CINCO DE MAJICA
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- Parts 11
Ongoing1h 12m
Last published Tue, Feb 11, 2025
I hate love, I hate affection, I hate everything that involves being attach.
I hate being weak, I hate getting take advantage, and I hate being genuinely kind to people around me.
But I'm not that heartless a year ago.
I used to be the kindess, understanding, one call a way person. I don't care if people keep treating me horrible, I'm letting them do horrible shits to me. As long as they don't leave me...
Now I don't know who I am, I don't know how to show affections, I don't know how to love genuinely.
All I know is I need to build a wall, that no one can climb up and reach it.
Pero isang araw nawala ang mga pinag hirapan ko,
nagising ako sa sitwasyong dahilan kung bakit naging matigas ako...
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When I think about the past I know that things happen for a reason, but sometimes these thing make you feel alone, worthless, like you are alone even if you are surrounded by people who say they will be there for you no matter what. Then when you reach for them you find that they are too far away to reach out for. You are left alone, stranded, drowning, without anyone wanting to get to you. So you grow used to being alone, not relying on anyone. Then someone comes by that you wish you could trust, but you can't. You hold onto the past and guard yourself when it isn't needed. You become a shadow of your past self. Smiling without feeling it becomes a pattern, soon the people who claim to know you no longer tell the difference between the mask and the true broken self. So when they try to get to you, they fail, unable to understand why, they leave. Saying that you are acting funny, not yourself. If only they knew the self that they see now is the broken part that remains left. That's who I am now. A shadow of who I used to be.Complete
Tethered
Bright lights, the beat of the music beneath my feet. Distant chatter, quite whispers. The feeling of joy, loss, heartbreak, and loneliness surround me. Buried in a crowd, drowning under the gazes of people who look through you. I am but of glass, a mirror if you will, willing to be seen through, but not seen. Screaming in a room full of people when no one can hear you, let alone see you. Hidden breaths, rising, falling. Isn't that funny, falling? Laughing would be easier than standing here in the crowded place, filled with people, faces, judging every moment the other makes. I could tell you the peace I get standing alone in a room filled with people who only see you as a mirror for who they don't want to be. I could cry tears of blood, and non would ever so much bat an eye in my direction, but I love it. The feeling of being unseen as to appose being seen for the matieral object I once was. Silent, unmoving, unwilling. I am but an idea, glass, shatterable, broken beyond compare. But strong, resistance flows through me. Willing me to be the best I can be, but can I? Who says I make sense, who says I am even me, am I? That's a question I spent years wondering. Who would I be without these scars that tether my skin, marking each even, like a calender. To mend the feelings people have isn't a easy thing, but to break is easy, always easy. How easy it is to forget, to run. I can feel the ground beneath my feet, feel the soil in-between the crooks of my toes, I could describe to you the smell of the rain. Pinpoint the center of the earth, but as I stand here, again amongst the crowd of people stand in this room. I am lost again, an idea, but for what purpose? If I could run, navigate my way through this crowd, I would seek refuge somewhere dark and cold, where I could take off this cloak and be one with who I am, or want to be.
when you need me most
When you need me most, that's when I walk away. I've spent years with him-giving, pretending, sacrificing-but I've never really felt the way I thought I would. And still, I've never fully walked away. Each day feels heavier than the last, a quiet ache gnawing at me, reminding me that the person I'm losing isn't him... it's myself. People see us together and think it's enough. They see the smiles, the routines, the quiet mornings, the coffee he always makes, and they assume our love is perfect. They do not know the nights I lie awake, questioning if staying is worth the cost, or if leaving will destroy everything I've built inside myself. They do not know the small, invisible ways I've been disappearing-slowly, quietly, while he keeps holding on, unaware of how fragile I feel. It isn't that I don't care for him. He's kind, patient, and loving in ways that make me ache. But sometimes love isn't enough when it takes more than you can give-and when the person you're with doesn't meet you where you need them most. Between guilt, obligation, and the pull of familiarity, I've lost sight of myself, and I can't tell if I'm holding on to him... or just holding myself back. And now, when life throws new challenges his way, I have to face a question I've avoided for far too long: do I continue to sacrifice myself for a love that demands everything and gives only uncertainty? Or do I finally choose me-even if it means letting go?
