Clouds Above My Head

Some people believe in God, some others don’t. Some people believe in hope, some others don’t. Some people believe that someday the clouds above their heads will be gone, replaced by the sun. The day when they can finally smile and wipe their tears off; they called it happiness—something that I do not believe in. Call me sad; call me depressive, I don’t mind. Because the fact is, I am.

Yes, I have seen better days, I wouldn’t deny the fact that I was born in a beautiful family. I have the most beautiful parents who love me unconditionally. I was a happy kid that would smile even when I got into a bunch of trouble. The keyword is, ‘was’. Even if happiness does exist, I know—we all know—it doesn’t last long.

I don’t know exactly when these clouds of sadness started to cover my head, but since then, all I know is, my head is filled by sorrow—let alone my soul. I became a person that no one wants to be friends with; because I am too depressed to socialize. Well, that sounds kind of exaggerating though, I admit. But there was time when I literally had zero friends because I was just too tired of that so called ‘friendship’ knowing the fact that people who claimed to be my ‘friends’ happens to be the worst, fake human beings that I wish I’d never met.

But people change, and so do I. I went to college and started to realise that I need to have friends. And what I learned is, sometimes you just have to fake it for good. Now I have a whole bunch of friends/family/lover that I don’t like—I even hate some of them because I just cannot stand their behaviour. And those ones that I hate the most, ironically are the ones that I also love the most. But I am still here for them. I would do whatever it takes to make them happy even sometimes I failed and they blamed me for not being ‘good enough’ to make them happy. And what hurts the most is, they can’t see—or refuse to see—everything that I had to sacrifice for them.

I thought that could not get any worse, but I was wrong. I thought, because I would—and I had—sacrifice so many things for them, I can rely on them or at least get a hug when I got hurt. In their eyes, I’m just the ‘could’ve been, should’ve been, would’ve been, never was, and never ever will be’. And I get to keep the anger, sadness, and disappointment to myself because no one cares and even if I tried to talk to them, they just think that I am just a waste of time and space. They even told me to just go.

There were times when they feel sad and I tried not to care in hope that they would understand how it feels to be sad whilst people just walk away so they have no shoulder to cry on; just like what they always do to me. But I couldn’t. Because I know how it exactly feels to be sad, or worse, depressed.

You might say ‘how sad is this person can be? I am sure there are a lot of people out there who are dealing with problems that surely a lot more depressing than her problems. She’s just being over dramatic’ but let me tell you what’s inside my head for god knows how long. I know my life might not as hard as some people out there. But you have to know that every single person has different ways on dealing with problems. You probably can handle heartbreak easily, but some others can’t. You may think that someone who cried because their friends joke about their weight is ‘a drama queen who has no sense of humour’ but you don’t know that they actually suffered from bulimia. The point is, some things may not be hard enough for you to handle, but it could be too hard for someone to handle.

Five years ago, when my parents got divorced, I thought I could handle it easily because they got divorced for good. It wasn’t a big deal until I found out what my parents—especially my mum—has been through. And it hurt me so badly. I didn’t know how I should feel about the divorce. Should I feel happy because they finally stopped hurting each other, or should I be sad because I wish my dad didn’t lie to us, or my mum did not find out that my dad was cheating on his family. Since then I feel so lonely. Whenever I think about my childhood when I could talk about everything to my parents and they would give me some good advices. That’s when I feel sad the most because now things have changed and I cannot go back to that moment. I do not have anyone to talk about my problems without getting blamed on; and I feel like I walk this world alone. The worst part is, the loneliness turned me into a suicidal person.

I felt like I couldn’t handle things, I couldn’t handle this life, and I don’t deserve to live. Some particular things can trigger my depression and sadly the ones I love the most are the ones who mostly do those things. And when that happens, all I can do is just picturing my own dead body lying on the floor. I wrote hundreds of suicide notes, and I am not kidding when I said hundreds. But no, I never really attempt suicide because I was always too scared to cut my throat or slit my wrist. Well, I did take a couple of pills once, but apparently it wasn’t enough to kill me. “Go seek for a professional helps then!” Oh, I did, about a year ago. I came to see the doctor by myself and no one knows because there was one time when I said ‘I think I need to see a doctor or a psychiatrist’ only to be told that I was being dramatic. I thought it was just a mild depression and I even thought that I was just over dramatic. But what the doctor said was…kind of shocking, even for me. the doctor said I need to go on several therapy session and took the pills daily etc. blah.

