“He was shaken by the overwhelming revelation that the headlong race between his misfortunes and his dreams was at that moment reaching the finish line. The rest was darkness, 'Damn it,' he sighed. 'How will I ever get out of this labyrinth!”
"You are too full of everything that makes you whole to ever be loved in halves."
if we grew up here
November 5th, 2023
If we had grown up here I would've been a different person by now
I could have worn the prettiest of dresses and smiled like I meant it
My voice would've sounded lower than the sea
And I would've written all the songs with all the words I could never say out loud
If we grew up here I would've introduced you to my grandmother and she would've let you stay over throughout all those stormy typhoons
We would've slow danced in the attic before we fell asleep in different rooms
You would've eaten dessert for breakfast and had brunches instead of lunches and late dinners
If we grew up here we would have lay on the trunk every night to watch the clear sky and name all the stars we could see
We would have snuck out after 8 p.m. when everyone was fast asleep and raced each other to the end of the street and back again
And I would have taught you how to break into my grandfather's brother's house and jump out of windows like a thief in the night
If we grew up here we would've been the talk of the town, the inseparable best of friends, the unspeakable love story that lasts for years to come
I would've taught you basketball because apparently, that's a thing with people like us, just so you could get casually taller than me than you already are
My parents would've adored you because you got them Red Ribbon every weekend and took care of me so well
And they would've wanted you to stay
They'd invite you to our family gatherings and introduce you as one of our own
And they'd talk about how much they wanted you for me in the future
And how we made the perfect pair
If we grew up here, we'd never long for anything more
All yearnings would cease fire, at last, and you'd tell me you love me
Even if it was just a lie to get to my heart
I would have still believed you
And I'd still choose you every time.
If only we grew up here
We'd know better than to randomly pick the choices with the letter 'C' in our SATs
We would have studied together, you and I, and helped each other ace the next decisions we made through life, to assure us of the possible future
Our friends would have been envious of our unbreakable bond, which grew stronger each day
We would have gone trick or treat for the very first time on our Halloween, probably as Bonnie & Clyde, and eventually as Carl & Ellie Fredricksen on our very last
forgetfulness is a temporary blessing
October 13th, 2023
“I leave it in writing for those who will come after me that I do not believe in anything and that forgetfulness is the only salvation. I would like to forget everything, to forget myself and to forget the world. True confessions are written with tears only. But my tears would drown the world, as my inner fire would reduce it to ashes.”
– Emil M. Cioran
Sometimes I forget I'm 'sick', the pills I have to take by mornings and the numbness that comes afterwards, and the therapeutic bullshit I have to drag myself to
Sometimes I forget I’m 23, that I have a life ahead of me and all that crap, and that this isn’t how I should be spending my “supposed youth”
At times I can forget the consequences that await me every time I lie about something ‘supposedly’ important (health, for instance) to them, but not me, I forget the promises I should honor the minute I leave my Dialectical Behavior Therapy because I simply do not listen. And this isn’t my ignorant ass speaking, I swear, it’s just that I really do not give a damn about this at all. I never asked to be in therapy this way– I simply wanted to try it out because I needed someone to talk to at the time, and I ended up being confined upon my own request. Unwillingly, I continued to go through sessions just so I could please them, because they believed there was something wrong with me, and maybe there is, but I never asked for their help. I certainly needed the support back then, but hell, I do not want it now.
I’m not sure what exactly happened that made me spiral out of control, but there was one thing I used to love, perhaps, still– Benzodiazepines. At first, they were to make me fall asleep because I could barely get any, but then I tried taking a few more doses, and as it turns out, it’s true what they say– that Benzodiazepines can make you euphoric. I was in university the first time I did it, and I cannot even recall the events of that day from the moment I took the pills to the minute I got home and slept it off. It was like an entire day had been ripped off of my calender, worst part is I didn’t mind. It became a grappling obsession ever since.
The only thing going through my head would be “if I could forget the entire day, and forget myself on purpose, why the hell not?” It was much more comforting to me than self-harm. Until it got too far– I was fine, I just got caught, and everyone obviously thought I tried to kill myself and it stayed.
Come to think of it, I guess it was just another way of self-harm. I believe the medical term for it is “drug abuse.”
I’ve probably made their lives a living hell for a while, got to hear things from my dad I never thought I’d hear him say, but oh well, I was entitled to it.
Was I though, trying to end it all? Maybe.
Maybe part of me, deep down, knew that I wanted something to happen to me, that maybe I could forget so bad that I’d push myself over the edge. But then the other part of me was 99% sure nothing bad would have happened. And perhaps I got used to that– to the fact that each time I tried doing something, risking my health and whatnot, the consequences were basically slim to none. Maybe I carried that part with me so much that I genuinely believed nothing bad would ever happen to me, so long as I did it on purpose. It’s because I have this theory about God, religion, beliefs, or something, but that’s a story for another day.
