memoir(^○^)

lxxvvxxvi. self-realization

I've been trying to kid myself for weeks; telling my mind that this is okay and that I just need to keep going.

I told this stupid little creator of emotion inside of me that I just need to hold on a little bit longer. Hold on. Hold on. I just need to endure everything for a while because in the end everything will turn into nothing and scar will be the only thing that left.

I keep telling my self that it's fine. I am fine. On my way home, when I go to class, when I'm all alone in the bathroom, before I go to sleep at night and the moment when I wake up in the morning; I keep replying those three magical little words like a spell.

I am fine.

But in the end, I finally realize that maybe, just maybe, I'm still stuck on the bottom of the grieving state.

For weeks, I thought that I've been mature and strong enough to stand on stage five. To let things go and forgive. To not wish for anything and accept everything. But tonight, after minutes of rolling in bed with cheeks stain with salty water, I realize that I'm still standing on the very first stage after all.

It's denial.

And denying,

is the only thing that I've been doing this whole time.