In her state, everything felt so real. She saw things that wasn't there. Her body response to just her thoughts. If she imagines pain, she would feel it in her body. If she imagines pleasure, her body would shake and tremble, rocked by her orgasmic thoughts alone. It was out of control. She even wished for the euphoria to stop, as she feared she would not have the strength to face the crushing reality at the end of the trip; the reality that none of it was real. None of it mattered, really. She was too high to care.
She thought of everything. She figured everything out. She solved every puzzle that necessitate solving. She searched for god, she found god, and she became god. She understood everything. Everything was so clear to her. She wrote a book about them. A book about god, about life and death, about love and fucking. It was a really good book, but it was all in her head. She wished that she could record her thoughts somehow, but she knew it would be all in vain. Words could not describe the thoughts she had. It saddens her to know that she will die, carrying all the thoughts with her. Then, she thought of him. He is he only chance she has to share that book with. She would live out the book with him, instead.
It was a wonderful thought.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Escape.
She went back to her tiny room on 6th avenue. She adores that compact room of hers, even when it's ridiculously small and cramped - which is why her friends rarely came over. As a loner as she might like to be, a little company wouldn't hurt, once in a while, whenever she feels like it. The room had parquet floors that could be ridiculously cold on winter nights, and an out of place sink that she prefer not to use. Cleaning splashes of water on the floor and the sink itself is a hassle.
She sat on her bed, which is the only comfortable place to sit in that tiny room of hers. She gazed on her bass guitar, admiring the soft luster of the guitar's black body. She always thought that the guitar was the reincarnation of a very handsome, troubled young boy who accidentally killed himself due to drug overdose, but that's just her. She even gave "him" a name; Damien. As she laid herself on the bed, her thoughts kept going on and on and on. She hasn't been sleeping very well because of the stupid voices in her head.
She reached for a little piece of folded aluminium that she kept in her purse, unfold it, and placed the tiny piece of paper it contained onto her tongue. She had never experimented with psychedelics before, but she had heard enough about them. About an hour later, she was no longer in her tiny room on 6th avenue. She was in a very warm, happy place; where none of the bad things can reach her. It was exactly what she needed.
She saw light bleeding from the screen of her laptop. Her vision was decorated with pretty images of the microscope slides that she was working on a few days before. She laughed at herself for being such a nerd, unable to leave her experiments behind even when she's tripping out of her mind. But most importantly, she would think of him. Her "person". She could feel him close, as close as she wanted him to be. She could make it feel like he was breathing on her skin, a feeling that she was craving for very much. Every single fantasy she had was about him, and about being with him.
She sat on her bed, which is the only comfortable place to sit in that tiny room of hers. She gazed on her bass guitar, admiring the soft luster of the guitar's black body. She always thought that the guitar was the reincarnation of a very handsome, troubled young boy who accidentally killed himself due to drug overdose, but that's just her. She even gave "him" a name; Damien. As she laid herself on the bed, her thoughts kept going on and on and on. She hasn't been sleeping very well because of the stupid voices in her head.
She reached for a little piece of folded aluminium that she kept in her purse, unfold it, and placed the tiny piece of paper it contained onto her tongue. She had never experimented with psychedelics before, but she had heard enough about them. About an hour later, she was no longer in her tiny room on 6th avenue. She was in a very warm, happy place; where none of the bad things can reach her. It was exactly what she needed.
She saw light bleeding from the screen of her laptop. Her vision was decorated with pretty images of the microscope slides that she was working on a few days before. She laughed at herself for being such a nerd, unable to leave her experiments behind even when she's tripping out of her mind. But most importantly, she would think of him. Her "person". She could feel him close, as close as she wanted him to be. She could make it feel like he was breathing on her skin, a feeling that she was craving for very much. Every single fantasy she had was about him, and about being with him.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Numb Dumb.
Monday. It was 4 am and she was typing away on her laptop. She only had herself to blame for putting off everything to the last minute. Well, the last few hours to be precised. She's running out of time, but her head was clear as day. Printed and bounded, she gave the result of her (moderately) hard work a kiss, and carried it to the university to be submitted; an hour earlier before it's actually due.
She was pleased with how her day was going.
But that didn't last long, of course. She met with a colleague and was roped into getting something to eat. A simple celebration for an assignment that was submitted - rewarding ourselves with food for a job well-done; like dogs. She never knew why she had such condescending thoughts about humans, but she had them and loathe them.