But then I stopped seeing the doctor simply because I thought I did not need it anymore and besides I’m broke so I cannot afford it. The least I can do is try to stay away from problems. But life doesn’t work that way. When I didn’t seek for problems, the problems—or some certain people with certain problems—seek me. So here I am again, drowning in my own sorrow and depression whilst wondering how peaceful death can be.

You, whoever reading this post, please treat people around you nicely. Just, please, be nice and think before you say anything. Yes, anything. And if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. You don’t know what they’ve been through and the least you can do is not to make their day gets any worse.

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What he doesn’t know

She needs him

And she wants him, a lot

But needing someone is neither beautiful nor romantic

It’s fucking painful

But she embraces the pain

 

He knows how to paint a smile on her face

Make her laugh until her stomach hurts

 

But what he doesn’t know is

Sometimes his words carves the pain in her chest

His silence digs a hole in her heart

And she cries her heart out at night

Whilst blaming herself

For all the mess that happened between them

 

She tells herself that the next day

The sun will come up

And she will eat her breakfast

And she will drink her coffee

 

Sadly, things sometimes don’t go as planned

 

She wakes up the next morning,

Again, tears rolls down her cheeks

She hates herself for being weak

She hates herself for being not good enough

She is tired of doubting whether people are coming or going

Still, she is hoping that he would stay

She would rather be hurt by him than be loved by anyone else

 

She keeps telling herself that she’s okay

Whilst her heart bleed continuously

She knows that she was doping herself a shit-full of lies

Yet she chooses to drown and bleed without him knowing it

 

She doesn’t know how to love herself

but she really does love him wholeheartedly and blindly

 

And even if it hurts, she would do it all again in a heart beat

 

The Dog That Lost Its Bark

She was once a tough, hard headed woman

Threw her heart away a long time ago, so no man could play with it

She was through with the endless love game that broke her into pieces

That made her the way she is now –a cold, heartless bitch.

 

Until she met him and got lost in his eyes in a blink of an eye

Made her look like a fool who tried her best for him

Afraid that he would go away and she would devastate

Like a dog lost its bark

 

He could blame all his life on her,

He could play with her heart,

Still she would forgive him and embrace him

In hope that he would care even just a bit

 

She destroyed the walls that she built

Just to feel loved again

Even though she knew the chance is as thin as a piece of paper

Still, she kept her hopes high

 

And when he told her those sweet words,

sugar coated bullshit came out from his mouth

She fooled her mind, pretended that all of those are true

Even though she knew that his words are made of lies

 

Deep inside, she knew that she wasn’t really there

She wasn’t really in his heart

She was just smoke from his cigarettes

That slowly disappear –and he wouldn’t care if she does anyway

Eternal Tears of Sorrow

To see you when I wake up is a gift I didn’t think could be real

To know that you feel the same as I do is a three-fold utopian dream

You do something to me that I can’t explain

So would I be out of line, if I said I miss you

She shot up straight in bed, covered in sweat, and was breathing heavily. She looked around and realised that she was in her room. Another nightmare. She moaned and pulled the duvet up over her head, trying to go back to sleep. Her body was tired and her mind was overloaded with misery. She felt like a steaming pile of crap. She could not stop thinking about what had happened these past few days, forbidding her to go back to sleep.

With a mental sigh, she forced herself to get off her bed. She wasn’t sure if she could physically move, though. She had no desire to do anything other than find the easiest way to end her life, to end the pain. The pain in her chest was excruciating; it hurt like a deep cut. Her mind couldn’t function properly; it went either sprinted with thoughts or stopped all together. She imagined the ultimate peace death could bring. But she realised that she was too wimpy to kill herself, so she continued on with her bitter life. Another day of sorrow.

“I have to leave this country tomorrow.”

She never thought that one sentence could break her into pieces. The devastation set in right after she heard that from him. She felt hollow, lost, disoriented, and totally depressed. She felt like there was a hole in her chest. She drowned in her eternal tears of sorrow. All the things that she did reminded her of him. He was one of the best things that ever happened in her life.

She recalled the memories that they had together, all the beautiful things, the arguments, the joy, the tears, the laughter; everything. She knew that she was being over-emotional, knowing they had only known each other for such a short time. She didn’t mean for it to go as far as it did. She didn’t mean to fall in love, but she did anyway, though she didn’t expect him to love her back. She knew that she was just another girl in the crowd.

