I Was Here

And this is my predicament. I am inadequate, and I have a heart that never wants to stop…. I was lost; but I was here.

December 3, 2016 • 9:37pm

But I was inadequate. 

Incomplete. Shattered, even. There’s not just some missing part of me that’s needed to be fixed. Which I have to find and search for; to look around, grope the floor… and reach for it. I’m freaking broken and ruined. I am a mere remains of fragments, and remnants…and every shredded parts of me, that had been torn away from my old self, due to my palpable disintegration. Of my falling apart; of my collapsing… If I didn’t know better I’d think, and I’d say, I was gone. Already gone. Completely gone. Absolutely gone.

But I was here.

And living only with the tiny bits that was left of me with some strings, trying to hold it back together… And with the merely light beating of a heart that has been ripped out; stomped on, and put back again. A heart that has been exhausted, drained, used up… and all the other synonymous of being empty there is. A heart that never stops pumping; even when it’s bruised, wounded, and scarred. Even when there are still some remaining scraps of debris from the aftermath of the catastrophe… still settling on its every frail parts. Even when the thorn lingers. Even after the blood had ran wild from the cuts; flowed out on the skin… Even after the blood has dried up and the scabs had wear off. It’s still there. Gasping for air; panting for oxygen.

It stayed there. Even after everything. Even after the final blow, and the obliteration took place. It’s still there, even when the incessant chaos went downhill. It’s still there, even when the mind always tried to stop and end its beating. It stays there, even when the sanity is fiddling away… and the mind is lost. It stays still, even when the mind had disappeared; and totally gone. It beats still even when the hopes are dead; and life had stopped. It remains still, even when the existence is overpowered by madness… and all is invaded by numbness.

Oh, God. It’s unstoppable.

It doesn’t care whether I already want it to stop and get some rest. It keeps beating, and beating…and beating. And the mere sound of it is perhaps what irks me the most, I suppose. It sounded too little, and yet had the greatest impact even against the chaotic sound of my mind. That no matter how much I listen and agree to my very own mind, it just keeps surfacing no matter what. It persists. It beats still. It beats. Beats everything.

And this is my predicament. I had a docile mind that’s willing to give in anytime I want. A chaotic mind that was always so lost, but still a smart companion. And I had this heart that breathes for survival. No matter what…

A heart that never leaves me even when my mind often does.

I was inadequate and I have lost all the hope to be ever become complete again. I’ve lost it all… –the hope, the chance, that I would perhaps feel whole again someday…

I want for this maladay to stop; I want this dearth to end… But I can never stop this thing in my chest that pumps blood on veins that carries oxygen. An absolute danger; my greatest foe.

That’s the thing about me. I am inadequate, and I have a heart that never wants to stop.

I was lost; and I was here.

Indifference and Madness

They say that we have our own volition… but I could not believe them; I do not choose to think, but I cannot escape these thoughts.

November 28, 2016 · 10:16pm

I have this thing in mind… a very chaotic notion; perhaps some kind of oppression… that had been going on in my mind lately. Or shall I say, — every now and then. And it’d since then been aggravating me a lot, but I couldn’t quite figure out what it is; nor what to do about it. 

My thoughts are a mess. And I am a disaster. I subconsciously do things I know I wouldn’t really do on purpose. They say that we have our own volition… but I could not believe them; I do not choose to think, but I cannot escape these thoughts. I had given up hope on everything; I couldn’t care less whatever happens. I do not care about anything. At all. I could probably go past these torment and out of such predicament without shedding a tear from the eye; without even a single cringe. I wasn’t stranger to pain, but I wasn’t numb, either. Or so I thought; because I know I shouldn’t. I am indifferent and I wasn’t supposed to be. I am human and was supposed to feel. Because if I don’t, what would be the point of being alive, then? 

But still, I could screw the world over, and shut people out without looking back and feeling a thing. Not even a guilt. I felt nothing. But… how come? I want nothing, feel nothing. I am nothing. How could I? I am dangerously empty. Hollow, even. I am the void that wraps up my very own.

Perhaps this was indifference.

Maybe I was only stoic because I am no stranger to all this; it’s not at all new to me. It couldn’t surprise me more… I’m so used to all these. –so sick and fed up. I’ve grown jaded enough already to still give a damn. These no longer bother me,– in any way. Not even a little. I can never be more affected; let alone upset. That despite all the unpredictability of life… I still know what’s going to happen in the end. It always goes down to one thing. That exact same thing.

And I still do not know… whatever was the causation of these improbable shambles of my own thoughts… Or whether it was only a state of happenstance; a chance. But knowing so would never really do, either. And knowing would be the end of me. Half the time… I was usually presented by the answers I do not want to know; the truths I do not seek. And maybe that’s the reason why I’m such a mess. I’m constantly being trapped in my very own chaotic thoughts like I always did.

But I cannot understand if this was just me, merely jaded. Or I, in the face of indifference. But I am both; the life proved me so. And it remains indefinite whether or not I just really know life well enough, and accepted that everything is passing through. That we are all just passing through… Or maybe things just stopped mattering so much. Because it turned out to be the norm, and nothing matters anymore…

And I’ve settled in my own chasm; and have forgotten how to live… Because doing so would never really make any difference. I was absolutely jaded to the point that I couldn’t even recognize my very own existence and what would I ever live for. 

There is nothing. There is nothing here for me. I merely exist… that is all; nothing more. And perhaps, saying so would give life a reason to get me back my sanity. A little mercy, maybe? But no, not really. Being obliterated was no reason to take away this existential madness. –The life might say.