She had to listen to the most boring, narcissistic conversation she had ever had with a girl who is still mentally 14, who has a serious case of brother-complex, and thinks that the whole world revolves around her. The level of faked enthusiasm she had to keep was well-over 9000. To the very least, the slice of coffee cake and strawberry milk shake were honest and sweet.
She got a text from her mother later that day. Her father was warded after he fainted at his workplace. She had never been good with bad news; not because she would breakdown or do anything extreme. She just didn't know how to react to bad news - always lacking emotion. She felt numb, but her thoughts were rampant.
"What if..?", "What if..?", "What if..?"
She was pleased with how her day was going.
But that didn't last long, of course. She met with a colleague and was roped into getting something to eat. A simple celebration for an assignment that was submitted - rewarding ourselves with food for a job well-done; like dogs. She never knew why she had such condescending thoughts about humans, but she had them and loathe them.
She had to listen to the most boring, narcissistic conversation she had ever had with a girl who is still mentally 14, who has a serious case of brother-complex, and thinks that the whole world revolves around her. The level of faked enthusiasm she had to keep was well-over 9000. To the very least, the slice of coffee cake and strawberry milk shake were honest and sweet.
She got a text from her mother later that day. Her father was warded after he fainted at his workplace. She had never been good with bad news; not because she would breakdown or do anything extreme. She just didn't know how to react to bad news - always lacking emotion. She felt numb, but her thoughts were rampant.
"What if..?", "What if..?", "What if..?"
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Death by Cookies.
Truth with respect to time. It might be the truth at one moment, but a lie the moment after.
Will I understand the whole meaning of "life" when I'm dead and buried in the ground?
Noooobody knows.
Death should be absolute. It is known for a fact that everybody should die. Will die. But that bastard Schrodinger messed that one up too, didn't he? But nah, essentially, we're all dead. It's just a matter of time. You're alive now, but you might be dead the next.
I ate 5 moldy chocolate-covered cookies just now. I might die in a few hours. I don't know. But actually, that is not what inspired me to write this overwhelming morbid post. Heck, if you've known me for a while now, you should have known that I'm always on the pessimistic side. Always talking about how better things are if we're all just die. Dead and gone. I'm pretty sure I sounded quite depressed and disturbed to those who follows me on twitter. Well I am. I know for a fact that I'm quite depressed, I just don't know why. There are a couple of things that may or may not contribute to my depression, but I think it's irrelevant. Why? Because it doesn't matter what happened in the past, because I don't think I'm emotionally affected by all those things anymore. In fact, what I'm feeling now is closer to absolute nothingness. I'm bored of life, really.
But do I want to die though? No. I don't really feel like I want to die yet because there's no guarantee that I'll feel better when I do. And I could still have some fun while I'm still alive and kicking. We're all going to die sooner or later so what's the rush?
Have I ever thought of killing myself before? Yes. No elaboration needed.
This whole thing about myself being unhappy with life, I think it works well with my masochistic nature. So I'm okay with things. But I can't change the way that I feel about things. They are what they are. The problem starts when other people assume that I have a problem with life. Well, those people can suck my imaginary cock, really. People just suckk. Life is hard enough as it is, why would they want to make it worse for me. I might be okay with life, but people, yeah, sometimes, they do make me feel like killing myself. For what it's worth, I think some medication would be awesome. Anything that could make me trip is awesome.
To sum it all up, I don't have a problem with life, I have the problem with the people. No people, no problem. In that sense, I guess dying is some sort of a solution because you could get away from all the annoying people.
Or you can be a social recluse like me.
Will I understand the whole meaning of "life" when I'm dead and buried in the ground?
Noooobody knows.
Death should be absolute. It is known for a fact that everybody should die. Will die. But that bastard Schrodinger messed that one up too, didn't he? But nah, essentially, we're all dead. It's just a matter of time. You're alive now, but you might be dead the next.
I ate 5 moldy chocolate-covered cookies just now. I might die in a few hours. I don't know. But actually, that is not what inspired me to write this overwhelming morbid post. Heck, if you've known me for a while now, you should have known that I'm always on the pessimistic side. Always talking about how better things are if we're all just die. Dead and gone. I'm pretty sure I sounded quite depressed and disturbed to those who follows me on twitter. Well I am. I know for a fact that I'm quite depressed, I just don't know why. There are a couple of things that may or may not contribute to my depression, but I think it's irrelevant. Why? Because it doesn't matter what happened in the past, because I don't think I'm emotionally affected by all those things anymore. In fact, what I'm feeling now is closer to absolute nothingness. I'm bored of life, really.
