I wake up to the same feeling. Same numbness, same amount of sadness, with the same lump just resting in my chest.
I look around at my dark room, untouched by dawn. To other people perhaps, today is another day to fill. Be it laughter with friends, inevetible arguments with their families, cuddles with their lovers. It’s another twenty-four hours of an unknown adventure. They have their lives under control, and they are definitely ready to face what life has in store for them today.
To me, that is a dream. To me, today is another eight hours of torture at school, then the rest of sixteen hours of the same thing. I can’t fit in at school, no matter how hard I try. I make a daily effort to smile and laugh more. To pay attention more. To listen more. To be more open during group projects. But the smile never reaches my ears and the laughs are never let out a hundred percent freely. I only listen and pay attention but it’s not vice versa. Teachers come to teach a bunch of stuffs for about forty-five minutes and then go and I write down what I can as much as my disoriented mind would let me.
And then I go home, to the parents that tries so hard to make their daughter feel like the queen of their world, but not knowing a sliver of pain the crown is causing her to feel. Nobody does. To a little brother that is stuck to a phone most of the time and doesn’t even care one bit. To a couple of house-helpers, one of whom is too shy to utter a word to her masters and the other too much ego to listen to anybody but herself. I also go home to a mirror, in which I see all of my flaws put together in the highest definition. The curly black hair that puffs horribly because of the humidity of our weather. The very very tired pair of eyes. The flat nose. The thin brows. The fat cheeks and all kinds of hell on the skin of my face. The short height and the bulging belly that gives the impression like I was pregnant, even though I have not even chase or been chased by a guy for I don’t know how long now.
To me, today is another routine, of me dissapointing myself. Waking up, showering and eating three meals a day, and going to school because that is what people my age do. Getting up with no true purpose but to exist and persist because I can’t get through to slit my veins loose with a piece of knife. Because death by my own hands may not do anything good for me in the great wide beyond.
So I wait. No matter what I try to tell myself, no matter what I do, I feel like there’s nothing worth to be happy for. Huh, I don’t need a knife, cause I already feel dead inside myself.
There are so many things that run through my mind, there are probably an infinity of them, times by two, that it makes my head ache and spin and my chest hurting and at those times I think about them most, are when the lump inside feels the heaviest. They are a lot, and at times I scream to myself to let it out, let it go, to get them away from me. but like leeches, they wouldn’t go away.
I can’t tell anyone, because that has been me. The quiet one, the perfectly good one, the listening one. That has been my identity for a long time and ever since then there are so so so many things being piled up, rotting like a dead flesh, getting tangled and tangled that it confuses and frustrates me everytime I try to figure it all out. And I have no where to vent it out.
And so, explaining would be difficult. Not only because one thing fucking feels like it’s tied to the other, but because of what I am. Because I don’t talk about these things that lives and breathes and takes control of my head in every waking moment of my life.
I look at the wall opposite from my bed, and I can almost reach something. Something like sugar, ecstasy, you name it. Anything to fill that empty void in your heart. I can see glimpses of it. Sunny days, taking selfies in the mall, visiting mountains and lakes, hugs and kisses, and a strong male hand holding mine as we strolled through a park under the evening stars. I try to hold on to them because I long for them so much my chest hurts again.
But they leave quickly, leaving me alone with the deep dark void of my mind and twenty-four hours of nothingness.