diary entry - 08/05

the high from yesterday...

 ...was short-lived 

Why doesn't this feeling ever go away? i have always wanted to reach out but i feel like ive reached out too many times, more times than i should have. i dont want to bother anyone anymore. even im tired of myself, what more of them? talking or venting out does not do the trick anymore. ive been getting that numb feeling, for days now. i've just pushed it back some days. but lately, i dont know anymore. 

i downed a glass of coffee to maybe give me that push to be a functioning human being, but i still feel like complete shit. 

like. utter. shit. 

good fucking lord.

come to think of it, that jolt of happiness from yesterday came from what seeing my past self.

why do i never like what i see in the mirror everytime but look fondly over photos of what was of me?

hmm.

i need to down another cup of coffee, or else im gonna cry at work. idk idk idk.

notes

august one

The weather has been making feel lately. 

I don't want to play anymore. I wanna give the world a big fuck you. I wish I could kill myself already. There's no one to count on, not even people you pay services for. One day I'll get the guts to kill myself. Till then.

I don't see my life ending any other way. I die of misery or I kill myself. That's pretty much it.

On the Heavier Side of Things...

Is saving up on 6 months' worth of rent worth reliving your trauma?

My boss recently messaged me, saying I'll need to look for a place to move to because it does not look like we're going back to the office till next year. When I moved to her place last March, no one ever thought that I'd stay till July. It's very difficult to look for places to move to in such short notice. On top of that, I'll also need to set up an internet service provider. It's so stressful. 

I thought of going back to my father's place because it will help me save up, as I wouldn't have to pay for rent. Electricity and water won't cost that much, I'm sure. But I'm highly doubtful if that house is okay to live in because last time I was there, it wasn't. And my dad is too adamant against throwing all the useless things he has hoarded throughout the years. 

Last time I stayed there, it was so draining to fight him that I feel like I'd rather slit my wrists than scream my lungs out again. Did you know that when I went there last year, my dad kept forcing me to come with him to meet his friends? Of course, I don't want that shit because it's a waste of energy. Know what I did? I walked to a corner of the house, pulled out my sanitary napkin, and shoved it to his face, blood and all. 

That certainly shut him up. It's also a funny story to retell every once in a while. 

You know, before my first therapy session, I asked him if he remembers that time when he'd burn the back of my hand with his cigarettes and he said he never did it. I gave him the benefit of the doubt, because the memory is fuzzy to me, but when I asked him if he remembers that time he hung me upside down? He vehemently denied doing it, saying he just scared me. Too bad for him, that was something I remember clearly. 

Eh. 

Anyway. 

Maybe this is what I need to settle once and for all. I'm full of resentment. How do I forgive my father? 

How do you go about mourning someone still alive, I ask, hoping that if I mourn enough or that if I mourn just right, maybe he would be as good as dead. Or maybe things would fall back to its rightful place.

Would it count, this weight in my chest that I have to carry throughout the day? Or these tears that just never seem to fall from my eyes? Should I instead spend hours curled up on my bed and crying to mourn for someone still living? Or is mourning also remembering and asking these questions when I go to shower at nights?

There's a silent wish that maybe if I cried louder or softer or maybe even longer than I did, maybe he'll come back, because even though he's alive and well right now, my heart knows that the man I once knew just might as well be dead. Or maybe it's me I mourn for because to him I just might as well be dead, and I mourn because this one heart I have, this one that I struggled to wear on my chest, still belongs to him.

Should I have knelt and begged longer till my skin bled? Should I have gripped his hand tighter? Should I have pounded my chest stronger to get the pain across? Should I have stayed and waited all night till he believes that we should still be together?

How do you go about mourning someone still alive and well out there? Someone might say that it's done when I move on and go forward? But the heaviness pulls me back. 

I don't know how to process death

Dilemmas are only resolved by even bigger dilemmas. You drunk chat your boss and ask her the most personal questions, you realize it isn't cute, and then you get that dilemma shrugged off from your worries through a pop-up Messenger notification saying your aunt has already passed... That you can't quite respond to yet...

Good morning.

Only the sound of running water filling up the pail kept me grounded in reality, and for a few, calm minutes, I opted to ignore my phone. Last night was a mess, I had a drink with my boss whom I've been living with for running three months now. I woke up to a small puddle of vomit on the floor and even more vomit in the toilet, unflushed till this morning.

My boss and I were just discussing how family issues never go away.

Now, this. Death and life have a twisted sense of humor.

How do you mourn the people you grew up with? Are they my 'loved ones'?

First was my grandfather.

I know I spent a night or two poring my thoughts over his demise, and I did lie down on the floor and had my toes curled up as I cried. For sure, my heart holds a spot somewhere for him. My grandfather has visited my dreams and hounded me in my thoughts even at the most intimate of moments--and yes, I am referring to sex. I mourned for my grandfather, and even if it wasn't the best of mourning, I mourned the best way I can. His ghost comes back to visit occasionally, and I welcome him every time.

The short minute quietly turned into two. Then, three. Then, thirty. I still couldn't close the notification.

I remember that Niquee, older than me by five months, the eldest among our bunch, has blocked me on Facebook. Just when I thought things were turning out for the better. Just when I started hoping I could find my way back there. Maybe I could with Trixie, but what can she do?

What can I do? If I send money, I'll be deemed that bitch who thinks money solves everything. Besides, I'm barely scraping by.

I'll also be an unwelcome guest. I ran away from everyone, but why does this family keep haunting me and try to bring me back?

I don't harbor any grudge against my aunt, no. But I realize now that maybe I don't because she's now dead, that even if I stand by her grave, corpses can't talk back. I'm the victor, and there'll be no one to correct my false recollections of my childhood. But that isn't what I want. I need to be kept in check whenever I retrieve my lost memories. I need to be told when I'm telling the stories wrong. But I ran away because I can only let people in to a certain extent.

Fuck, I'm messed up.

The way running away fixes problems, I realize, is this. The elders die one by one, and only then will I be free enough to go back and visit, because dead people don't talk back.

I just want to bow my head, kneel down, and apologize.

I don't want to be told any condolences when I'm hanging on by a thread at the coattails of this family; I don't deserve it.

I don't want to ever swipe that notification away, because swiping it to the left will mean forgetting. And I want to remember.

But remembering also hurts. God, we were all just in a cycle of hurting each other, our entire family.

Wow, it's just now that the tears rush in.

But these are selfish tears. It's for my pain, not for my aunt's death. I still can't cry for her.

I can't talk to Trixie. I know I should ask how she is, because this is about her. She goddamned lost her mother. But I can't talk to her. I can't. She's my only link to get back with this family and I should try to be some sort of reprieve for her, but I can't fucking talk to her.

I don't know what to do. I need a therapist, I suppose.