Why?
I am studying psychology. I'm doing my grades based Honours programme. I talk people out of their rut and provide my presence and support. I've tried to do the same for and to myself. I've tried to convince myself that I care about myself.
Actually, I don't
My actions and thoughts say I don't.
A part of me feels guilty that I'm wasting everyone's care, concern and support. A part of me wants to piece and hold everything together.
Yet a part of me wants self-destruction
It's so weird and strange
I thought I was okay, but turns out I wasn't
I wish I could apply what I've learnt but touching everything just nets me a deep cut, so deep, everything burns and rots
I should know what to do. I should know what to say to myself.
But I'm not doing any of it
Any of it...
How long can I stay broken?
Thursday, September 6, 2018
Saturday, August 4, 2018
"When I get better"
It was her mantra for the longest of time
But I knew, deep down, she was never going to get better.
It is so strange to keep quiet about every observation I made. I was just seeing the world spin slowly to a stop, to the eventual destination that everyone else tried so hard to avoid
Half the time I don't feel real or physical, or that I'm here, perhaps this is what people call denial, but I think I've seen true denial, and that is one ugly motherfucker
There is a kind of slowness that is so hard to describe. Obviously. Everything has slowed, even the mind. Yet
In a paradoxical way, everything is so fast, the mind is both left behind, and leaving everything behind
A kind of cryptic code that sits there, an impression, you know and feel it, but you cannot verbalize it
It makes me wonder about why I shared to some, and not to others, and these others are people that I believe would care about it
And then I shared to unexpected persons, it didn't even make sense, but maybe, it does
Maybe it does
A kind of unfolding that's perhaps
It's crazy
It's crazy
Going into a zone, the zone of infinite movement and just, it's, dance
Fluff and cheese
The moon and the sun, night falls, mystery and illuminating, the breath is heavy, and then there is presence, knowing, knowing silence
Breathe
But I knew, deep down, she was never going to get better.
It is so strange to keep quiet about every observation I made. I was just seeing the world spin slowly to a stop, to the eventual destination that everyone else tried so hard to avoid
Half the time I don't feel real or physical, or that I'm here, perhaps this is what people call denial, but I think I've seen true denial, and that is one ugly motherfucker
There is a kind of slowness that is so hard to describe. Obviously. Everything has slowed, even the mind. Yet
In a paradoxical way, everything is so fast, the mind is both left behind, and leaving everything behind
A kind of cryptic code that sits there, an impression, you know and feel it, but you cannot verbalize it
It makes me wonder about why I shared to some, and not to others, and these others are people that I believe would care about it
And then I shared to unexpected persons, it didn't even make sense, but maybe, it does
Maybe it does
A kind of unfolding that's perhaps
It's crazy
It's crazy
Going into a zone, the zone of infinite movement and just, it's, dance
Fluff and cheese
The moon and the sun, night falls, mystery and illuminating, the breath is heavy, and then there is presence, knowing, knowing silence
Breathe
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
not moving
don't wanna go anywhere
can't move
lots to say
can't say them
being blocked in
locked in
tired
self-hate
why
waiting to be found
but buried deeper
unreasonable
don't know any way else
irrational
lonely
can't move
lots to say
can't say them
being blocked in
locked in
tired
self-hate
why
waiting to be found
but buried deeper
unreasonable
don't know any way else
irrational
lonely
Saturday, November 10, 2012
I read your blog
A coincidence, it is.
I haven't blogged much and neither have you, but you have a new entry recently and I somehow read it.
I do wonder if you would stumble upon mine.
Do you feel this way, that when your mind conceives a silent language, the only thing that stands between you and the truth is an agnostic state born from the openness of all things possible?
If we could be handed or could seek the rawness of reality, every single bit of truth uncensored, and realize that protective political correctness is denying and plundering us of the authenticity that could truly make our existences worthwhile....
There is a world inside, one so rich and one so vivid that everything else dulls in comparison. The world that is, what it provides, if it does not feed what is already inside, is only rife with worthless tabloid, hearsay and things that could burn and die for all we -- or is it I -- care.
