you’ll forget where you actually are. You’d want to go away; pack your bags and leave. Search for that something. You’d die of waiting. Waiting for that something, someone to come back. You’ll desperately, helplessly, and hopelessly thirst for answer. And then you’d cry, senseless. For answers weren’t bound to come. You’ll come off… lost, defeated. You’ll lose your mind just trying to make sense of everything. Trying to connect the dots, trying to tie every reaped ends. Trying to fix everything. And for a very scarce moment, you’d find yourself wanting to scream, to break out so bad… To cry. We’d want to do it all that we won’t even care if people would deem us as extremely absurd, or nearly insane. Because we are. As a matter of fact, we all are… but we no longer give a damn whatever we may be by that point of time. There always goes the melancholic feeling that makes you want to cry, no matter how random. It’ll become so confusing that tears won’t even come out but you just die inside. It’ll happen little by little… until you slowly, and gradually go nuts. It’ll become your only answer– Madness. We’ll die out of melancholia and nostalgia just every time that something hits us. Before we even know it. We’d find ourselves questioning… everything. 

It will never stop. That sensation is just there. And then we would feel it, perhaps pain, after pain. That twinge that we used to feel inside but constantly ignore. That pain of nostalgia? It’s there, we used to feel a lot of things, a lot of it that we ended up feeling confused; not knowing what exactly is. But truth is, we have so many reasons… that we confuse ourselves, we become overwhelmed and then suddenly we don’t really know exactly or understand properly. 

And then we continue grieving. Continue walking this earth feeling lost, and empty. Floating… wandering. We’re creating our own ghosts. We succumb on endless melancholy. We’ll have a restless soul. We’ll continue waking up, wandering, asking… questioning what we have done wrong, what we’ve been missing out on, and what we have lost… We’ll continue seeking… and grieving for that something. But what really is that something we constantly mourn for that we’re all dying to know, dying to figure out? We continually grieve… and mourn, for the loss… 

Perhaps of ourselves.

We wonder, we seek, we cry… We grieve, we mourn, and we die… because we had lost something. Something very dear to us. We had lost ourselves. We lose ourselves in the process of trying to figure out, trying to fix and trying to make everything alright. Trying to understand… something that was never even meant to be understood in the first place.

And that was our mistake.

We’ve been too caught up in everything so much… And then that everything falls apart; And then that everything disappears… And suddenly, suddenly… we find ourselves hanging in the air; in the middle of nowhere. We don’t know where to stand. We don’t even know what to feel, either. We’re just… floating there. Lost, and empty.

And then we’d wake up each day, feeling broken… And then wander why we feel such emptiness even when we look outside the window and realize that nothing’s ever even changed. But then we’d find ourselves longing… longing for something.

Because no, nothing feels the same.