CUT

 

 

I get why people cut now.

 

That space, between your hand and the rest of your arm. Where hints of thin greenish-blue veins appear? That space. I get why they cut.

 

They cut to feel. The rest of the world has been hurting them anyway, why can't thy hurt themselves too? Why not?

 

I guess. That's why they cut.

 

I'm using the word they. I don't cut. At least not yet.

 

I don't plan to. I don't like pain to be honest, I don't think anyone does. People cut not because they want pain, they cut because they think they deserve it.

 

They think they deserve the pain.

 

I don't feel sorry for them. Right now, I understand them.

 

To help people, you have to understand them first.

 

That's why I'm go through this.

 

Because how do I understand them if I don't know what they've been through?

Test

I forget to care about myself.

 

I got so used to know what the world is going through, what other people's sufferings are that I deliberately choose to ignore my own.

 

"That person has gone through worse things, I shouldn't care about this. This is small."

 

I forget, that THIS is not small for me. Because after hiding and smiling and being strong through it all, someone finally holds me by the shoulders and tells me, "I know you're going through a lot. That's okay. You're going through something big. You can do this."

 

He called my problems big. And I realize they were. They were weighing me down without me even knowing it. I've focused on telling my self that this pain is too little to be noticed and that my problems are too mild to be important, that I've completely treated myself as unimportant.

 

I felt unimportant enough to the point that I was denying that what I was going through was hurting me.

 

I mean, people have gone through worse, I shouldn't worry about this. This is nothing.

 

I realize that I've been calling myself nothing these past few days. I've been treating myself like nothing.

 

I forget to care about myself.

 

I'm so used to feeling the pain of everyone around me that when it was time for my own, I shove it aside, thinking that my pain was completely unimportant.

 

I have been treating myself as if I was unimportant.

 

And now that someone finally reminds me of what I am, I feel everything all at once.

 

I feel the pain I've been constantly hiding. The numbness I have drowned myself in dissipated just like that.

 

Someone thought that my pain was important. Someone thought that I was important.

 

I forgot about that.

 

I forgot about myself. I forgot about treating myself right. I forgot about not running away.

 

I forgot.

 

And now I'm remembering.

 

I remember everything.

 

The pain feels stronger now.

 
The only reason why I'm not crying or shaking is because I still have to do things. I have duties to my self, my family, and my school.

Isn't that messed up? I have to hold everything in because depression doesn't exactly have a deadline.

But then again, that's what makes humans humans. Timing has always been important. Life isn't all just pull the trigger and run. It's don't make a sound or you'll be dead. Stay low for now. Sadness can come later.

That's what life is apparently.

As I write the pain is heavy in my chest. I've gotten so used to people relying on me that when I need someone I'm afraid to ask for help.

Who would help the strong one? I feel like such a hypocrite feeling like this. Feeling weak. I feel like such a traitor to what I believe in.

I still believe God's there for me. I still believe He's just there.

I also believe He's letting me feel this pain, I have to learn from this.

Life is this whole lesson actually. Tests are at the end. You either finish the test or give up halfway. Giving up has always been the easier choice. Ending it all and running away seems easy and comforting.

But I don't think I can run away from something I have to learn from.

Right now I have to learn about what this is. What I am. And how strong I'll be.

I hope I pass the test.

Beauty

 

I do not understand the world’s preference of beauty. I do not understand the world’s need to limit, to judge, and to put into a category a woman’s beauty.

I believe every woman ever created is beautiful. Every single one.

Imperfection is  perfection itself at its greatest. Imperfection determines ones difference from the rest of them. There is no preference of beauty because every single person ever created is different, one of a kind, unique. Rare. You cannot compare something if they are entirely different from each other. You cannot say one is more beautiful than the other when they are wholly and purely diverse from the other.

There is no comparison and no preference. Every woman is beautiful.

There is beauty in freckles and birthmarks and scars. There is beauty in flesh that look like stars and in eyes that see the colors of this world.

There is beauty in crooked smiles and uneven teeth. Imperfection is perfection making its mark differently in every person. After all, you cannot copy imperfection, you cannot duplicate what is different in all of the world.

There is no preference of beauty just as there are no two stars that exalt the same light. There is no intensity of beauty either.

Even flowers are different in the way their petals are colored, in how they sway as the breeze touches them.
There is extraordinary in unordinary things.

There is beauty in every woman. In every heart, in every tear, in every smile, in every breath.

The mere movement, the way one walks, thinks, sings, dances, lives. Women are not made up of beauty. Beauty is made up of women.

