Well, hello world. Oh look, it’s already June. We’re already 6/12 deep. And I’ve been barely here. *sobs*
Hello!!!!!! I’m back, kinda worse than before but also kinda changed a little but I’d like to believe that everything is going to be alright in the end. So, here I am.
Okay, let’s bring this baby back up.
For this week, I have a revived and glam-ed up version of a quote (I think) we already did. I remember that when I did this, I made a graphic edit that I didn’t quite like and I don’t remember if I put it up or not but anywayyyyyy
I couldn’t drown my demons – they unfortunately know how to swim.
My life was worth living.
I had to do something else.
It was time to face them and fight them for what I want.
Okay, honestly, I just want to go back to blogging and thought that it would be soo fun to start again with this feature but it’s not like I’m actually prepared so this is a quote that I am not actually ready to talk about. (Spoiler Alert: That is a warning.) (Spoiler alert: This is stupid long.)
Right now, I am going to admit my issue. This is something I’ve never done before. And honestly, it was running away from my demons. It was me turning my face and pretending they don’t exist. It was me trying to drown them out. And this is me, trying to open up finally.
The Never Over You trilogy is one of my favourite series of all time because it gave me some of my favourite characters of all time. At the same time, it was one of the hardest trilogies to read. Sometimes, I connect to the book so hard that I actually get a mental breakdown for a minimum of an hour.
Mia definitely goes on my list of favourite characters of all time. I am talking about Mia from the entire trilogy, not Mia from just one book of the series. I am talking about the Mia who was fine then was not then kinda stayed not being fine for a little too long and experienced a lot of loss but in the end, did what she had to do and fought for herself and transformed and became the best she can be. She had it rough and ended at the top. She is definitely an inspiration.
I’ve been living my life stubbornly. And truth be told, it’s not exactly a joyride. I think of myself as three. There’s a princess whom nobody can ever trump or destroy then there’s the other me who always gets hurt because she’s insecure *af* and has a very low self-esteem and anti-social and sad and sensitive as shhh and is suicidal. Then there’s the other one who is very rational and doesn’t feel anything. The former is the one showed to everybody, and the latter struggled to get recognition.
When the rational one got questioned, I knew there was something wrong.
But I always told myself that it’s all going to be okay and that I’ll be fine and it’s all okay and I’m not going through anything that a normal kid goes through and it’s okay, it’s all perfectly normal. I’m fine, like totally fine.
So, I ignored all the warning signs.
After all, I’ve got a reputation to uphold. I don’t have emotions. Other people can get through this, I can too. This is just a lame phase. Everybody goes through this and then they become perfectly fine later. It’s all okay. I literally don’t have the time for this.
It started becoming worse during junior year in high school. I break down at least once a week. Before that year, suicide was just a thought in the back of my mind but suddenly it was popping into mind every night.
I told myself that I was being ridiculous. I am fine, there’s literally nothing to be so emotional and sensitive about. It’s okay, this is going to be over in a little so stop thinking like that, it’ll be all okay.
Senior year, I started writing suicide notes. And taking painkillers.
Then I had to go to college.
First semester, I almost had a compulsive addiction to painkillers. If it wasn’t for one of my rommates who called me out on it, I don’t know what could have happened. I spent the next half of the semester with high anxiety and a breakdown every two days and I hated everything and everyone and I hated that I did.
And just this semester, I picked up a knife. And the painkillers. With the knife, I broke down just again because I realized that I didn’t want to cut myself, I want to end it all, I am not going to do it half-assed. That night, if my roommates didn’t come in, I’m probably dead by now. If I had a night that I didn’t break down or if I was able to actually get up from bed without feeling heavy, it was a miracle.
Again, I told myself: It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay. Nothing is out of the ordinary. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
I straight-up ignored that in anonymous conversations, I have met medically diagnosed depressed (and suicidal) kids and that we were all as one. I straight-up ignored that I was pretending to be normal when talking to normal people. I straight-up ignored the observation that there was a clear distinction between people who are emotionally and mentally stable and those who were not.
I don’t want anything else but for everything to be fine. Because it would be. But the more I say that, the less I actually believe it. Have you ever stared at a word so hard that you’re not even sure it’s actually a word? Have you ever repeated a phrase so many times that you’re not even sure if it’s actually a phrase? Have you ever asked a question so many times that you’re not even sure if it was a question? Exactly.
I lived my life stubbornly. Through the years, I had only one safe place. It was writing. I have no talents. And writing is not even a gift. But I was told I had my way with words. I was told that I should keep writing. I was even told that I should be a writer. I believed them. I believed it and built myself from there. I am not good at a lot of things but I did what I can but always took pride with whatever I wrote. I was untouchable. Goodness gracious, I felt invincible. The pen is mightier than the sword, to quote Jose Rizal. Holy Cow, I was immortal.
But then there was this one time that I thought I can use my writing to convey my feelings. I live stubbornly but I know who I am. I am literally not good at anything. I have no talents whatsoever. And I thought that was okay because I can write… somehow. So there was this one time that I thought I can let my feelings show and write a letter to my professor. I thought he’s understand. I was sad and disappointed and confused and mad with my score and all I wanted to happen what for him to know that and I wrote a lot of things that I thought he would understand as part of my confusion and nothing else and I was crying and breaking down when I wrote it and I didn’t want anything because really, what can I do? All I wanted was for him to know that I was confused. It was a confusion that I didn’t want an answer for. The thing is, he didn’t understand. He got mad and ruined me.
Looking back, I am only mad at myself. And I only get angrier with myself. I didn’t have to send him an email. So why did I?
And stubborn me would say, because I thought he’s understand.
OKAY OKAY so where exactly am I going with this?
This incident, may be nothing but stupidity on my part and I should just move on with my life and learn my lesson.
But it took the only thing that I knew my whole life: writing.
I kept telling myself that it is not my fault that he read it the wrong way. I kept telling myself that it is not my fault that he did not understand what I was trying to say.
But I kept going back to: if I actually know how to write, he would understand. He would not read it the wrong way.
Hence, I am here. I am at that part of the book where even though she tried, Mia couldn’t get past her addiction. Only, she kept going back to drugs and I keep going back to hating myself to the point of murdering myself.
Sometimes I think there’s still three of me: the one who is writing right now, the one who wants to murder me, the me who is running away from my own hand. Most of the time, I think there’s only one me. And it’s the second one.
So while I can still write this, I am going to try. Although I already promised this to myself the previous year and I just fell deeper into hating myself for breaking that promise.
I am writing a promise, not to myself but to you guys. I am going to keep on writing. I am going to face my demons. I am going to reclaim my life. I don’t want to say that I am going to live this life because it’s worth something because I honestly don’t believe that. I am instead going to say that I am going to start making this life worth saving. If there is one thing that I learned all these years, I am scared of reaching out for help. I don’t want to bother the closest people to me because I don’t want to disappoint them. I don’t want to kill myself because that would also be making myself a disappointment. I don’t know where to start and everything is a mess but I am still going to try. I am going to try because practice what you preach. I have said so many times before that life is worth living. I think it’s time for me to start believing my own words.