But do I want to die though? No. I don't really feel like I want to die yet because there's no guarantee that I'll feel better when I do. And I could still have some fun while I'm still alive and kicking. We're all going to die sooner or later so what's the rush?
Have I ever thought of killing myself before? Yes. No elaboration needed.
This whole thing about myself being unhappy with life, I think it works well with my masochistic nature. So I'm okay with things. But I can't change the way that I feel about things. They are what they are. The problem starts when other people assume that I have a problem with life. Well, those people can suck my imaginary cock, really. People just suckk. Life is hard enough as it is, why would they want to make it worse for me. I might be okay with life, but people, yeah, sometimes, they do make me feel like killing myself. For what it's worth, I think some medication would be awesome. Anything that could make me trip is awesome.
To sum it all up, I don't have a problem with life, I have the problem with the people. No people, no problem. In that sense, I guess dying is some sort of a solution because you could get away from all the annoying people.
Or you can be a social recluse like me.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Ghost.
The moment I choose not to listen to the voices in my head, is the moment when I become the most uncaring person in the world.
That moment has passed.
Good luck trying to reach me.
That moment has passed.
Good luck trying to reach me.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Wow.
Hello 2013.
Like wow, can I just not point out how long has it been since I last blogged? Okay, definitely NOT trying to point that out. It has been awhile since I've written anything, and I think it has somehow affected my thought process. Like whutt-- I don't even know what I'm saying, really.
Writing for the sake of trying to make sense of things. Sigh. I need this.
The person that I myself perceive to be, is different from what others might see of me. There's a different version of "Me" according to my mom, my dad, siblings, and group of friends. I feel extremely drained when I have to be around my family. I would detach myself from doing things together with them, especially when the house is packed with, well, family. Why? I keep telling myself that the reason why I acted that way was because I don't really like little kids, and I am not fond of some members of the 'family'. uhm yeah those who aren't really blood-related.
But I should've guessed it. I don't have problems with anyone that could really affect me that much. It's me. I have a problem with myself. At least that is what I am aware of right now. Family - they've been with me, 'known' me for the longest time. For all my life. I grew up to be the "Me" that they knew, and there is no way I could ever know which "Me" that they have seen in me. I doubt that anyone could make someone understand something like that. It's something that is hard to even talk about, let alone understand. I can just go around asking someone to tell you who I am as a person. There's always this doubt in my head that what I'll get from this people maybe things that they think that I want to hear, and not the absolute truth. Huh, trust issues. Maybe you can live with something like that, but I definitely can't.
Some time ago, my person asked me a common question. "What do you like about me?" I had the hardest time, searching for words. I tried to shrug it off with some generic answers, but I know it wasn't good enough.
"I don't know."
"You've known me for all these while but you don't know why you like me?"
I just couldn't. I was desperately trying to describe what this person is to me, knowing that giving him a half-assed response just wouldn't cut it. It wouldn't be fair to him, and I myself wouldn't be satisfied with it.
"Your hands."
Instead of saying something overly romantic; instead of pointing out the good traits that he has; I said that I like his hands; which is a physical thing. Really. I could have said things like I like how kind he is to everyone, how I love it when he sings me to sleep, how he would go out of his way to make me feel happy, how he appreciates me, how funny he is, how talented i think he is. He is all that, and more. And I do like his hands. But he was quite upset with my shallow answer.
"You only liked me for my hands?"
...............
And so after he scolded me a bit, i told him things that I've stated before. I'll say it again. I like how kind he is to everyone, how I love it when he sings me to sleep, how he would go out of his way to make me feel happy, how he appreciates me, how funny he is, how talented i think he is. He is all that, and more. And I do like his hands. I still like his hands.
Why did I answered with such a shallow answer?
I could see his hands. He could see his hands. In a way, I feel like I was trying to point out something that I like about him, that I am sure that he could see it for himself. I would be flustered if someone said that I am a kind person. Maybe I am kind, but am I kind enough? A simple praise, if it was, can send me into an endless debate with myself. I can't explain it really, but those kinds of things will fuck my head up hard. Even he himself denied some of the things that I told him. "Nahh.. I'm not that good of a person." But you're good to me. You're the best.
"I like your hands."
"I like your eyes."
"I like your neck."
"I like your everything."
but I think "I like your hands." is still the best answer. I could take a risk and try to describe what your entirety means to me, but I am not brave enough. I know I am not capable. It might be not be possible, but I want you to trust this thing that I have for you.
(If I said I liked his eyes, would that sound better?)
Wow I think I rambled out on a tangent there a bit.
