Maroon 5’s “She Will Be Loved” is playing on the background.
I shed the third stream of tears I’ve had in the past three days. Technically, that means I’ve cried once a day in average. Sad, isn’t it? I’m not asking to be pitied. I have this constellation of my own that I need to sort out, one by one. Or maybe I don’t have to sort anything. Or maybe the constellation of problems is not actually there.
I’ve grown tired of being tired.
I can feel the wind blows into my room. Cold, chilly wind pierces my already dried skin, but I’m strangely sweating, and the cold never bothers me anyway. If coldness could somehow turn into punishment, I’d gladly accept it, just so all this mess can be cleared and I finally will have the privilege of receiving clarity.
Maybe there was a shot in the dark and I was just caught by surprise.
I make up my mind thrice a day. The inconsistency annoys me to the point that it almost doesn’t annoy me anymore. Only an increasing pitch of voice. I’ve been hearing those same voices of treachery inside and outside me. I thought I would go crazy, just because. But I stay sane, confused as ever.
I wake up everyday with a forced smile and I will do anything just to stay occupied. But my body does not do anything, while my head’s filled with thoughts I would rather not hear at all. Sometimes it gets into me, so deep until I cry for the seventh time in a day. And then I’ll get myself a hot chocolate, ice cream, or my arsenal of Japanese KitKat just to make me happy. Perhaps I’ll go out somewhen and treat myself to good company provided by good people, but they are my chloroform. I will then go to bed with a fulfilled heart, but when I wake up, the scars open up and I’ll realize that dope does not last forever.
Well, nothing lasts forever.
I am miserable as ever.
I should be grateful. I should stop complaining. I should just go out and do something. But do what, exactly?
On top of that, I want to shut my ears. I want to shut my ears to the talks I don’t want to hear. Don’t they realize that that toxic lingers more in me than they ever predicted? Can I grow out of sensitivity? Can I, just for some heavenly split seconds, be unable to feel? I’ve been wanting to go to an isolated island or travel alone to a random destinations. I want to know how it feels to be free. I want to let myself be free.
People flock into you when you are a lighthouse. But when the light goes dim, you can only rely on yourself. No one else. Anymore. You never learn anything about yourself because you always have another human there informing your growth rather than growing on your own. Some may fool themselves into thinking they just work better in life when they’re with someone, or some people, but if you peel back the psychological layers, there is some terrible “I’m afraid of being alone” pathology going on there.
I’m hoping for a mirage that is as real as it seems. I may make mistake and walk away, and be eternally sorry for everything. But I was born to make mistakes, not to fake perfection.
And this circumstance is a part where I am being imperfect.
Can we all, myself included, just accept it and move on?