You were happiness

Prompt: I am trying to think of all the times when words didn’t work, and all the times I used pain to remind myself that I am still alive

Every day pass like it didn’t pass. Every day I’m tired. Every day felt restless. Everyday I think of you, and with each day that goes unnoticed, every inch of my existence becomes more agonizing than the previous.

I’m becoming more hollow and empty. So empty I had to inflict my own pain to verify that I’m still alive. I’m practically screwing my life up. I overthink and overanalyze everything. I feel like my inability to confront my problems further aggravated my flawed system of self-consolation. I liked swimming in my idiosyncrasies. I was addicted to my own pain. Eventually it developed to this strange disposition to crying. And more often than not, I find comfort in self-flagellation.

Yet, and yet—the more acute my pain is, the number I get. It dawned on me that maybe I was the one who created this void inside me. It’s odd—I self-inflict because I wanted to feel something; yet I’m becoming numb because I kept hurting myself. I don’t know. It went both ways. It was an endless cycle of numbing and infliction. I numb myself to forget pain. I become numb. Number. And number. Then cry because I can’t feel anything. And when I can’t feel anything, I inflict my own pain. It was a series of irony and contradiction. I was a paradox.

Whenever I become too happy, I sedate myself with thoughts of anxiety and apprehension. I didn’t like being happy—or at least being too happy. I was attached to my pain. I hated it, but it kept me company for too long I appreciated it. It knew me more than anything. I was myself with it. I grew so comfortable with it that happiness makes me uneasy. Happiness is nice, but oftentimes it scares me. It likes to make promises. It brings me to another world, of butterflies and fantasies. It brings me to places of bright and wonder. It acquaints me with hopefulness and buoyancy. But it doesn’t stay for long. It leaves.

It always leaves.

I didn’t like it. I didn’t like being left—hanging suspended; lost, nowhere to go.

The discomfort it gave me sends me running back to pain. Because in pain, I found comfort. There was a degree of constancy. Happiness was inconsistent and spontaneous.

You were happiness.

Do you understand how fragile you’ve made me?

Every day I die because I could feel me fading and you don’t take notice.
Every day I die wishing you would initiate something and you weren’t trying.
Every day I die because you don’t know how much your indifference hurt me.
Every day I die knowing I’m the only one dying.

How come I’m always the one dying?
Why am I always the fool?
Why am I always the one in bed crying?

Why?

Why?

You were there and at the same time you’re not.
You were looking at me and you’re not.
You were talking to me and you’re not.

Am I reflected in your eyes?

‘How do you pass the days?’

Days had long hours. But time seems to slow down even more at night. That, or everyday was simply agonizing to go through.

It gets better then it gets bad. This dynamic has all been too familiar with me I don’t know how else I’m going to put this bullshit into words.

Every day every night I chant the same thing to the heavens—that I don’t want to be here anymore, that I want to be brought home. Adjusting into a life where I have to communicate through social media to keep in touch still doesn’t sit well with me, because I’m not that type of person. But where do I go? I can’t even go out of this shithole because I don’t know places. I don’t know where to go. There simply is no one I could run to. And I’m deteriorating here, day by day.

The other day, I was chatting with Nigel about how I’ve been doing here. He asked me about my relationship with my siblings, hoping that it’s becoming better. Than I should give them a chance, because they might surprise me.

I told him that I don’t know to be honest. I’m currently in a state of paralysis. I was at a crossroads, and I didn’t want to do anything, because if I make a decision I’m going to have to commit to that choice. I was left to choose between

  • being myself and being hated—continuously damaging my relationship with my family with my unorthodox views and approach in life, risking an unhappy death where I died a misfit, which has always been the case all my life; and
  • forcing myself to change, preferably into someone void of my own set of principles, someone who simply sought to fit in, stripping that persona off the real me, fabricating a self in an attempt to be loved and accepted

I was scrolling through twitter one time and read a quote that hit the nail right on the head:

“Wasn’t that the definition of home? Not where you are from, but where you are wanted.” — Abraham Verghese

It was the quote I’ve been looking for all my life; perfectly crafted to word how most people feel around their family. Home is not necessarily family; it’s where you are wanted. And sometimes, friends are home.

I continued to tell Nigel that sometimes, I’m disgusted with their existence. But I realized it’s probably just because I hated myself. I couldn’t reconcile it; all I know is that the more I hate them, the more I realize how much I actually hate myself. Sometimes I avoid ruminating on the thought because I only hurt myself.

I continued to tell him that perhaps I was only saying that due to the spur of the moment, because I was in the middle of arguing with them then. I was exchanging accusations with the eldest, who kept positing that I was a rude and disrespectful piece of shit. When it began heating up, all of them started shooting right at me, in front of Mom’s boyfriend. Haha, I was the villain again, huh? I’m the derogatory one; the bad person, the bitch, the problem child, the sibling they wish they didn’t have. The skies know, I know, that it was the opposite. It was the FUCKING OPPOSITE. But the universe was never on my side. It liked to twist the reality around to everyone else’s eyes, and I wouldn’t bother correct that because of my pride.

Because what good will my truth do to everyone anyway, if my family, the people who are supposedly closest to me, holds a completely conflicting version of it?

I fantasized about burning them again. It was always like that; when I can’t resolve what to do, I start to think that either they should die, or I’ll kill myself. There were times when I felt it was more rational for them to die because I had a lot ahead of me and they don’t. See how fucked up? This is exactly the reason

why

I

hate

myself.

