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[ Dear Diary ]

Dear Diary, I'm not okay.

If you close your eyes, you don't have to see tears blur colours into one. You don't have to see everything slowly turn to grey and you don't have to see exactly how grief contorted your face in the mirror.

My chest is tight. I can't breathe.

If I breathe quicker, I know this will turn into something else and I don't know how much of anything I can take anymore.

It's a bright sunny day, but I feel cold and miserable. I listen to music, because silence is painful. I listen to her voice warble with grief so I know I'm not alone in suffering. I turn up the volume and put earbuds in: I don't want to listen to what I sound like when I cry and I don't want to hear myself gasp for air as my hands and feet go numb and cold, despite the summer weather, and as my chest and stomach tighten.

Downstairs, my family is eating. I'm not hungry. I think I'm going to be sick.
I can't face them anyway, because my red eyes can't lie. I can't tell anyone, because I know everyone's offline fighting their own demons or perhaps it's because I'm scared of giving them weapons to use for my back during their target practice.

I listen to my teddy bear's heartbeat, which echoes how I feel: dead. Lifeless as my body tries to get more air, lifeless and unbothered about the possibility of future blows of disappointment, because it's all the same. It's all the same and I don't see a way out of this monotonous cycle of grey.

I hate myself for thinking it was going to be different. I hate myself for thinking, for hoping that things would change. Why do I always put myself out there over and over just to be shot down again?

I listen to music because it never ignores me. It never hits back, it doesn't betray me, it doesn't and can't tell my secrets to others and it doesn't lie. It's a mirror of how I feel, except I can't bring myself to describe my emotions with words, lest it become more real.

Is this a dream?

Tell me it's not real.

Why do I only remember my nightmares and not my dreams? Some pessimists say that dreams are only for the sleeping, but why is it I can't have them asleep or awake?
Not that it makes a difference. I can't sleep.

I remember that time where I had a nightmare every night and when I woke up the next day, I would still remember them, even though I used to always forget my old nightmares and dreams. I wonder when that period will repeat itself. It's not a question of if, but when.

I can't sleep.

I stay awake as late as I can, listening to music downstairs as my parents get ready for bed and I'm alone. I wanted to stay there, staring into the night, submerged in the lament that caressed my ears and told me it's okay, be brave.

I couldn't sleep.
I woke up at dawn because I like being awake and alone when no one else in the house is. Besides, it's like I'm cheating the day, because when the day starts, so does pain. If I stay in the transit between night and day, I'm not anywhere. Pain can't touch me. There's nothing but peace here.

For once, I was happy, but as the day went on, I felt my smile falling and my heart sinking.

When pain stabs you, the area of pain isn't always concentrated. Pain is generous, making sure no part of your body is missing out on its dosage.

I think of pain as lifting a heavy thing. It's initially hard to pick it up and the process is equally hard, but it has to be done. But after you finally put it down where it needs to be, the relief and satisfaction kicks in and you start to appreciate the feeling of your hands not tempted to fall off after all.

Pain is going to steal a lot of things from you: your breath, your smile, your family, your friends, your senses and your ability to care. But it's okay, because what's taken can also be found once again.

I'm going to find my smile again and once I do, I'll appreciate it more, right up to the point I lose it once more.

Dear diary, I'll be okay.

This was once again a convoluted mess. :D I love that description of my work hehe.

You're not going to be happy all the time. You're never going to be ready to face the world again, so you have to be brave and take that step and learn as you live.

We're never going to be completely happy. Besides, if we were happy all the time, it'll get boring and we wouldn't treasure the feeling. We just have to make do sometimes. Sometimes we're going to say the imperfections in our armour and our flaws too, but that's okay. If people expect you to be perfect, they should've hired a robot to be heir acquaintance. You're human, so you're prone to different emotions and to making mistakes and that's okay. Fck everyone and everything, basically.

I wasn't sure whether it was a self love talk thingy or not so imma just publish it here and there like whatever.