I’ve come to believe that forgetting is like my superpower, my kick-ass coping mechanism. Some of us obliterate in rage, some of us cry, others take meditation or kickboxing classes to release all those intense emotions, and some of us are just little cold sponges who suck it up, never say anything back, and soak it all in, until they forget. And God knows, I am one hell of a goddamn cold spongey.
That’s how I’ve been coping when things have been getting a little too much lately that I feel like I’ve forced my brain to reprogram itself into forgetting the term psychalgia, and pretend it doesn’t exist.
So here’s to forgetting me, myself, & I. Cheers!
P.S. Sometimes it’s true that people who are cold were once quite sensitive people and felt too much.
zathura is a black hole
September 27th, 2023
I could write this over and over and it still won't bring you back, so I'll stop here. Consider this my final note of departure, though I know it isn't. I know it'll hurt for a while, and the many times I'll get distracted will hurt me twice as hard when I remember, I know my heart will still ache when I hear about you and I'll break down a few times when someone says your name, I'll think of calling you just to hear your voice and hang up right after, I'll remember the good kind of memories we had but fall apart again when I remember the disappointing ones. I'll remind myself I'm too good for you, but then I'll regret it knowing my insecurities would slap me right when I step outside of my boundaries, then I'll remind myself that I don't always want to be your second choice– or anyone else for that matter– but I'd remind myself that if this is the closest to you I'll ever get, then I'll take what I can get, even it meant constantly swallowing my pride.
I'll tell myself I've loved you profoundly enough and that I mattered enough to be a part of your life, but as soon as you block me out so easily, I'm back to reality where I meant so little and was utterly nothing.
You toss me out when you can and when we lock eyes by coincidence, it's as though I've forgiven you for all you've done, but it's only because I made it that way. I made you believe I was okay with you shutting me out as long as you're happy, that I'm alright with whatever we are so long as you keep me next to you. I made you believe that we were good friends and that hurting me meant nothing because I soaked the pain quite well.
I made myself believe that you were real in a world of make-believe.
But when crying on bathroom floors because of you became more than a ritual habit for me, when cleaning up the house ever so decently became the only thing I could control because I could never control the fact that you weren't actually around, when all of my memories of you slowly started fading away, I knew I had to wake up.
I know I'll still blame myself for this shitty situation and that I probably asked for it, but I hope that one day, when my wounds are nearly mended and when my scars are no longer revealing, I can grow up and understand that it wasn't anyone's fault this time. That whatever we felt back is valid, and whatever we're feeling now is still valid. And this agony that I feel? It's here to remind me that somewhere out there is something better and that something is probably worth fighting for.
– to all the people I’ve lost in different ways
read between the lines, will you?
September 23th, 2023
“There are things that are known and things that are unknown, and in between there are doors.”
– Aldous Huxley
A few weeks ago, I attended an art therapy session. While they mostly spent the time talking and explaining about art therapy and how it works, I was able to remember the things that stood out to me. In the session, the therapist presented the concept of the “Mercedes Model” which encompasses our mind (both conscious and unconscious), our physicality, and our soul. Ideas are formed by our minds, emotions are experienced by our souls, and our bodies demonstrate our behaviors. There are also these little defenders that keep you safe whenever you’re exposed to threats or unfamiliar situations.
When explaining, she mentioned a story about a man who was married and was supposedly devoted to his wife (but sometimes love isn’t enough). Despite his continuous promises to change, he consistently betrayed her trust by cheating on her. The therapist, however, explained that “not everyone who lies is necessarily a liar” which resonated with me. She went on and on about how the man consistently had every intention of honoring his promises the moment he made them, but the factors that allowed him to relapse into the cheating process were somewhat inevitable and confusing and sometimes he didn’t know how he got there– he just did.
Think about it, long and hard, it’s the same thing with depression, for instance, sometimes you get these emotions and thoughts and do not know how you got there and you keep going to that place not understanding how you keep taking that same path, eventually, you get stuck in this shitty loop. Not everything is always explainable, no matter how much you desperately search for answers—they’re just not ready to appear sometimes. It’s the same thing as not being ready for something when you were 16 years old and being entirely sure of it now.
The reason it made so much sense at the time was because I probably remembered all those times I made endless promises to people and how I doubled those times breaking them. Though feeling guilty every time, I never changed a thing, and my mind wouldn’t stop telling me all these irrelevant things like “it’s for the better”, “they don’t really need you so it won’t matter as much if you’re gone”, or “what’s the worst that could happen if you disappear, they’ll live with or without you”, and the list goes on. But that’s the disturbing part about hearing something so many times you slowly start to believe it, and the tricky part is getting yourself out of it, if ever at all.
I guess that’s what Aldous Huxley meant by that quote, there will always be things we do not know, things we’re not aware of, and things we could never understand. There will always be different sides to the stories, things said that are not true, though not entirely false either.
The question is, will we ever get to the truth?
About
A casual ranting blog for my inconsistent, irrelevant, thoughts. Thanks for stopping by, but this is quite the bummer station, please proceed.
Seriously though, I pretend this place is an empty room and tend to obliterate whatever filter I have, my sincere apologies in advance if anything comes off as negative/triggering/offensive, etc.