Come undone

In the bathtubStaring blankly at the wall as warm water from the shower rained over my head.

I am a misfit. It’s not a label I conform to. It’s just the reality that exists for me.

How many times have I told the gods that I want life to end right here and now? How many times until they listen to my wish?

Life is becoming harder each day. It’s not suppose to become easier anyway. The case is that I become better. Firmer. Wiser.

Or I deteriorate.

I can masquerade my psychopathic tendencies as boundless intelligence and philosophical depth. It helped that I was an empath so I can manipulate people and their emotions.

But when everything is failing for me, I lose these capabilities.

I crumble at every criticism. I’m easily destroyed by thoughtless and baseless remarks. And I excavate my own limbo.

Here I am again, forced to face the darkness within. It kept whispering that now’s the perfect time to end it, because now’s the time I can no longer escape.

It amazes me how sensible and sound I seem despite the fact that I’m contemplating suicide now. Maybe it’s become easier for me to deal with the thought. The execution is what’s impeding the end.

I would wish to be saved but I know just how absurd and idiotic that is. You cannot be saved, the same way you cannot save people.

I’m pretending I don’t hear the voices anymore. I’m playing deaf. Regardless of that I’m falling back off the abyssal limbo I never thought I’d escape. And I’m beginning to think that maybe I never got out of it in the first place.

I think now’s a good time to die, my man up there. I already saw Mom and embraced her. That’s enough.

Enough. Enough of this life. I don’t want it anymore. Take me now. I don’t want to be here anymore. Get me out of here.

If dying is the only way out here, I would gladly kill myself.

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‘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. That 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 it only pushes me to self-harm.

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 our stepdad. 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:

I never hid the fact that I’m like this, you already know that. I know I had horns, and I’ve long accepted that I’m a ‘freak’ and it still doesn’t sit well with you guys. Don’t worry, once I started making enough money, I’ll move out. I know I’m difficult to get along with. I know how repugnant my attitude is. But I can’t help it. I’m trying to change but when I’m around them I just lose the motivation.

I know I can no longer change this about me. That’s why I want to just keep a distance. Our relationship evened when I left home. But when I graduated and went back, things went back to square one.

I’m better off alone, I don’t belong here. And it’s 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 I don’t want the burden of making them understand. Just leave me alone, and I’ll leave them alone.

If it’s fine with you, just get me a bed space 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 them 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, which 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.

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

White abyss

A day unnoticed. Again. Every day passes unnoticed.

Sadness, unreasonable sadness. I am enveloped within a childish kind of sadness. I am weak, oversensitive, and hyperaware of everything. I crumble at every failure made. I curl up at every mistake committed. I always try to get myself back up by reminding me that happy people focus on what they have.

But the gap, the void, the space, the hollowness, they’re glaring at me yet again. I am okay. I am okay to an extent that can be called happy, but depression peeked over my shoulders feeling left out.

Why do I feel lost again
Why am I so obsessed with being sad

I always manage to get my life together and somehow, I always manage to flip it a day after. I am already contented. I am satisfied with how things are working out. It wasn’t perfect –-– there are many areas for improvement, but I no longer feel that bad about being like this.

I do not know how it’s called. How this is called.

An imagery. A garden where everything and everyone is elated. Colors everywhere; Humor ran around while Serenity rest content seated on the grasses, feeling the cool breeze. Happiness, of course, was the most prominent feeling in the garden. It radiated cheerfulness as bright as the sun. But, looking disquieted, he stood at a corner gazing at the direction where Sadness hid–––as if an older sibling concerned about the insecure and ignored little brother. And, as if stricken with guilt, he stepped out of the garden––-now leaving me seated at the center of this white abyss, across Sadness.

It skipped and hummed while it drew shadows, satisfied that he finally had the garden’s attention. The garden which he now bleached colorless. Both Humor and Serenity have gone out of sight–––but came Sarcasm and Emptiness to keep us company. Emptiness is peaceful like Serenity, he whispered, and that Sarcasm can replace Humor’s entertainment. It smiled, as if to assure me;

and though a faint one,

I responded likewise

with eyes cast down.

Thinking how disappointing it was

to have let it become selfish

Grey in the rainbow

Indifference is a scary thing.

It fucks you up on the inside out, and without a clue, it starts taking everything away from you.

I was grateful about being indifferent to what others have to say about me. It was some kind of freedom, something I’ve always wished I could be. But I didn’t think it’s going to extend its effects to other things.

I’m becoming indifferent to my studies, my grades, and sometimes even to my friends. I am breathing and existing, but I’m not sure those words were synonymous to living. I go on with life with not much of anything getting done, and I stop halfway with realizations alone.

I don’t know. I’m an inch away from getting totally disinterested about everything. The results of the elections do not bother me at all. I don’t have strong emotions for or against anyone. I watch everyone get worked up about their lives, and I rest content with the normality of my breathing pattern, or the rate with which my heart beat.

I didn’t care about anything, but I guess I was believable enough to make everyone think I give a shit. I’m lifelessly walking a crowded road of colorful people, a colorful sea of humans laughing, grieving, and protesting. I was grey, and they were full of colors. Full of emotions. I watched them callously, wondered about the hollowness expanding within me, and walked away. That’s what I do. At least that’s what I’ve been doing the moment I realized I could simply walk away from all these. I was tired of humans. I was tired of getting angry. Of being happy. Of ricocheting between being happy and pretending to be. I was tired of my sadness, tired of distinguishing which is real and isn’t. I was tired of the crazy dynamic life had. I was tired, period.

I always thought I was brave, not fearless. There was a difference.

But now I’m beginning to think I am the latter. I couldn’t feel anything. Not sadness. Not happiness. Not fear. I don’t have the kind of will I thought I used to have, suppose that I did have it.

This stupid self-analysis is starting to exhaust me as well.

I’m tired.

I’m tired.

Fatal

Everyone thinks I’m happy, but I’m dying.

It’s bad. It’s getting bad again.

I’m getting really, really, really, bad again.

My thoughts are killing me. Every time I arrive back to my place, all I do is sleep because that’s the only time I don’t overthink things. I am stressed, restless—not entirely because of the load of things I have to do, but because each passing day I could feel me losing and subconsciously destroying pieces of myself. I’m becoming more hollow and empty. I don’t know what’s happening inside me anymore. My soul is disintegrating, I’m shattering into fragments.

I want everything to pause. Or stop. Because the world inside me is crashing down. Does no one hear it? Does no one see it? Everything inside me has gone berserk and I’m screaming and crying and dying, but nobody sees me. Nobody hears me. Most times I don’t want to wake up anymore because whenever I do, the only thing I do is cry, and marvel at the realization of my own trifling existence in the entirety of this whole wide world.

And I’m afraid to tell people how bad this has become because I know there is nothing they can do about it. I’m only going to burden them because I know there is no proper response to this. I don’t want to be a burden. I am not a burden.

But I am dying. I’m dying. I’m dying.

Everyone thinks I’m happy but I’m dying