What do I fear.. Death?
This statement keeps me alive. I guess this one works better than my past motto, “Keep going.”
This is the point in my life where I am not lacking but feels empty. I am a balloon — full inside but actually empty-contained… and so it floats, and where does it end? Nowhere.. or should I say no one knows where.
I’m thinking of my readers at the very moment… I don’t want them to absorb the negative vibes, but I promised myself not to restrict anything before I established this blog… This is a freewrite site.
I wanna reach out… Seek help… From a professional or a layman, it doesn’t matter… This depression is consuming me.
I feel drowned. But I’ll survive. What do I fear? Death? We’re all destined to a serene repose.
My weakness converts into my strength. I’ll hold on though I don’t know what to hold on to. As long as I’m breathing, I’ll breath. And I do understand that there’ll be times that as I do inhale, the internal wounds would contract and will give me a stabbing pain, they’ll bleed. But as long as they don’t cut off my life, I’ll go on. I’ll keep moving.
With all sincerity and boldness, this is what my heart says… Or so I think…
“I pity myself. I outwardly project a strong personality. That I can be alone without being lonely. I can do things without the help of anyone. But… My greatest fear… Is to be alone… For all the times I ended up sitting with no one beside me on buses… For all the times the group became odd-numbered because I joined them… For all the times they were all laughing and I pretended busy… For all the times I can’t cross the trafficked streets because I’ve got no one to walk me through… For all the times I had to use my mouth to grip something because I had to open the mall’s door and no one can do it for me… For all the times I had to eat all by myself in the pantry… For all the times I had to spend the night alone and afraid because they thought I don’t care if I am with no one and that I am brave… For all those times, I was crushing. I was shaking.
Along with time, my heart has mastered the pain… It has learned the part where the grief creeps into… And I have made myself believe that it was what I wanted, and that I am best when I am like that… But I am not… The whole of me is shreking… Please, don’t leave me alone.. Care for me.. Wrap me in your arms.. Tell me you’ll stay with me.. Wipe off my tears and whisper everything is okay… Hold my hands when I am afraid.. Give me the assurance that I am safe and that I can share everything with you..”
I am fragile. I have been broken so many times. And who would want to pick up tiny broken pieces of glass and let their hands be wounded? No one. And just like no one can bear a baby’s cry so long, anyone would also just be tired of my stories, of the dramas, of my miseries. I myself gets tired of myself.
And so I feel helpless.