The fault in (my) words

My life lately basically moved in between sleeping, eating, reading, and watching animes. Not that I have a problem with it, but it sure does require some getting re-used to. My senior life in college was practically the opposite of that—I couldn’t stay put in a room, a quiet one at that, and I constantly seek to hang out with my friends and orgmates, or with anyone for that matter.

I’ve become dependent on the company of people, haven’t I?

Well, it seemed like it. Funnily enough, no one believes me anymore whenever I claim to be introverted. Almost everyone thought otherwise. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s a bad thing. Maybe both. Why am I confining the thing in the first place?

But for a moment, I wondered if it was actually the case now. I began hanging out with people I barely knew. I began craving new faces, new voices, new people in my life. The small circle I used to bind myself in began expanding—but, it was a change I’ve acknowledged and realized a long time ago. For some reason the fact overwhelms me again. A matter of restrospection, could it be? It’s only from a restrospective view of things do we realize the full weight of the changes that occurred in and to us, and in everything and everyone around us, after all.

But, I couldn’t distinguish the me now from who I’ve always thought I was. Is this the person I have always been? Or the person I always wanted to be and have finally become?

Did I lose myself, or simply found it?

And yet I wonder if the answer to those even mattered.

I wonder if this thought engagement should be taken as a positive thing, because I only write when I’m lonely. I never learned how to write about happy things, because majority of the words in my vocabulary are associated either with sadness or hatred.

Initially, I wanted to write about Sarah.
I wanted to write about how she doesn’t understand how important she’s become to me, and I will never mean to hurt her.

But I was never good at appreciating people and things.
Or at least, I was never good at expressing appreciation.

I don’t know the right way to keep people, the right way to keep friends, the right way to keep people I hold dear.

Because I always end up destroying everything I love.

You’ve grown on me. I’ve become severely attached to you. You’ve become too important. I was convinced I wasn’t born like everyone who were born in pairs, who needed to find the other pair to be complete, but you came. You came and I thought maybe I needed something, something like ‘the other half’. But these are things I don’t casually tell people, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know how. I was straightforward, but I’m not good with words; I had a knack for confrontations and debates, but I don’t know how to communicate appreciation and gratefulness. I can only communicate sadness.

I don’t know how to properly patch things up without making it worse, without saying things that will only fuel the fire.

How do you make someone understand something you don’t understand yourself?

How do you evade the fallacy and ridicule that comes along with justifying a supposedly wrongdoing?

Is there a better way to put it? A better way to make it understandable and comprehensible?

That the people we loved the most are the ones we were most cruel to?
It doesn’t need logic, does it?

I’m sad.
I’m lost.

I’ve been self-destructing and self-loathing since that day and I’m beginning to lose my mind. I began hating social media. I immersed myself into other things, anime mostly, to steer my thoughts away.

And little by little, I’m beginning to seal the void I thought you were made to fill in.

Little by little, I’m starting to get re-used to this.

Feeling like this.

Feeling nothing.

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t

Ever encountered people who will really go out of their way to make you feel shitty for being who you are? Yeah, I know. What a miserable bunch. They will try to put you down for being everything that you are because everything that you are is everything they are not.

Trying to please everyone around you feels like being in a labyrinth — a huge one that didn’t actually have a way out. You go around strategizing and changing approaches, thinking if you tried hard enough, you’ll finally locate one.

But no, you’re perpetually trapped in the goddamn thing.

My life is like that kind of labyrinth.

Of course, I have changed my perspective on things through college. I realized just how idiotic and pointless it was to try to get everyone to like you, it won’t happen. But just because you understood that doesn’t mean change quickly follows. That kind of mindset was a social embedding made when I was a kid. It’s not going to wean off that easily.

All this time, it felt like I was just blindly trying to figure my way out of things. I tried to learn everything on my own as much as I can, tried to do everything as much as I could, all while simultaneously dealing with my twisted dispositions and emotional predicaments as a teenager. But none of it sufficed. Although I know it wasn’t, it’s as if none of my hardships paid off. As if all of these is stupidly pointless. And pointlessly stupid. 

And it never helped when discouragement and put downs came from the very people I expected support from. It never helped when people, especially my family, talk to me like I’m not doing it right.

Like how I might be a little too outspoken, honest, or straightforward.

Like how my strong personality might be too threatening to a potential partner’s ego.

Like how I might not be enjoying life the way I should.

Like how I might be too opinionated for my own good.

