We Meet Again

    The night is shattered and the blue stars shiver in the distance.

The night wind revolves around the sky and sings;

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. 

I am suffocating in the loneliness, yet alone is all I can afford to be. My throat is closing in, my heart on a chase. I just want to know, how to step out from this daze?

I was always afraid to write, because my darkest days danced with the words on paper. I figured I could not come back here after I’d healed, my feelings were too intense, and the memories too painful. I would succumb to my anxiety - it would be gut wrenching and my stomach would go into knots. It is similar to that of going by a place we harboured bad memories from, or a whiff of a scent that would bring you back to an unpleasant time in your life. I could never go back there. Afterall, I am healed.

But I find myself back here, in this overgrown jungle that is my mind. And all I have ever known is to write. To write until the break of dawn, to write away the tangled roots in this forest. To write until I feel nothing, or feel it all immensely.

Do we ever heal? I hate to admit that there are parts of me that will never be whole, that we just learn how to carry around these broken parts that someday, perhaps gradually, we feel as light as the wind in a barren land. 

What about when it becomes too heavy instead, from the weight of people who tear you apart while you try to fix yourself?

I am tired. 

Everything is draining me, and everytime I take a step forward life pushes me 10 steps back. God knows I try, for myself perhaps not. But for my children I would go to the ends of the world. 

I am tired of not being enough, I am tired of being strong and yet feeling so vulnerable. I am tired of disappointments, yet having to be hopeful.

I am tired, just tired of being hurt.

I wish I could run away, but I am stuck in a whirlwind of feelings I can’t escape from - a vortex constantly pulling me down and ripping me apart simultaneously. Stuck in a place where people don’t care about anything other than themselves. 

Stuck in a void that sucks up my happiness as soon as I feel an ounce of it, why do I feel such guilt for wanting to be happy?

Why do we pour our hearts’ out for people, bleed all over them to end up not being enough. 

I want to end this, move on with my thoughts. But what did writing do, if not help me at all? Through the overgrown jungle we went, brushed past sharp branches or two. We bled some more until there was no way out, trapped in the vastness of this beautiful mess. All I know is that, perhaps I don’t want to get out. 

Feels so wrong to feel this shit to early in the morning

I Need A Sharper Knife

I used to think the people I were with played a part in how much I wrote, now I think I hardly give a shit because straining to dig into every crevice of my mind seems like a mundane fuckin chore. But this morning is entirely different, this morning as the sun was rising I realise I had no escape from the realities of yet another day. I learnt to appreciate days like these when the simplest things in life couldn't make me happy no more, nights full of misery and tears that ended with a glimmer of sunshine penetrating my window panes. I was surrounded by so much darkness that sunlight made me feel alive. And that was it, I figured I had made it through the worst. I always knew the battle was never going to end, it is a battle within myself and something that powerful could never be stopped. But it didn't seem so bad when the light was finally visible, when I realised that maybe I didn't have to face it alone after all. I thought I was getting better. I knew I was getting better. But the demons I've tamed, they come in all forms triggered by absolutely anything it seems. The sadness never ends and sometimes you wonder if the battle is even worth a fight. How do I fight when I can barely breathe? Because the only thing on my mind is finding an escape from this asphyxiation that is slowly but steadily draining me of my energy. And the most sickest, most frustrating part about it is to realise that life from here on out will be a constant battle between killing myself or killing everyone around me. That it never ends, each time I fall I have to pick myself up. But how do I do that when all I can seem to do is to find an escape. A vicious fuckin cycle if I may add. And sometimes you don't have control over when you fall or who has a part in it. It seems to be old news by now that people only care about themselves for the most part. But fuck that, because I am in constant battle with not only myself, but the fact that my actions affect more than just myself now. That I could be suffocating this instant but sobriety is the only option and then I have a war in my mind that maybe I could find an alternate route just this once and then I hate myself for even thinking of that. Trust me to not make fuckin sense at this point and maybe nobody will get it, but it is as clear as crystal in my mind. Though I couldn't say the same for my vision because I am zoning the fuck out.

One day the bacchanal doesn't look so pretty anymore, and the ideals start to seem more like excuses. When the shine starts to wear off, it's over. If you're not already trapped, you walk away.