She did not blame him for not seeing her—she was not meant to be seen. She didn’t blame anyone for not being able to feel what she felt, for not being her; because who would choose to be a broken woman so full of flaws.

It was enough for her to have him, even for a few moments, to herself, where his mind and body were hers and hers alone. It was enough to make her smile. She liked him, a lot more than she originally planned. When he told her that he had to leave, that was when she realised that she fell for him already. She fell in love but she wasn’t ready to get hurt. It destroyed her, but she didn’t regret it. But love has teeth which bite and the wounds never heal.

She was afraid to fall in love again–she didn’t think she would be able to love again. So she relegated herself to shadows, where she could be alone, unseen, and nobody would be able to hurt her.

Somehow I often remember what I’d rather forget. No, wait, I don’t want to forget it. I don’t want to forget the memories. I don’t want to forget you. You are one of the best things that ever happened to me. You made me happy, you brought back the smile to my face—the smile that has been gone so many clock ticks ago. You made me feel…loved. And it hurts, knowing that I will never be able to feel that again. 

I miss you, Kiwi.

We Will Get Together Again (Soon)

Stop…

Please…

You will regret this!

 

I heard a soft, unfamiliar voice, calling my name. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Miss?” I opened my eyes and saw a woman dressed in white. I looked at her and stood up.

“This way, please,” she said as she walked me to a little office with a paper covered bed and a small desk. I smiled to her and said thank you.

A tall man with greying short hair and glasses over a hook nose greeted me. He began to ask me several questions. I told him that I had a terrible migraine last night. I also told him about the super painful episodic tension headaches that I had almost every morning for the past few weeks.

As a matter of protocol, the doctor took my blood pressure, and then he asked me another series of questions. The doctor concluded that the episodic tension headaches I suffered are caused by temporary stress, anxiety, sleep problems, and fatigue. I’m not surprised though. After he gave me his diagnosis, he told me to take some ibuprofen and see how I felt in the morning. Very typical.

I walked back to my place, went straight to my room, throw my bag on the floor, took off my black skinny jeans and tossed it on the floor.  I lay down on my bed. God, I felt like shit. 

I looked around, nothing has changed. A sketch of a girl with a long black hair that hung on my wall caught my eye. I drew it myself, a long time ago. I stared at the sketch, and it felt like I was staring at her in person. I saw her bitter smile and the angst–and sadness–that hidden beneath her weary eyes.  Suddenly, I felt empty. I felt like something is missing, like there was a hole inside my chest. I felt hollow.

I missed her.

I missed her presence. And it tortured me.

“You will regret this!

You were right. I do. I regret it.



I sat in front of my desk, turned my laptop on, and started to type.
“Old friend, we will get together again,” a familiar voice whispered in my ear, “soon.”

My tears fall freely as I post my writing on my blog.

There you are

Since you hide, since you steal, since you hate everything I feel;

Since you cheat, since you lie, since you dont wanna try things I wanna try;

Since you’ve been gone, my life has move along quite nicely, actually

It was 7 a.m., Friday morning. I woke up, took my phone, and turned off the alarm. I shook my head. God, my head hurt like hell and I felt kinda sick. Fucking hangover. I wish I could sleep for a few hours more, but I promised myself to get things done. Stuffs to do, stuffs to do.

I sat on the floor, lit my cigarette, and stared vacantly at the wall until someone knocked on my door. I put on my shorts, and opened the door. It was her, standing in front of my door, still wearing her pyjamas. 

“Wow you look fucked up. You okay, mate?” She asked as she stared at me whilst shaking her head.

“I know. Hangover is a bitch,” I said.

“By the way, I’ll make breakfast. Do you want anything?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’m actually starving but I don’t know what to eat. Just give me anything, I don’t mind.” 

“Alright. I’ll be back in 10 minutes,” she said as she walked down the stairs.

I decided to hop into the shower whilst waiting for her. I needed a nice, cold shower to ease my mind. 

The smell of the peppermint soap felt so refreshing and uplifting, combined with a scent of evergreen oils–that came from the scented candles–made me feel like walking in the middle of balsam pine forest. Kind of hypnotising. I loved it. I also loved the tingling sensation on my skin. For a second I felt like the pressure in my life was all gone. Taking shower is probably the only nice thing I could do to myself.

I jumped out of the shower as I heard a knock on my door. I put on my black long sleeve chiffon top and my black jeans. I opened the door and she said the breakfast is ready. She asked me to eat the breakfast together in the living room, since my dorm room is literally a mess.