Like how I might be a little too serious for my age.

Like how I — there are tons of things. Innumerable. I never got it right. If you do nothing, people tell you off. If you try to do everything, people still do. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I was always either doing it wrongly or inadequately. It was always not enough. It was simply never fucking enough.

I’m tired. At times like this, the only thing I could do is walk away.

You can’t keep insisting gold to a person who only sees blue. You can never describe light to a person born blind. People deny and destroy what they can’t make sense of. You cannot force everyone to see things the way you see it. You cannot make everyone understand.

But you can try. You can only try hard enough.

But I felt okay, because I felt nothing

Note: This has been resting in my drafts for the longest time. I don’t feel the same way anymore, but I want to throw this out in the open. The names are changed. 

May 16, 2015. I haven’t eaten anything today, except a softdrink and a pasta when I was walking around the mall, waiting for my new eyeglasses.

I feel so hollow. Empty. I was a blank, a void, a nothing. The world had robbed me of all the emotions I had associated with happiness. I only know of pain. Yet I’m so numb. I’m so numb.

Yesterday, May 15 2015, I confessed to him. That was the first confession I ever did in my whole life. And that was the first time I cried in someone’s presence. The first time I bared myself naked to someone. The first time I let someone in the darkest part of my being.

It was a long story. I don’t know how to go into details. It hurts. All I know is that it hurts it’s making me numb. It hurts so much it’s making me numb.

He did not reject me. He said he liked me back. But it was too late.

I was too late.

There is someone else already.

I don’t exactly know how to feel about it because throughout that bloody confession, he made it seem like he wants me to hold on.

I was trying to run away after confessing. I was shaking then. His back faced my back. And I made him promise not to look at me. I told him I had to leave. That he can make me leave. That he doesn’t have to say or do anything. That I’d be fine. That I’m shaking. I’m really shaking. But he refused to let me go. He pulled me back, saying I had to stay. That he had a lot to say. That I have a lot to know. That there is so much I don’t know. He asked me when did it start. When did I start having feelings for him. He apologized for asking. I said it was when he invited me for coffee. He was talking but I interrupted. I said I know it’s stupid because he liked Georgia then. I said it was a difficult evening for me then because he chose to tell me he liked Georgia on a supposedly romantic day for me. He said he remembers it. That he remembers that evening vividly.

“But you were suppose to call her instead. You even had to justify why you had called me. And you know what? That made me feel like shit.”

“But I called you. You’re the first person I called. You’re the one I called.”

What’s the point, I asked him. I said it’s pointless to talk about it now. He asked me if I noticed something new about him. I mentioned Julie. He did not deny it. He asked me if I was in the Redtape, and he began telling me how it all started between them. I didn’t know why he was telling me about it. He said he liked me. He persistently asked me if I believe him. I said I don’t know. I asked him what’s the point. I told him it’s pointless. That it doesn’t matter because he’s with Julie now. Then I asked him, “Was I too late? I was late, huh?”, my voice shaking. But then he went on with the story about Julie. I was palpitating. He started referring to her namelessly. I couldn’t breathe. Tears dripped down my cheeks as he went deeper. All I could hear and see in my head then is the glaring fact that it was too late. That I wasn’t aggressive enough. That I wasn’t touchy enough. That I wasn’t showy enough. He said we didn’t see each other for too long for some time, when Julie got into the picture. He said she was touchy. And he became touchy with her too. He said they’ve done things already, things that would change how people perceive him. I asked him to stop. I told him he doesn’t have to say it if it’s hurtful. I pleaded him to let me go. I tried to run. He pulled me again. I don’t know if his back remained unturned, but I began sobbing with my back facing him. He went into more details and I felt numb. I was getting numb. He asked me again if I believe him. I said I don’t know. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. Then he said it again.

“I like you”.

He said that I was so weird and he liked it. That my unpredictability was what he found so attractive about me. I asked him to stop. He was giving me false hopes. I cried. I started crying. He asked me not to. I apologized. I apologized and apologized. I cried, cried, cried, and cried. And then I stopped. He went on. He said he saw this confession coming when I texted him that afternoon. He said he felt it when I asked him to close his eyes. A long silence ensued. I asked him if he was scared then. He said yes, because he was unprepared. That I was unfair, because I prepared for it. He cyclically elaborated about us. About what he doesn’t want to happen to us. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I switched to douchebag mode. I was normal again. I was talking to him casually like nothing mattered anymore. I was laughing. I was scoffing at his points. We started talking about philosophy, about freewill, and the usual things. It was a long conversation.