Back to the sort of the main point. People perceive themselves differently. People perceive other people differently, and in my opinion, the perception of one and oneself can never truly overlap. I've spent my whole life with my family, and there's a quite a few people in my family. The reason why I feel so drained when I'm with them is because, I tire myself out trying to figure out and/or living up to their perception. For my case, I don't think anyone will ever know what goes on in my head. I feel, sort of comfortable talking to strangers because, I could easily control how they would perceive me, and it makes me feel, somewhat secure. I don't know how to fix this thing that I have when I'm with my family though.
Keeping me to myself.
Like wow, can I just not point out how long has it been since I last blogged? Okay, definitely NOT trying to point that out. It has been awhile since I've written anything, and I think it has somehow affected my thought process. Like whutt-- I don't even know what I'm saying, really.
Writing for the sake of trying to make sense of things. Sigh. I need this.
The person that I myself perceive to be, is different from what others might see of me. There's a different version of "Me" according to my mom, my dad, siblings, and group of friends. I feel extremely drained when I have to be around my family. I would detach myself from doing things together with them, especially when the house is packed with, well, family. Why? I keep telling myself that the reason why I acted that way was because I don't really like little kids, and I am not fond of some members of the 'family'. uhm yeah those who aren't really blood-related.
But I should've guessed it. I don't have problems with anyone that could really affect me that much. It's me. I have a problem with myself. At least that is what I am aware of right now. Family - they've been with me, 'known' me for the longest time. For all my life. I grew up to be the "Me" that they knew, and there is no way I could ever know which "Me" that they have seen in me. I doubt that anyone could make someone understand something like that. It's something that is hard to even talk about, let alone understand. I can just go around asking someone to tell you who I am as a person. There's always this doubt in my head that what I'll get from this people maybe things that they think that I want to hear, and not the absolute truth. Huh, trust issues. Maybe you can live with something like that, but I definitely can't.
Some time ago, my person asked me a common question. "What do you like about me?" I had the hardest time, searching for words. I tried to shrug it off with some generic answers, but I know it wasn't good enough.
"I don't know."
"You've known me for all these while but you don't know why you like me?"
I just couldn't. I was desperately trying to describe what this person is to me, knowing that giving him a half-assed response just wouldn't cut it. It wouldn't be fair to him, and I myself wouldn't be satisfied with it.
"Your hands."
Instead of saying something overly romantic; instead of pointing out the good traits that he has; I said that I like his hands; which is a physical thing. Really. I could have said things like I like how kind he is to everyone, how I love it when he sings me to sleep, how he would go out of his way to make me feel happy, how he appreciates me, how funny he is, how talented i think he is. He is all that, and more. And I do like his hands. But he was quite upset with my shallow answer.
"You only liked me for my hands?"
...............
And so after he scolded me a bit, i told him things that I've stated before. I'll say it again. I like how kind he is to everyone, how I love it when he sings me to sleep, how he would go out of his way to make me feel happy, how he appreciates me, how funny he is, how talented i think he is. He is all that, and more. And I do like his hands. I still like his hands.
Why did I answered with such a shallow answer?
I could see his hands. He could see his hands. In a way, I feel like I was trying to point out something that I like about him, that I am sure that he could see it for himself. I would be flustered if someone said that I am a kind person. Maybe I am kind, but am I kind enough? A simple praise, if it was, can send me into an endless debate with myself. I can't explain it really, but those kinds of things will fuck my head up hard. Even he himself denied some of the things that I told him. "Nahh.. I'm not that good of a person." But you're good to me. You're the best.
"I like your hands."
"I like your eyes."
"I like your neck."
"I like your everything."
but I think "I like your hands." is still the best answer. I could take a risk and try to describe what your entirety means to me, but I am not brave enough. I know I am not capable. It might be not be possible, but I want you to trust this thing that I have for you.
(If I said I liked his eyes, would that sound better?)
Wow I think I rambled out on a tangent there a bit.
Back to the sort of the main point. People perceive themselves differently. People perceive other people differently, and in my opinion, the perception of one and oneself can never truly overlap. I've spent my whole life with my family, and there's a quite a few people in my family. The reason why I feel so drained when I'm with them is because, I tire myself out trying to figure out and/or living up to their perception. For my case, I don't think anyone will ever know what goes on in my head. I feel, sort of comfortable talking to strangers because, I could easily control how they would perceive me, and it makes me feel, somewhat secure. I don't know how to fix this thing that I have when I'm with my family though.
Keeping me to myself.
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