Category: Prose

That’s the thing people don’t seem to get: you don’t break things by leaving them alone. You break them by being careless or by thinking that they could handle more pressure than they actually could. Most of the time, you don’t realise it was breaking until it’s broken. Even though your intention was not to break it, you did anyway. The fact of the matter now is that it’s broken, and you can’t fix it.

And you shouldn’t try to.
Sometimes, you have to leave broken things broken.

In this modern age, it’s so easy to lie to people. Send a smiley and no one asks twice. Type that you’re okay and they’ll believe you because they’re not there to see you cry. Nobody can tell that you’re actually dying inside because they read the lie and believe it. The worst thing is that all people really need to do to really see how you are, is call but people don’t do that anymore.

People send virtual messages like they could somehow convey what they feel. The thing about technology is that you can’t send a feeling. When people read texts, they see words not emotions. Reading something is a lot different from hearing it. When you read, there’s nothing attached because they’re just words. When you say it and hear it, you can feel the emotions and connotations attached to the words.

Love isn’t always about a boy bringing a girl flowers or complimenting her when she dresses nicely. It isn’t always going to be those moments when you can both agree on where to eat or what to do. Love cannot be calculated by the number of kisses you’ve shared or the number of dates you’ve been on.

Love is the bond between two people that is strengthened with time – all the times spent getting to know each other with every word, laugh or touch; all the times you’ve disagreed or even fought but managed to work it out by learning to understand one another.

Love is the strength you give when one of you is falling apart. Love is the comfort you give one another in the face of struggle. Love is staying when things get rough, even though you had always been allowed to leave.

There are so many sides of depression that some people can never seem to be able to notice it point blank.

Depression can be lonely. Depression can be aggressive. Depression can be numbing. Depression can destroy people completely.

There are signs but they aren’t always obvious, yet the obvious ones are often dismissed easily by people who have never experienced depression.

Depression is those nights where you can’t sleep because there are too many thoughts running around creating havoc in your mind. How can you rest when all you can hear are all the unkind things anyone’s ever said to you? How can you sleep with ten thousand voices screaming at you?

How can you do anything with such darkness lurking inside you?

Some nights, I’m just comforted by darkness, staring at the ceiling and letting the world rotate on its axis because guess what, time fucking moves on even when you don’t. And that’s the worst part, when your depression seeps out from your endless nights and bleeds right into your waking nightmares.

You had no sleep and are now expected to function like a proper walking, talking, breathing human being. You live your life like the living dead or like a machine on autopilot. You smile and laugh and socialise with people that don’t realise that you’re not really there. You’re just a smiling corpse wearing a facade of normalcy when really all you want to do is disappear and get rid of this feeling of improportionality in your body.

Because while your mind is overflowing with dark thoughts and violent urges, your heart is just a hole with nothing in it because everything you love started becoming everything you lost. Bit by bit, you’re being consumed by a black hole you can’t locate that’s sucking the life from you. Your life essence is draining away and you no longer know what to do about it.

Nothing interests you anymore. You don’t know what happy is. You’re constantly trying to fill up that gaping hole you’re still calling a heart, but guess what? It is fucking greedy. It ate your passions. It ate your happiness. It ate your motivations. It’s eating away everything that you ever were.

So what do you then? You try to fucking destroy it. You try to choke it with smoke. You try to drown it with alcohol. You try to physically expunge all this darkness inside of you but it doesn’t work – none of it fucking works. Not the crying; not the cutting; not the cigarettes or the alcohol. Nothing fucking works. None of the poison you administer yourself can get rid of the poison inside you.

And while you’re slowly destroying yourself, you’re blinded to the pain you’re causing others. You can’t see through your own instability. How can you when you can’t even see through the tears blurring your vision?

But that’s just it, isn’t it? You’re blind, I’m blind, everyone is blind to the needs of everyone else around them. Because even though they notice your destabilization, they won’t do anything until it’s too late.

They’ll keep one closed eye to your diet spiralling out of control. They’ll pretend that you’re perfectly alright because you managed to get out of bed, even though it was painful. They will ignore the bruises under your eyes and under your skin.

They’ll assume that you’re alright, and you won’t correct them.

Because you’re afraid. Afraid of how they’ll treat you. Afraid of being called crazy. Afraid of being under the influence of pills. But whatever you’re afraid of by allowing yourself to drown in silence, is nothing worse compared to your lack of fear of dying.

Because that’s what you’re doing to yourself… Oh honey, how could you not notice that you’re actually killing yourself?