I wish I knew where to start but I really don't. The inability to describe how I feel has been so recurrent I'm not sure I can even write anymore. Maybe from the heart helps, but I can't seem to find it. Or perhaps I just choose to ignore the possibility that I don't feel anything at all. It has been me all along, I have always been the problem. I am self destructive and anyone who comes close enough to the walls I have built to keep everyone out gets pushed away. It is hard to fathom that my desire to gratify my indulgences subcedes the emotions of anyone else's no matter how hard I try. But maybe that is the truth. All I know is that this feeling never goes away, a compounding ache for an altered state. I wish I could find the right words to say for when all I seem to do is want to be left alone, I wish explaining my mind was a whole lot easier. I figured writing did that for me, perhaps it didn't do shit. Because everyone ends up clueless. More than an alteration, it is a never ending quest to feel something different in the same skin. I wish I had the energy to do something about it, to make things better, or to even just write it all down. But I don't, and I don't seem to really care.

“Opiates are especially manipulative, because you get outside of your consciousness. Fears you didn’t know you had, suddenly vanish. Though the experience of a drug is a romantic and nostalgic feeling, addiction is not. It’s ugly and selfish, because it is so bodily. It is both metaphorical and biological, it is hunger for emotion, and chemical alteration. It is almost impossible to explain to someone who has never done an opiate.”

Demons

I don't remember the last time I wrote, maybe it's because I was happy. And happiness never seems to make it here. The only thing I could ever write about was my depression. But here I am again, sitting by a window ledge, watching as life pass me by. While I am stuck here within the crevices of my mind, within this cage I've built around me. It seems a year ago I have been here, perhaps even two. Back to the start, just new memories of the same old shit. Seems to be that whenever happiness comes my way, I have to fight and struggle so fervently for it to stay and not let go of me. But I know eventually it will, and eventually if I don't try hard enough I will end up back here. But this place is so familiar it has no surprises left any longer. My all time lows' arrive way too soon and each time I relapse it's like starting all over again. But maybe I never do try hard enough because happiness was never something I could deal with. We all are immune to certain feelings or even places that sometimes even a change for the better doesn't appeal to us. I may have known happiness, but no where as near to what sadness knows about me. Sometimes I feel like I relapse into this dark place because subconsciously I want to be back here. I want to be back to the familiarity of it and I enjoy it so. Maybe then that is why happiness could never permeate through every single cell in my body, while sadness was all over, all inside, all around me. I'm not sure where to start or should I say how to go back. I'm not sure how much longer I can go on falling and having to pick myself up thereafter. Perhaps I don't ever get up, I just wait for excuses for me to fall back down into this pit infested with blood thirsty creatures. They just want my blood and my soul and after all the body is lifeless without them. And that's exactly what I feel. I never thought I would get the chance to write something like this again, because I believed I was happy. And I really was. I was the happiest in the longest time, and I believed having something to look forward to keeps me going. But I am always falling and honestly I am so tired to pick myself up again, knowing I will be back here soon. I don't know how to explain myself. I don't want to stay here and this room sickens me. I feel imprisoned, even in my head. And I am exhausted, for falling back down, for thinking someone can fix me when I can't be put back together, for thinking someone could help me when I can hardly help myself. I gave in to my demons a long time ago and now I don't think they will ever let me go.

throwback

I'm on the highway back and it feels like the perfect time to write. I know I haven't done so for awhile, but I just have too much emotions to be able to write them all down. But I know deep down that no words would make up for the memories and experiences I've encountered on my trip. On the freeway accompanied by only headlights and surrounded by forests everywhere, it kinda feels like I finally have a gleam of hope somewhere amongst the darkness. I'm gonna miss this place so much or perhaps wherever I am it would be the same. The place never seemed to matter, just having an escape from reality. I don't miss home because idk where home is, I'm still finding for my heart within all the unknown. But the unknown is great, not knowing what comes next or where I'll be tomorrow. Just being able to completely breathe in the air right now and experience this moment. But I guess with everything in life, letting go becomes a huge part of it inevitably. We let go of people we meet and places we go to make way for something new. And I think I have figured out how to finally do that. How to embrace every single moment as something that was meant to happen, something with all the reasons I may not fully understand now but I will in the future. It has always been a constant motion of letting go of everything and I hate to have to do that. But only then do we learn that there is always something else out there, something else to experience and new memories to make. I can't say I found myself, it takes more than half a month to be able to do that, but perhaps I've let in a lot of positivity into my life, and I see things differently. I have learnt to appreciate the simplest of things and to realise that I don't need the comfort of familiarity to find my happiness. I don't need drugs to escape reality and perhaps I don't even need to run away from anything. Everything catches up sooner or later and travelling has allowed me to face unfamiliar boundaries and appreciate the families ones. I miss my family and maybe that's about it, I don't think I will ever crave for a place I could always call home and waking up to a routine based life. I don't think I will ever want to stop exploring places I've never been and taking risks I've never taken. It could be too soon to say, but perhaps this is my purpose in life. I don't think I was ever meant to stay in one place. 