Being around them only makes me hate myself further. And every fucking time I attempt to change they give me reasons not to.

I messaged mom that night and told her:

Di ko naman tinatago sayo na ganito ako, alam mo naman na yun [I never tried to hide the fact that I’m like this, you already know that]
Alam kong may sungay ako, and tanggap ko na ‘freak’ ako and di un acceptable sainyo [I know that I have horns, and I’ve long accepted that I’m a ‘freak’ and that isn’t acceptable to all of you]. Dont worry, if i started making enough money, I’ll move out. I know na mahirap akong pakisamahan [I’m difficult to get along with]. I know na nakakabwiset ugali ko [how repugnant my attitude is]. But I cant help it. I’m trying to change but everytime I’m around them I just lose the motivation.
Alam kong di ko na mababago to sakin [I know I can no longer change this about myself]
Kaya gusto ko nalang lumayo [That’s why I want to just keep a distance]
Mas naging ok relasyon ko sakanila nung di na ko nakatira sa bahay [Our relationship smoothened when I left home]
Pero nung grumaduate na ko at bumalik [But when I graduated and went back]
Bumalik sa ganito [Things turned shitty again]
Im better off alone
I dont belong here
And its not necessarily a bad thing
I’m just structured that way
I’m cruel to the people I love the most
And there is no way i can make them understand that
And ayoko nang paintindi, burden lang [And I don’t want to make them understand anymore, it’s only a burden]
Just leave me alone, and I’ll leave them alone
If ok lang sayo, magbedspace nalang ako somewhere [If it’s fine with you, just get me a bedspace somewhere]
You’ll never be peaceful as long as I’m around
So just send me elsewhere
I’ve accepted my fate. I’m meant to be alone
And I prefer being with friends than with family. Family is not home
Home is where you are wanted
This is not home
Friends are home

I’ve anticipated her replies though. I know she’ll try to ‘knock some sense into me’ but I’ve long thought about these things. Goes a long way back. I know I had issues, and I can’t manage them when I’m around the sources. Mom insisted that she sees herself in me, but she probably just wanted to assure me that she understands. I will only hurt you mom, so enough. I know myself better than anyone. I know my capacities. I know what I’m capable of doing. My observant trait and my obsession with dissecting people gave me the ability to identify their weak points, allowing me to destroy people at will. I don’t want to have to do that. When I’m blinded by anger and pain, I might do just that. I destroy people when I’m pushed. And I will not apologize even if I didn’t mean it.

I’m spending more days being unhappy, whish wasn’t part of the plan. Happy people focus on what they have.

Where did the days go by?

What have I been doing with my life?

I constantly swam in pools of hatred, sarcasm, apathy, self-loathe, and everything self-destructive. Constantly fantasizing of burning everyone that gets in my way. Constantly wishing I could die without having to do anything.

You’re way past the deadline, Lord. I’ve been asking to die for God knows how long.

When you’re empty
And someone fills you up
And then leaves

You realize that there was something
emptier than empty

That you’re capable of feeling
hollower than hollow

Flickering, fading

The pages of my planner were deprived of content ever since you happened to me.

I stopped planning. Stopped organizing my schedule. Stopped thinking ahead. Stopped looking forward.

I spent most of my time and money getting drunk, wasting away wherever, whenever, and with whomever. I drink to forget but I only remember the pain more vividly in each sting of alcohol. I kept drink anyway. I flirted with every cute guy I encounter. I started smoking too. I started ruining myself and turned into everything I hated.

I was in denial at first. I always was.

When I realized how lost I’ve become, I finally accepted that you broke me.

And I don’t know who I’ve turned into. I look in the mirror and hate who I see.

“At least you’re prettier”, is what I tell her.

“At least you’re not sad”, is what she tells me.

I guess––or at least I convince myself––that that’s what matters.

 

I’m not sad.

I’m not sad.

It should be me, that should be me

I’ve done everything I can to convince myself that this isn’t the universe where we end up together. Tried to rest content with the idea that in another universe, we were together.

But like the other failed times, I’m here again. Crying. Crying at every realization that I wanted, badly wanted that to be this universe. 

Why can’t it be? Why can’t it be in this world?

Freefall, freedom

It just really is nice to think about killing yourself sometimes. It’s nice to think what people might have to say when you’re gone. It’s nice to think that you won’t have to deal with any of these anymore.

I don’t know if it’s getting worse, but I only get this kind of attacks past midnight. But they’re happening as early as 6pm now. I contemplate about dying. I contemplate about disappearing all of a sudden. I contemplate about cutting the rope, about giving up that tree branch that kept me from falling off the cliff.

It’s nice. I get a distinct kind of ecstasy from thinking about suicide. Because then I won’t have to think. Then I won’t have to feel. Then I won’t have to see how things end. How things change from better to worse.

I don’t want to have to deal with anything. I want to sleep. And I don’t want to deal with whatever the next morning has to offer.

I’m tired.

Pointless. Boring. Stupid. Repetitive. The same lessons learned. The same lessons unlearned. The same lessons relearned. The same lessons but the world does not change. It still tries to destroy you. It teaches you new things only to test new ways to torture you.

I don’t want any of these anymore
I don’t want to need to be understood
I don’t want to need to understand anyone

I don’t want to think
I don’t want to feel

Remove my chains
Let me fall off the cliff

That’s where this is going anyway
One day, I’m going to have to kill myself
So just kill me now

Just let me die