Getting used to being left alone and behind was never a good option for people who try to give their best in love and in friendship.
Trying to let go of something you never really had, or held on to, is such a shattering choice that if only you could cross it out of your list and live normally without the corresponding pain, you will. You swear you will.
But after being hrt, trampled on, and left (not to mention offended and rejected) several times by people and this cruel world, I know I should finally be able to say that nope, I am done. I am strong. I can handle this. I can stand up.
But surprise. I haven’t.
Im still on that same sinking boat I was trying to balance twoyears ago. Im still enduring the pain the world tries to shove in my face and have no choice but to feel because I’m not strong enough to fight against it.
My eyes continue to burn as I routinely cry myself to sleep every night, or morning, or whatever time of the day my heart feels like breaking.
I still shove food in my mouth, trying to binge eat because it’s the only way Im certain of that can at least comfort me.
I still look to the sky with hopes and prayers that one day, everything will be okay.
I remain trapped in the ambiguity of the language of this world, in the abyss of my life, trying to find meaning for every pain caused by everyone, by myself, by this world.
I am tired. But the world cannot know.
I hunger and thirst for love, the kind of love that I give. But I cannot ask for it, I can only give it.
There is a need to scream my lungs out, yet the only choice I have is to remain silent, smile and say everything is fine, no matter how cliche it is, and how much of a lie it really is.
I try to find people who will understand what it means to live in a world where I struggle to voice out the inner depths of my extrovert personality.
I am an open book with so many torn out pages, with so many hidden chapters, with so many wiped out contexts. I am incomplete and incoherent. I am abused and offended. I am misunderstood and rejected.
I am a mess that no one dares to fix.
Because my shell shoulders the world. My shell showcases the person who tries to be there for everyone, seeking help from myself, giving love to everyone else – eventualy forgetting that I have needs.
I am tired.
But no one ever asks about it.
No one ever understands.
No one listens.
At the end of the day, we are all broken people.
Just how broken could I be?