Release the ice that flows through your veins and let honeyed warmth under your skin. Abandon the demons you've danced with before and attempt a more elegant sin.

A golden-eyed girl offers her deathly white hand and a smile full of secrets she keeps. But it will be only her who stands at your side as you lay withered, dying and weeps.

She's frightening, deadly and though you sense it is so, you crave her lover's embrace. Because very deep down, behind your hero's facade, you know you're a waste of space.

"Dead people receive more flowers than living ones because regret is stronger than gratitude"

I don't know why it took me so long to come back to this page, I suppose sometimes writing can be dreadful. Sometimes locking these emotions away for awhile at least seems to be the better way out, if there is one that is. 

I realised what the problem is. I'm so afraid of uncertainty, of taking risks and leaving everything behind. It's the irony within me that I don't quite understand. The fact that I always put out to be fearless and my life was literally a huge risk with uncertainties about tomorrow with every turn I took. Yet now, right now when I decide that the only remedy for me would be to get lost in a foreign land by myself, I am hit by a giant wave of fear for the uncertainty. Suddenly shooting up heroin seemed less risky than leaving home for the unknown. 

So many years of hiding behind this giant ball of comfort, with people whom I thought were my friends, and drugs that were my lover. So many times being led on to a life full of certainties by the person who supposedly held me high up in the clouds, only to smash me violently against the ground again with meaningless words and empty promises, lies and absolutely no remorse. It's always easy to decide who's in the wrong when behind the scenes is never seen. Of course the one who walked away is the bitch - and walked away I did. 

I find it extremely odd though, that people would shoot a misunderstood stranger down, to save a friend full of debauchery. Is it wrong to think that we are interconnected through specie, put on this planet to help one another regardless of relationships? To think that one life is more important than another when in fact we are all close to negligible in such an infinite universe, is exactly what is wrong with the world. We spoon feed our kids and let them believe they are always right, to create spawns of adult zombies who believe we are never wrong. 

We take the people around us for granted and give more flowers to the dead than to the living because regret is stronger than gratitude. We take nature for granted because we believe this place will be around for as long as we live. We complain about the food we eat and the transport we take, then make excuses for our ignorance. We cling to a strong ideology of what certainty is to each of us, and we manifest upon it because we don't know anything else. We don't know how to survive if one day all these things we complain about suddenly get taken away from us. Thus we ravel in our own worlds' because leaving our comfort zone is absolutely preposterous. 

But the way I see it from here on out, what do I have to lose?

I lost a love I thought was real, I placed my emotions in the hands of a person I thought I knew. I trusted and was repaid with betrayal, I took a chance to give a chance, and then a thousand more but all I received were lies. And then I believed in change, and for 6 months I sacrificed everything I could to be there, even though I was alone and dealing with my own demons. I don't know how I made it through, but that didn't matter because since when did I matter? But then I realised I was not a priority ever, I never was. And perhaps after all I could do, I'm still such a horrible person that I didn't deserve the slightest need for a basic companionship. I never asked for possessions, all I wanted was time. Because with time comes love and care. But I guess they say, people will find time for you if they truly wanted to. And that is enough for me to know that I don't belong here. It's easy to say that I walked away from it all, but it's never as easy to understand the war I fight every single day, between having to walk away from the person I love and walking away because I know deep down it is for the better. 

Everything comes to an end. A relationship, likewise the war that came after that.

And the only way for me to deal with my demons I have come to realise, is to face them. To be one with myself and the universe, and to find happiness in the only place that it exists - within me.