You were so busy tearing yourself apart that you didn’t notice the people around you tearing themselves apart, trying to patch you up with their pieces.

I’m never here anymore, not really. I’ll smile. I’ll talk but I’m never really there in that moment we’re in.

I’m dead, and you don’t know you’re talking to a hollow corpse. I’ve died inside and can’t feel a thing. I go about doing whatever it is that I used to do.

So normal. What is normal anyway?

Is it normal to be so unfeeling? Is it normal to be so uncaring of anything?

I don’t know what normalcy is but I continue to do what I think I’ve always done – I don’t really remember.

I’m on auto-pilot. Letting my feet take me to the places I have to be. I allow my muscle memory to do the things I don’t remember why I have to do. I’ve become a walking, talking, partially living dead.

Ah, I finally know what I am… but do you?

Do you notice my blank looks and automated responses? Maybe you don’t, I don’t blame you because it took me awhile to too.

I didn’t notice when my wrists were weeping the tears I couldn’t. I didn’t notice when my hands stopped purging my feelings with ink on paper. I didn’t notice when my body had become accustomed to surviving off of only coffee. I didn’t notice when the sky changed colours with the rising sun.

So how was I supposed to have noticed when my feet walked on cool concrete and the wind slapped my face with my hair? How was I supposed to have noticed that I was staring down at what could become my death?

And how was I supposed to have noticed that I had walked off the edge of the earth and left you all behind?

It’s not something I can explain easily… It’s like I’ve lost perception of Time.

A moment could feel too long when in reality it was only a minute. Sometimes, it feels like time doesn’t exist and all of a sudden too much of it has passed.

Time has become this rabbit hole I’ve fallen into. The days just blur into one another and the next thing I know, the Consequences come knocking on my door.

I don’t know why this happens. And I don’t understand how hours and days can just bypass me without me noticing a thing until I’m being shoved by a tide of Consequences.

I think the worst part is that it doesn’t bother me as much as it used to – nothing does. It’s like I’ve faded away. Things don’t affect me like they used to.

I had always been afraid of the Consequences, but now I don’t fight it. I just let it pull me under and drown me. I don’t scream. I don’t thrash. I just sink and the deeper I go, the less I feel. And now I’m too far submerged for you to rescue me.

You know, humans are so tactless. Sometimes, they hurt someone without even realising they’re doing it. All it takes really is just their words, specifically the kinds that degrade or insult a person without being an outright attack. The thing about words is that the way you say them really gives the impact. The tone and implications behind those words matter.

Okay, so you may not mean it that way. At times, it just came out wrong. You shouldn’t shrug it off though, instead you should apologize and say what you really mean. Between what is said and not meant, and what is meant but not said we start to misunderstand one another and each other’s intentions. We start to question each other and breed insecurities.

I’m going to be honest and say straight up that I am insecure. It may not look like many things bother me but truth be told, I’m just good at hiding my reactions and supressing my emotions. What you say will either affect me immediately and will last a short while or affect me later when I’m falling apart and your words come knocking, a reminder that I was not good enough for you. When I fall apart, all the mean words (whether intentional or not) layer with each other and slowly bury me alive. You may not realise then or even now but what you say, though it can be forgiven, it can never be forgotten because it is burned into my memory. No matter what you do, it will always be there.

Which is why you should always be careful with your words. You could trigger someone without realising it, most times due to ignorance. So be very careful because I can forgive your slip of tongue or the way you may have said it incorrectly but I could never forgive you for your careless ignorance.

If all doors had windows , we would have never learnt from the mistakes that had been avoided.

If all doors had windows, no one would have chosen what seemed like the harder path.

Not all journeys are easy, but the most deceiving are those that seem easy at the beginning.

Life is a series of corridors and doors that lead to many different paths… but if all of those doors had windows, you would probably have not chosen the doors that made you face the difficulties that shaped you.

You know, if people tell you something enough times, you start to believe it.
People call me a bitch. Sometimes it’s true, other times it’s not. It really depends on how you are with me. I can be a bitch when I want to, but sometimes it’s out of my control.

I’m generally a reflection of how you treat me. Be friendly and we’ll get on just fine. Be a fake ass, two faced bitch? Rest assured I can and will out-bitch you. I don’t care what you think of me because you have no power over me.

I’m not always a bitch but call me one enough times, I will show you what a bitch looks like and honey let me tell you that you don’t want to know what that’s like. Trust me.