The world is ending and I have unlimited supplies
They said the world was ending, but it didn't start with fire or war. It began with a storm-just like any other. But this time, it didn't stop. The rain fell for days, then weeks, and then came the flood that drowned everything. When the sun finally broke through the clouds, people thought it was over. They thought it was hope. But that hope was a lie. The sun scorched the land. Insects bred in the rotting water. Plague spread like wildfire. Water became scarce, food even scarcer. They said Mother Earth was angry, and I believed them. I did everything to survive. Even if it meant relying on a filthy, twisted man for bread. He preyed on girls like me-young, desperate, orphaned. He fed us, clothed us, and in return, demanded we sell our bodies. He called it "the price of protection." Men came to us like vultures. They stripped away our innocence and left us hollow. And then, one winter night, starving people stormed our hideout. They came with knives and desperation. I threw myself in front of the youngest girl when one lunged to stab her. I took the blade meant for her. As my body went cold, I felt no fear. Just peace. Finally, I thought. This nightmare is over. But when I opened my eyes again... I was in my bed. Warm. Dry. Dressed in pajamas. It hadn't been a nightmare. It had been real. And now, it's happening all over again. But this time, I won't be weak. This time, I won't be used. This time... I'll survive. No matter the cost.
Before The Rebuild: The Prequel to Rebuilt
Before Mike, before the love story people know now, there was me-raw, broken, and surviving. This is the truth I never thought I'd be strong enough to tell. I was 22 years old when my life shattered. I was raped in a back alley and left bleeding, alone. When I turned to the police, hoping for help, they didn't protect me-they shamed me. They called me slurs. They asked me what I'd done to deserve it. What I had worn. Whether I had "led him on." No one believed me. Nine months later, I gave birth to my son. I named him Aerion Jace Rosier-Aj. His name means strength, wisdom and power in Greek. I gave him that name because i wanted him to have everything I felt had been stolen from me. He was my light, even in the darkest time of my life. But the darkness wasn't done with me. My two older children, Samuel and Emilie, ended up with my first ex's mother, and I lost all parental rights to them. And then came the 18 months of sex trafficking. They used Aj as collateral-my baby was the only reason i obeyed. I was forced to do what they wanted, or they would have killed him. They only let me see him for one hour each day. I was deprived of food, stripped of dignity, starved down to 75 pounds. I remember the blue car Aj was in the day the police sting finally saved us. But even after we were freed, i wasn't really free. the PTSD haunted me. I avoided certain materials, certain places, even certain sounds. And every night, I heard the voices. Every relationship after that was wrong-narcissists who broke me down even further. Men who convinced me I was unworthy, unwanted. My current ex even told my son Aj that he wasn't wanted-that he was nothing. I let it happen, and the guilt kills me. I became "the girl who never cried." I thought if I never cried, maybe none of it really happened. But the truth is, it didn't. And it changed me.
The fixed marriage
Pano kung ikasal ka sa taong di mo mahal? Pano kung mapalapit ka sa taong mo? ayaw mo? Pero ipinaglalapit talaga kayo ng tadhana! At hindi mo alam na nahuhulog kana sa taong yun. Well... the more u hate the more u love ☺️🤘🏻Complete
Cut the Ties on the Knot
cttotk
Gods Favourite Loser
Sometimes I wish I knew what it felt like to be someone else, anyone other than me, really. It's not that I dislike who I am(I do sometimes), or even that I'm lost. It's more like... I'm curious. Curious about the weight of other people's thoughts. The texture of their fears. The shape of their joy. None of us walk the same path, even if the streets overlap. None of us carry the same sky, even when we stand under the same stars. I often wonder, can eyes that have seen different corners of the world ever truly see the same world? Two people, standing side by side, might witness the same event. But they won't feel the same chill in the air. They won't flinch at the same memories. They won't hear the silence in the same way. So maybe we don't live in one world at all. Maybe we live in billions. Each one stitched together by memory, perception, pain, and hope. But maybe we can get close. Maybe, with enough honesty and enough patience, we can build bridges. Quiet little bridges made of words and glances and shared stillness. Maybe we can stretch ourselves across the gap. And maybe, just maybe, if you're willing to meet me there... I can show you what it's like to be me. So come. Walk a little with me. Let me try to emulate this strange maze of thoughts, this ever-shifting fog I call a mind. Let me turn myself inside out for you, just for a moment. The name's Blank. And I welcome you to the world through my eyes, my imaginary audience, watchful, patient, and perhaps just as lost as I am. Together, we might not find all the answers. But maybe, if we're lucky, we'll find the right questions.