There is nothing in this world more beautiful than a woman. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Men do not fall in love with skies nor are they driven into madness by the dancing flames. They fall in love with women.

They fall for their eyes, their grace, their elegance. They fall in love with women’s beauty.

There is beauty in broken souls and weak smiles. There is beauty in fragile bones and gentle voices. There is beauty in weaknesses and flaws. There is beauty in cracks of a broken heart.

You cannot enter a heart that is whole. You cannot love if you do not know how to open and be vulnerable for others.

There is beauty in fluttering of heartbeats, there is beauty in fear.

But promise me, do not be afraid to be you. You are beautiful.

You are more beautiful than the galaxies above and the gems found underneath this earth. You are more beautiful than the unending songs of birds and trees; you’re more beautiful than the mysteries of colors looming above the ocean floor.

You are more beautiful than the art carved in the sky whenever the sun hides itself in clouds. You are more beautiful than perfectly sculpted mountains, or raging strong rivers that resonate in heartbeats.

You are always more beautiful than you think you are.

You are beautiful already.

I’m just reminding you of the truth this twisted paradise has hidden.

You’re beautiful. Don’t let the world take this truth away from you.

You are beautiful. Don't forget.

I've Been There

Yes. I’ve been there.

I’ve been to the edge; ready to jump and end it all.

I’ve been at the strings, wishing they cut my throat and stop me from breathing.

Yes. I’ve been there.

There was no darkness, for there is no darkness in nothing. I’ve seen nothing. Nothing to live for, nothing to breathe for, and nothing to fight for.

Yes. I’ve been there.

There was no point in living if I only woke up to blood in my eyes and crows pecking at my feet. There was no point in living if I didn’t even like myself or what I have let myself turn into.

Yes. I’ve been there; a place where I hated myself, a place where I was too ashamed to ask for help.

Why can’t I ask for help? Maybe because they thought I was strong, they thought I was happy. They thought I was me.

There is no me anymore. There is nothing in me.

Yes. I’ve been there.

I guess I couldn’t really ask for help. Especially not when they look up to me, especially not when they think I can protect them.

Yes. I’ve been there.

I’ve been in a place where I can be surrounded by people who love me yet still be alone.

Yes. I’ve been there.

But do you see that? Been. Past tense.

I’m no longer there.

To be honest, I can find myself going back there, going back to that place. But I do not stay there for long.

Why?

Because I don’t belong there. I don’t. And neither do you.

Get up and walk. When you finally black out and see nothing in life, that is when you fight the hardest. You look for something.

Can’t find anything to live for?

Live for yourself. Get up. You’ve made it this far. Keep moving.

And when you get out of that place. Tell people your story.

Tell them how you’ve been there before.

Journey’s not over.

Keep walking.

Swallowed

I’m scared.

 

I am scared of being more worthless than how I already think I am.

I am scared of myself and of what I am not able to do.

I am afraid of my weaknesses; my failures.

I am so afraid of the darkness that looms above my head and the screams that are no longer distant.

I am afraid of them hearing me cry, and of them seeing how weak I really am.

I am afraid of lions and snakes that eat up my soul slowly as nightmares of the past and future haunt me.

I am terrified of my hands that are unable to do what I am supposed to.

I am scared of living life and ending it uselessly, proving to the world that that is all I really am, useless and afraid.

I cannot scream or move. My flesh feels numb and my eyes no longer have tears to let out even the smallest of cries.

My body is empty, useless; as if my soul had left it.

I want to be happy. I want to change. But how do I change something I cannot see?

I can only feel.

I feel the words like knives that scrape at my throat whenever I try to speak out. My voice does not work and words continue to torment me as I am unable to use them for my own.

I can feel the scorching heat of the flames of what I have let myself be. That's what I am now, an object caught in the flames, slowly blackening, turning to ash. Then wiped away by the wind.

The mere air I breathe feels like acid in my lungs and I exhale sulfur. It burns my insides. 

What is wrong with me?

What have I become?

I used to feel complete, important, and unafraid.

I used to be brave. I was sure of who I am.

Who was I now?

Why did I do this to myself in the first place?

I can pretend and pretend to be what I am not. I can pretend to be joyful, cheerful, excited in all the things this world could offer.

I no longer am. I feel dead.

Do you ever just feel that? Dead? Useless? Garbage? Alone.

I guess, everyone does.

But I’m still scared.

I’m scared that maybe, what if... dead is all I ever will be.