Monday, March 4, 2013


And that was the moment all hell broke loose.
And everything became pointless.
And everything she worked for became nothing.
And everything she wanted became unreachable.
She was just too short,
But she was done growing,
no matter what she did she just couldn't grow anymore.
She could reach nothing.
And from that moment onwards she saw herself as shorter than the rest of the world.
That was the moment she wanted so badly to quit.
But she couldn't.
Because there was nothing out there for someone as short as her.
No way to survive for her unless she reached it.
But no way to reach it.
No hope, with no way out.
The only way out was to end it all.
But she couldn't as long as she had him.
He was all she had.
He was all she wanted.
He was all she'd ever need.
And she would stay here,
and live in this hell,
because she hoped he'd felt the same.
And in that moment all hell broke loose.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

I'm in that place again. Where I can do nothing but feel. Feel the pain, digest it harbor it. The only thing to do that seems remotely relieving is writing about it because it's digesting me, and I need to write about it before I get so heavily churned in that I'll never come out the same person. That is, if I do come out at all.
One can think of so many analogies of pain, so many reasons to feel it, so many ways to suppress it, but when it comes to solving it, everything option seems to idealistic, too undoable. Because what does it mean to get out of depression? We all feel sad sometimes right?

I want to see the sky as blue, when it is blue, and not black throughout the day and the sun as yellow, not red and purple. I want to see a clear silhouette of the city's skyline when it isn't drowned in the rain. But to see truth is to see that there is no such thing as truth. To see undying happiness seems the same.

I don't get it, the moodiness, the anxiety over simple things like being in a cafeteria full of people, why am I so self centered that I feel they are all watching me, waiting for me to stumble and stutter, and because I'm so nervous about that, all I do is stumble and stutter and seem completely awkward when that's the last thing I want to be.

Why do we believe? What do we believe? And no matter what we believe why are there always so many flaws and contradictions? Be it religion, science, art...anything really, it's all so tangible, so alterable and shifting, and that makes it complex, and in each complexity lies so many more contradictions. It's all so surreal, because who can even tell the good from the bad anymore? It's so easy to twist things, and put them in your favor.

We rely on our memories to make judgements, decisions, accusations...but our memories are flawed. It is said we have an experiencing self and a remembering self, and we remember things, in a biased way, because we are constantly interpreting things while observing/experiencing them, so we remember our interpretations and not the truth. The truth is tangible. No one really knows it. So what are we searching for?