But I felt okay. Because I felt nothing.

He kept reiterating that the thing between him and Julie was trivial and superficial. That he liked me too. That he thought it’s a waste what could have been between us. I asked him to stop because it’s pointless.

He kept giving me false hopes throughout the conversation. He made it seem like he wants me to hold on.

And I don’t know. I don’t know.

Our orgmates were looking for him then. It was about 6:15pm. I asked him to leave, and swore I’d be fine. I told him he can’t do anything about how I feel, and he’s now relegated to my dark past. I was playfully mocking him. But then he asked me if he could hug me. I laughed and scoffed. I said whatever. I told him he still couldn’t look at me or see me. That he has to go where I would not see him. But he stood up and stood in front of me. I hid my face behind my palms. I told him he’s being unfair. But he remained in front of me. I moved my hands away from my face and looked away. The wind blew, the sun beaming on my swelling eyes. I told him he has nothing to worry about, that I’m not as weak as he thinks. He sat beside me. He insisted he doesn’t want to leave me that way. I said he can’t do anything about it. That he’s just guilty. I just got rejected. I need a time alone to let it sink it. He countered, repeating it’s not rejection, but conceded if I insist to put it that way. It was the nth time we had a long silence. He hugged me tight from the side. I remained unmoved, tensed and unfeeling. Then he left.

I looked at his back as he walked away. I looked at the sky, and as soon as he was out of sight, I broke down into tears.

——
This is extremely summarized. I can’t go into details. It was too long, too vague, and too hurtful.

But the point is, we can’t be together. And I’m choosing to move on.

But he left me with false hopes.
He left me with fucking false hopes.

We are a blank, a void, a nothing

So this is what it’s like. It’s ridiculous to think that it was that easy to let things go. I was delusional.

Weeks have passed since that day. A lot has happened, yet I don’t seem to care as much. In fact, I hardly recall the details. Did any of it even matter?

Days went by and fragmented episodes of that day kept reappearing in my head. Sometimes it hurt, oftentimes it doesn’t. I thought it was because what I felt was mere curiosity. I held pride in having the ability to see through people, to read them easily––and I can’t read him. It bugged me for god knows how long. I thought I liked him then, and it was more than enough to rip my sanity off.

My mornings proceeded like how it normally did, same with the nights. I was getting numb again, and it bothered and calmed me at the same time. It made me think that perhaps, after all, there was nothing beyond that curiosity. Merely, he was a riddle I couldn’t solve. Merely, I was a child that couldn’t get over the missing puzzle piece. Merely, I was attracted to an unfamiliar toy; I was attracted to disasters I haven’t seen; to that rare instance of discovering something that hardly entered my peripheral.

I concluded that maybe, I mistook my obsession with unsolved mysteries for love. There was nothing beyond what you allowed on the surface. I was bored, and I simply needed a story I could tell someone someday, to put into reality the illusions I often created in my head, through you.

There was nothing in you and in me.

We are a blank, a void, a nothing.

I enjoyed the company of pain so much that a slight sting for every minuscule time you hurt me gets romanticized. I was in love with my idea of pain––pain from your supposed indifference, from the lack of requital, from reaching out to something that is impossible to hold onto.

You were merely a mystery, simply a means to an end. Yet you were happiness.
You became anxiety and dependence, yet you were happiness.

I went through everyday thinking I did just as fine as I figured I’d be, but then there you were again, standing sheepishly looking sideways, shyly asking to be played with again. But who wants to play with a useless, old toy? Who wants to re-solve a finished puzzle? Time allowed me to realize that I’m too old for these things, and as much as I want to play I’m not going to enjoy them the same way I used to. At least not anymore.

Was I mad? Was I indifferent? Did I hate you? Do I hate you? I don’t know. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to feel anything. But I was bored. And I was tired of being numb.

And you resurrected the pain. I recoiled, curled up, and basked in its warmth, as I replayed the agony I felt.

Ambiguity

Prompt: I wish I had the guts to walk away and forget about what we had. But, I can’t because I know you won’t come after me.

And I guess that’s what hurts the most. 

