A Late Letter from The Q Word.
I've had suicidal thoughts, I'm not even brave enough to cut some skins and see blood so that the pain can become real. But I do punch my knuckles to the walls just to see them became red though, occasionally. Now I see what's with all the fuss, at least the pain was real and I would know how and where to deal with it.
I ran away from sadness because that's what a loser do. I always thought that by forgetting things the scars will heal eventually, but maybe that's not so wise. Once I revisited the wound it hurts like hell, it stinks like dead rat, and everything went back to zero. The title I have is just a mere title, I don't know how to deal with my griefs. Then again who does?
In times I think about reasons to hate myself, I know that I'm just a pushover for my own feelings. I know I'm just a slave for the voices in my head. I don't know why i'm so weak, I don't know how I could forgive stupid people again and again, letting them hurt me for god knows how many times. I need to talk with someone, but I felt like no one cares. I'm so picky because I know not everyone has the time and the emotional capability of dealing with a shitty mess like me, but the one person that I know has the capabilities are no longer available in my life. She's busy doing her own life.
I don't feel like I need somebody because I still think that no living being could deal with my thoughts and myself at all.
Then again, I think decency, kindness, honesty and loyalty are so rare nowadays. It's a very expensive price to pay. And I don't have the money.
Why do I hold my door open just for people to come inside and hurt me all over again, for hundredth of times? Why do I do this? Why do I sign up for this?
How do one gets over their traumas?
I have no job, no best friend, and no purpose.
I don't even know what's the point of staying alive if i'm just here to be a burden to everybody.
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