09 November 2009
Hello Amirul.
How are you doing this cold Monday afternoon?
Not well, as always. But that's normal now.
But I don't want it to be normal. It sucks.
These days, more so this year, no, this age would be more appropriate, I feel so different.
I feel bad. Literally bad. You know, the term that no one really uses anymore to describe something because it's too basic a word?
Yeah, that's how I feel, bad.
I'm alone at home.
Not that I have anywhere else to go to.
I'm a loser, that way.
I lack so many things. I'm so empty and clueless.
I'm so ambitious, but I'm not sure how to go about reaching something.
I'm still sad. I think I might be depressed.
I'm not sure if I'm mentally sound anymore. But I don't think I'm severely nuts, though.
I long to purge my emotions, my thoughts.
I want to cry so badly that it hurts.
To the point where someone actually cares and comforts me.
I'm tired of being lonely and feeling sorry.
I really have no idea how long it'll be before I throw in the towel.
Before I kick the bucket.
Before I totally and definitely stop trying, lose hope and just let things be.
I know life is hard, for almost everyone.
But almost everyone has someone behind or by their side or even to lead them.
I feel like I'm leading this lonely broken helpless soul.
I am expected to be my own saviour.
But I'm only killing myself.
I need someone to tell me it's okay.
For them to appreciate and understand and encourage me.
Not to bring me down, not to disappoint me with other random, irrelevant things.
I want to be loved.
My family doesn't get me. And when that's the case, my friends aren't any better.
I don't know who to run to.
I don't have anyone to truly tell me that 3.37 is okay.
I don't have people to talk my heart out to.
I'm just a the piece of a puzzle that's expected to find it's own fit.
But I can't. I'm not strong enough.
I'm weak, I'm very weak. And I'm scared and I'm pained.
I'm scarred. I don't know how a lot of things work.
I don't know how to carry myself.
Why doesn't anyone understand this?
Why aren't my subtle pleas heard?
Why do I have to turn to characters of television shows to experience a wholeness, warmth and satisfaction?
Why did I let my life become what I never thought it would be.
Where did all my childish dreams go to?
The ones that were so perfect.
Those that depicted a life of happiness.
Where I'd be happy wherever I am because I know I've led myself there.
Where's the success that comes with the failure?
Where did I go?
I've lost myself to so many things.
I've done so many horrible things.
I hate myself.
I hate the people around me.
I hate what I have.
I hate what I've become.
Change hasn't been good.
At all.
The only thing that's made me happiest this year was to see Beyonce for and hour and a half.
Doesn't that speak a lot about the person I am?
It hurts to know that there's so many pieces to pick up.
And it hurts to know that I have to pick up the pieces that I threw away myself.
It hurts to be lonely, to not know where you're going, to keep lying and to keep hiding.
It hurts so much.
Tears hurt.
But I need them.
They're the only things that make me feel like I'm still alive.
I'm really sorry for doing all the bad things I've done.
But it just hurts too much.
4:01 PM
