After I returned to Vietnam, I stopped working for a while because I was really tired, I couldn't do anything. I got up in the morning, brushed my teeth, and hated the face I was staring at me so badly I smashed the mirror, then sighed again to buy a new mirror because I remember a few more hours of the shoot. I need money, but I can't be beautiful anymore. Dressing a corpse is still a corpse. I decided to pack all my blog clothes in my suitcase, and sell them all. Fly to Sing to sell in the blogger fair, by the way visit Anh Nguoi Yeu. I did not expect it, I just arrived at the airport, my name plate was held up high, when I went to the fair, people lined up in long lines to take pictures for autographs. Really, just damn it. Don't know I'm selling me or I'm selling clothes? Near the end of the session, when I was about to leave, a friend of the same age as me came and held my hand and cried. I did not understand anything, your words poured me out with tears: "Thanks to Plaaastic, I have the power. I also have depression and eating disorder, I gave up, but when I read your blog. , I just realized that I am bigger than my illness, and if Plaaastic can do it, I can do it too. Please, I will give you my album, I'm a singer, I've just recorded my first album, something like that. Months ago was utopian. "
I remember my friend, the singer who successfully committed suicide. I thought of this girl, and I don't know how I should feel. I'm a lie, I'm a lie, I'm a fictional character, I let people believe something I don't have, I don't have anything. I've never gotten better, I've never - even for a minute - don't want to go away, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
But now, I'm responsible, right? I can't give up. People are counting on me, people hoping for me. I went home with my suitcase, I went to buy clothes, I went to buy makeup, I went to the mirror, I went to take pictures.
My Lover and I, we keep apart. The things that used to make me feel like we belonged, now make me doubt myself. Me and you keep seeing each other so rarely, two or three times a year, and the rest is a few texts. It stereotyped the same story every day: waking up, eating anything, what have been done, and I said that I haven't slept, haven't eaten, haven't done anything yet. He say things I know he will say, "you'll have to sleep eight hours deep, eat three meals a day, don't cry too much, don't love anything too fast, don't expect too much I'll be disappointed, be gentle and talk softly, live normally, don't let everyone panic because I don't understand what the boundary is." I laugh, I just smile. What I think is my anchor now just drives me crazy. I talked less and less with him, because knowing he was just a freak, I found it because I had an anchor so I knew I could be rolling. I live fine with my own principles and logic, but he makes it clear to me that this life is wrong because I was deliberately not okay with it, that I am simply wrong. In one drink, I yelled to him that, "Yes, sleep deep enough for eight hours, eat three meals a day, don't cry too much, don't love anything too fast, don't expect too much because I'll be disappointed". Many, if you go softly, you will laugh, because if you live just enough, you will live, right? So what am I doing? What do I live for if my whole existence is simply irrational? And so, for the first time, I heard him cry. He sobbed through the timid skype line, please don't, calm down, I love you, don't make me worry, I beg you. All I can hear is that, if I were simply acting like myself, saying my true thoughts, it would once again break the people around me. If I were me, everyone suffered. But what if I am not me?
I want to live, but life is killing me.
YOU ARE READING
Lỗi - Error 404 English Translation
Non-Fiction"Finally, my autobiography book, Error 404 is out, after 2 years of work. It actually took me only 6 months to write 99% of the book, but couldn't write the ending for a long, long time. I wrote a book about a child who was sexually abused, unhappy...
