Personal

Let it all go, let it all out

yo

This was something I’d written more than a few weeks ago, at a phase where everything just feels dark and I was alone, dealing with all the emotional bullshit on my own. This blog has always been a sort of online journal, and I feel bad neglecting it for a while now. I find that it’s probably okay to put this out here because I know that through each process of looking at my life (and recovering, if there’s such a thing like that in life in general), I can look back to this and the succeeding reflections will most likely root back to this one. I think this one is quite uncomfortable to read, but there it goes… it’s mostly just me confronting my emotions. Heh.

Let me ramble here for a while as I try to get to what I really wanted to talk about. I cannot remember when and how it started but I am a person who has always had a perpetual self-hate. If you happen to see me somewhere, you probably won’t approach me unless I am very close to you or I have known you for the longest time. It’s this sitting expression on my face—most people say I look angry all the time. I think they probably just cannot find the words, but I’m very much sure that it could mean that I’m a difficult person. I do believe that I am, with all my heart I know that I am because I have seen it in the many times that I get into an argument with the people closest to me. I am a toxic person, selfish and insensitive and controlling. This self-hate is turning me into a monster directing my anger at the world and to the people around me. I look intact and I probably look capable to you, but I am slowly crumbling inside. I am slowly falling deep, deep down into this kind of void—this emptiness that I have been feeling for a while now. The only taste that I can remember is bitterness.

I cling to the idea of love, not because I am looking for meaning, and certainly not because I think that it will lead me to a certain someone that can ‘save’ me from myself. I cling to the idea of love because it feels like the only possible thing that still links me to this world. Every single time that I think about dying, I think of all the people that have passed by my lifetime and how, at certain point, my love for them and their (possible) love for me have kept me alive. I cling to the idea of love between two people in a drama or in a movie because it is one that I never really witnessed and one that truly changes people for the better. I cling to the idea of love because it feels like the only bridge that really connects people.

And I crave for the connection, every single day. I spend more than eight hours online, enjoying talking to people from across the world about some of my favorite things. Mostly I just talk to myself. But online connection is not exactly a connection. At the end of the day, you go home alone. Tend to your wounds alone. Heal alone. And then you wake up alone. Once again, ready for a battle that you chose to fight.

All these have made me a distant observer, on the outside looking in. And all I can think about is bitterness. For a person whose tendency is to always go inwards and retreat into the solitary comfort which I can control, I am suddenly aware of how much I crave for connection. Every. Single. Day. I look into my friend’s face across that table as we eat, and all I can see is someone’s mind million miles away. I argue with my brother insisting on something without really understanding why I am doing what I’m doing.

I’m a mess. A ball of contradictions and mood swings. A coward. I couldn’t confront my own mistakes. I always make an excuse for myself. I tell someone to do what s/he wants to do only half-meaning it. I am a coward: I couldn’t fight myself not to hate myself. Everything seems so dark and gray and then only briefly bright, and I’m back again to this unending monochrome.

I have so much inside this heart that I want to scream out, and I think I have been screaming out for the longest time. It’s a scream that no one really hears. When I close my eyes, I often see myself as a tropical plant suddenly realizing that I somehow winded up in the middle of the desert. Slowly wilting, only moments from dying.

I am so angry. And I am so bitter. And I wish I can just see red and let it all out and break something or slap someone I hate the most. But none of that has ever come over me. I just see black and gray and a little bit of white. It’s all empty and oftentimes I feel immobilized. This body is moving but I am stuck in time.

I do not believe in things like saving someone. But lately I’ve been thinking if someone can help me save me from myself.

JYCMNRQ x

Photo (c) shot from the 2015 Japanese film, Flying Colors.

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