A crumbling mind, a crumbling heart, a crumbling body
Happiness became synonymous to you
but so did anxiety and dependence

You see, this here is what I have been dreading
I saw it coming yet I didn’t dodge
–– I wouldn’t
–– I couldn’t

Now every inch of me is shaking
collapsing
disintegrating into tiny bits

I said I wasn’t afraid to hurt
I said you couldn’t break what’s already broken
I didn’t think there were more to destroy,
More things to leave barren

So here I am dissolving
shattering
fragmenting into pieces

The you that had become happiness
had morphed into grief and melancholy

Braver and better, happier than ever
the day you happened made me fragile like I was never

A crumbling mind, a crumbling heart, a crumbling body
Anxiety and dependence became synonymous to you
but so did happiness

Childish hope, childish fear

Tired.
Tired and restless.

I don’t really have much to do because it’s holy week, but I’m tired. I’m mentally tired, and I feel weak physically.

I’ve been moving around the house upon getting up, cooking and doing whatever there is that’s needed to do. I’m alone. Everybody were out somewhere, and i’ll have to spend the night by myself. Not that I’m not used it. I mean, that’s basically an everyday thing to me.

Anyway, I couldn’t function with messy surroundings so I started with cleaning. Then I organized my closet, washed my old shoes and sneakers, prepared stuff that needs to be fixed so I could bring them tomorrow to the mall. I didn’t have to do any of these if I brought my guitar back with me. But well, can’t be helped. My sister couldn’t pick me up, and I don’t want to commute with two heavy baggages.  I did these things anyway so I could feel productive. I don’t like doing nothing. It’s only recently but I always have this urge to seize the day. My hands need something to do. My body needs to keep moving. I need to be busy.

And in the back of my head I know what this implicates.

A coping mechanism.

I don’t know, perhaps some sort of way to move on. God. I hate talking about it. It makes me feel weak. I feel ridiculous, pathetic, and superficial. There’s nothing profound about it. It’s just me, you know, romanticizing every little thing. When none of it were actually real.

It’s stupid to think how half of my teenage years revolved around that silly thing. I wasted my life thinking I could only be happy if it were to work out. Even if it’s just once. Thank God I grew up.

Anyway, I got lost. The purpose of this post is to address this developing feelings towards someone. But then while writing I forgot about it. This post is pointless. I know. I keep jumping from one topic to another. But that doesn’t matter to me right now. I just wanted to write. Thoughts don’t necessarily have to be coherent to make sense – besides, disorganization makes thoughts more authentic.

I’ve been having these thoughts while studying. Probably because of the music playing in the background. Also, I was thinking about you. You, and this seed of feelings that started growing in me for goodness knows when. I was determined, really determined not to leave any clue about these feelings. Partly because I know they don’t mean anything to anyone, and partly because I know where this leads.

I know where this road is going. It’s all too familiar. This is not me being cynical or pessimistic. This is me being logical and rational.

It’s exhausting. This recurring encounter is making me sick to death. You know what I hate about this? It affects every goddamn aspect of my life. I couldn’t control it. I used to be jolly, enthusiastic, and carefree whenever I go to school. My happiness used to be linear, but during the last two weeks it started fluctuating.

Because of you. You.

You fucking happened.

Or more accurately, these feelings happened.

I wanted to conceal it to myself because it’ll eventually be the same thing – letting it out and not letting it out would lead to the same end.

These feelings are going to destroy me.

I’m not even scared of that anymore.

What I’m afraid of is the aftermath. It’ll destroy the friendship along, distort the memories, and warp out important people in my life.

No, it’s not the same as that with the past. In fact, this is… shallow. But it’s beginning to fuck me up. I’m not even going to tolerate the fact that it’s small, because everything starts at the molecular level. I haven’t even recovered from the past. Not that I haven’t moved on, but you know, I feel like I’ve become unable to love the way I used to. That’s the only change that seemed strange to me. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s a bad thing.

Isn’t it awful how it is rather easier for many people to advise others to do things that they wouldn’t otherwise do themselves? I often speak of vulnerability like it’s the core essence of love. I could talk about holding back as an extremely detrimental thing and be passionate in defending it. I tell people to be always honest about how they feel because they don’t know how much that could change another person’s world. I could easily talk about love like it’s the most wonderful and beautiful thing in the world to others. But if it had to involve me, I could quickly slip onto its dark side. I have always been ambivalent about it. Not because I had a fair share of the good and bad side of it (I mean jeez I think 9/10 of it is bad), but because I’ve been holding back that small hope that maybe one day, things will change for me. It’ll be okay. It’s going to work. And I’m going to be happy.

Childish hope, really. Only children are suppose to keep hopes like that.