October 12, 2019
I love my life, but life never showed me love.
They forgot about me. They’ve gone to their lives and left me all alone.
At thirteen, I finally realized that the world don’t revolve around me. Even if I cry buckets of blood, the world will go on. Even without me. It made me angry. All my life, I thought I’m someone significant. I never knew I wasn’t until they dropped me like a piece of trash in the corner of the street after holding it for so long.
The pain just built up until I didn’t know it’s slowly eating me. No amount of books can comfort me. No book can ever cradle the anger inside of me. For years, I feel like dying. I didn’t know what to do. For fuck’s sake. I’m just thirteen. Still, I read books. To somehow ease the pain, the longing, and to calm my raging heart. I found comfort in books. It made me relax even just for a bit, to close the lids of my eyes, hiding the fury inside.
For awhile, it worked. I found new friends. They made me less lonely. Eventhough we hang out often, there are still nights that are so heavy. Nights like these. Where my thoughts are overflowing with questions I couldn’t answer. Nights where I would cry my eyes out until I fell asleep. Nights when the pain is overwhelming.
Why does life have to be this hard? Why does living have to be this painful? Out of all the people in this world; why me? What did I do in my past life to have this kind of life now? Why am I always hurting?
Why am I feeling like this world has no place for me? I thought life is dark, but I found out that it is darker than that.
All I wanted was to have someone who would stay with me no matter who I was. Someone who would give me a tight hug when I cry, and someone who would sit beside me in dark and cold nights.
“How does it feel like having someone who cares for you?” I shrugged it away. I can’t relate.
Life fucked me up, tore me into pieces and slap me with reality. It punched me ’til I couldn’t breathe and stand up anymore.
It turned me into a cold person I never knew I could be. That girl who used to write poems with rainbows and butterflies, now writing a novel about the unfairness of the world.
Who am I?
I am the result of the horrendous conspiracy between Earth and Heaven.
Myself, who I am right now is the total opposite of me. If could take the place of someone who is good, I would. I don’t like my life. I never liked it. It sucks. It’s always been. I always covet for a good life. Something life has been depriving me to have.
A part of me envied optimist people. They always think everything is fine even when it’s crumbling down. And somehow, I pity them too. They don’t usually acknowledge failures.
“I guess the only way left for me to live is to wake up from this nightmare. This is just life. There are billions of galaxies out there. I just need to conquer the darkness.” I thought to my younger self.
Until I let the darkness took me.
Raging tempest at sixteen.
🕷trumpetxcreeper
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