Thin Skin
I am someone who wakes up afraid to cleanse her scars in the warm rain of a pouring shower. A heart anxious the steam hugging the bathroom mirror might just wipe away her camouflage. I am someone who becomes no one as the drain between my feet drinks the last of my alter ego. I am a woman with skin drenched with hues of angry tones, and fingers shaking to perfect the truth. Pretty, nude powders I pat myself dry with in hopes of painting the beauty I once saw. That flawless sanctuary however, never found in the foundation. I used to fantasize that, if I was good enough, the man I had made to fall madly in love with me would keep me forever. Protect me from everything. Die if it meant I lived. Chase me even as I woke up older. For I had the alluring talent to make my lovers stay. A caramel look full of mystery, passion, and wit. I had the consuming ability to pull on eager souls because I wore humanity's standards and for that, I was brave in the idea of unconditional love. Until there came a day I no longer loved myself.
Tales Of A Broken Home
I'm so afraid of endings. Before he died, my father used to say that life is a long hallway and people come and go as they pass by our doors. Some stay for a while, some just peek in, and some never enter at all. But they all leave their mark on us, and we on them. And when our own door finally opens, we'll look back and see a trail of people we've loved and lost along the way. I used to think that was just his way of coping with his own mortality, but now I understand. Every time someone leaves my life, I feel like I'm losing a part of myself. I've always had a hard time saying goodbye, holding onto moments and memories like they're fragile pieces of glass. But no matter how tightly I hold on, eventually they slip from my grasp and shatter into a million pieces. Maybe it's because of how I was born, in the midst of a storm that tore my family apart. Maybe it's because my father left too soon, and I'm scared that everyone else will too. All I know is that I'm so afraid of endings that I cling to beginnings like they're my lifeline, hoping that they'll stretch out forever. But they never do. And every time I'm faced with another goodbye, I feel like I'm losing a little piece of myself. I try to hold onto the memories, the feelings, the moments I never want to forget. But they always fade, leaving me with a bittersweet ache in my chest. I know that life is a constant cycle of beginnings and endings. And every ending is just a new beginning waiting to happen. But it doesn't make it any easier to let go, to say goodbye, to watch someone I love walk away from my life. So I'll hold onto the beginnings for as long as I can. I'll savor every moment, every feeling, every memory. And when the time comes to say goodbye, I'll hold on a little tighter, and I'll try to remember that endings are just a part of the journey.Complete
When I think about the past I know that things happen for a reason, but sometimes these thing make you feel alone, worthless, like you are alone even if you are surrounded by people who say they will be there for you no matter what. Then when you reach for them you find that they are too far away to reach out for. You are left alone, stranded, drowning, without anyone wanting to get to you. So you grow used to being alone, not relying on anyone. Then someone comes by that you wish you could trust, but you can't. You hold onto the past and guard yourself when it isn't needed. You become a shadow of your past self. Smiling without feeling it becomes a pattern, soon the people who claim to know you no longer tell the difference between the mask and the true broken self. So when they try to get to you, they fail, unable to understand why, they leave. Saying that you are acting funny, not yourself. If only they knew the self that they see now is the broken part that remains left. That's who I am now. A shadow of who I used to be.
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