Occasionally there is delight in enjoying the simple pleasures -- though we know, it is not the simple pleasure that truly brought us happiness.
But that, there is a tiny sense of normalcy we know we can never have.
I haven't blogged much and neither have you, but you have a new entry recently and I somehow read it.
I do wonder if you would stumble upon mine.
Do you feel this way, that when your mind conceives a silent language, the only thing that stands between you and the truth is an agnostic state born from the openness of all things possible?
If we could be handed or could seek the rawness of reality, every single bit of truth uncensored, and realize that protective political correctness is denying and plundering us of the authenticity that could truly make our existences worthwhile....
There is a world inside, one so rich and one so vivid that everything else dulls in comparison. The world that is, what it provides, if it does not feed what is already inside, is only rife with worthless tabloid, hearsay and things that could burn and die for all we -- or is it I -- care.
Occasionally there is delight in enjoying the simple pleasures -- though we know, it is not the simple pleasure that truly brought us happiness.
But that, there is a tiny sense of normalcy we know we can never have.
Read a comic
The doctor thinks I have a psychosomatic problem.
I don't know, I don't think so and I don't care.
I just finished reading a comic, and the ending is giving me so many mixed feelings.
How is everything connected?
I don't know, but maybe I care.
Sometimes I think my life already ended a long time ago and all I have left now is just a mental camera with a broken tape.
You know?
At the end of the day, the world condones our existence, but it will take from us. Nothing belongs to us.
The world, it'll keep moving on, and leave us all behind.
I don't know, I don't think so and I don't care.
I just finished reading a comic, and the ending is giving me so many mixed feelings.
How is everything connected?
I don't know, but maybe I care.
Sometimes I think my life already ended a long time ago and all I have left now is just a mental camera with a broken tape.
You know?
At the end of the day, the world condones our existence, but it will take from us. Nothing belongs to us.
The world, it'll keep moving on, and leave us all behind.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
When I Come Back Here
...It never seems to be about something good.
I've been figuring out a lot of things I still don't know whether I wish I knew, or not.
I don't know how to describe to you that time seems to have stopped for me.
I've been figuring out a lot of things I still don't know whether I wish I knew, or not.
I don't know how to describe to you that time seems to have stopped for me.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Weary
When my energy is low, everything looks like a tragedy to me.
Every bit of disconnection, of separation and of negativity accumulates into something...sad.
Sometimes I'm entirely aware of the strange way I put things, as if something catastrophic has happened, when it's just something...insignificant.
Sometimes though, I'm painfully aware that I'm making myself something people understand, because I know any other way would land myself in a series of judgments that would alienate others...me, further.
Recently it's getting harder to verbalize what's bothering me. Though, I think, it is disintegration that's happening around me that makes things so hard to reconcile and accept, or even tolerate.
I'm not sure why I feel this inhibition. Like how it has been since as long as I was conscious of things, there's a resignation that the world never stops for anyone. Adherence to the order of the world, with a kind of dryness that lets me wonder why I keep myself intact.
Why does intensity drive people away?
Why then do I avoid intensity outside myself?
So much on my mind, so little coherence.
And the fact, that you can never get out of misunderstandings, because people desire that.
When will the storm calm?
Every bit of disconnection, of separation and of negativity accumulates into something...sad.
Sometimes I'm entirely aware of the strange way I put things, as if something catastrophic has happened, when it's just something...insignificant.
Sometimes though, I'm painfully aware that I'm making myself something people understand, because I know any other way would land myself in a series of judgments that would alienate others...me, further.
Recently it's getting harder to verbalize what's bothering me. Though, I think, it is disintegration that's happening around me that makes things so hard to reconcile and accept, or even tolerate.
I'm not sure why I feel this inhibition. Like how it has been since as long as I was conscious of things, there's a resignation that the world never stops for anyone. Adherence to the order of the world, with a kind of dryness that lets me wonder why I keep myself intact.
Why does intensity drive people away?
Why then do I avoid intensity outside myself?
So much on my mind, so little coherence.
And the fact, that you can never get out of misunderstandings, because people desire that.
When will the storm calm?
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