“Is it good?” She asked me as I ate the chicken soup that she cooked for me.

“Yeah. Thanks by the way,” I answered.

She stared at me for a few seconds, and then ate her meal. She did it over and over again, so I asked her, “What’s wrong with you, mate?”

“No, what is wrong with YOU?” She replied.

“What? Nothing is-”

“Ha, ‘nothing is wrong’, my ass,” she rolled her eyes, “look, I know it’s been a tough week but you need to stop living like this. I mean, come on, man, you’re not being yourself. You locked yourself in your room, only talk to me when I ask you to have breakfast or dinner together, drinking in your room every night, hangover every morning, and smoke two packs of cigarettes a day. This isn’t you,” she said.

“I know you’re being concern but this is just the way I handle things, you know,” I said as I lit a cigarette.

She looked at me in disgust.

“I am perfectly okay. It’s just…uh, I am having a hard time. I needed time to be alone and do whatever the hell that can make me feel better,” I took a puff of my cigarette.

“Do you feel better? Do you think you will be able to handle things if you keep doing this? I’m telling you, you’re a coward. You are not handling things, you just smoke a lot and  get drunk to forget all of your problems and pretend that you are okay when you are completely not okay. You locked yourself in your room, hiding from the world!” she yelled at me. I hate it when she does that.

“Whatevs, I’m tired of arguing. Gotta go in an hour, I’ve got stuffs to do, so stop ruining my day and mind your own business, ‘kay?” I said. I walked back to my room to avoid her irritating speech.

“Ha. You just act like you’re too cool to care but you cannot fool me. I know deep inside you’re just a weak coward who couldn’t face your own problems,” she added as she followed me to my room. I am so done with her.

“You better watch your fucking mouth,” I warned her.

“I’m just saying the truth. You are nothing but a coward trying to look tough,” she said and took a sip of her coffee, “you’re just being insecure, that’s why you need me to help you face your problems,” she added.

“I don’t need you, you were never there whenever I need help! You never give a shit about me anyway, so, fuck off!” I yelled. I felt the heat all over my face, my hands were cold….and shaking.

“And now you’re shaking,” she grinned, “you’re scared, aren’t you?”

I felt sick, my head hurt, and my heart was beating really fast. But she did not stop talking, “you know what, your anxiety will eat you alive.” She laughed.

“FUCKING STOP IT ALREADY!” I screamed. My knees were so weak, I fell on my knees, gasped for air, I could hardly breathe.

“I will not stop until you realise that this isn’t right,” she said whilst looking at me.

“Dont you fucking dare to tell me what to do,”

“At least try to stop me then,” she grinned devilishly. I hate her. I fucking hate her. I managed myself to stand up, slowly walked toward her.

“Wait what are you do-” without letting her finish her sentence, I wrapped my hand around her neck.

“I’m…ju…st…helping..y..ou,” she gasped for air,”y..ou will reg..ret th..this, you..need..me to..k..keep y..your mind..off..t..the edge,” I smiled. I suddenly felt a strange power came from inside of me, “s..top…p…pl..plea-“she begged. So I stopped. But I guess it was too late. 

“There you are,” I smiled. I saw her figure turned into white smokes and slowly disappeared.



—–



I heard a knock on my door. My friend who lived next to my room was standing in front of the door. He looked at me confusedly.

“Hey, um, the door is opened and I heard your voice so I just came here. Who were you talking to, by the way?” He asked.

“Oh I was just talking with a friend,” I answered. He looked around my room, there were nobody other than me and him. 

“Uh..on the phone,” I added.

“Ah I see. So I came here to return this to you,” he said as he took a book from his bag. 

“Oh alright, just put it there, mate,” I said, pointing at my desk.

“Thanks for lending me that book. Uh, are you okay though? You look a bit pale,” he asked.

“Do I? Ah it’s probably because I have lack of sleep for the past few days. But I’m okay though, thanks for asking,” I said.

“Alright then. I’ll go back to my room,” he said as he walked out of my room and closed the door.

I put on my make up, straightened my hair, and walked out of my room, going to God-knows-where.

It Doesn’t Matter

She cant tell which one is better; to feel everything or to feel numb.

She was once a girl who always expressed her emotions, her feelings.

She was smiling or laughing when she was happy,

she was crying when she was sad,

she released the devil inside her when something annoyed her.

She smiles even though she knew that her smiling face is weird. She laughs even though the sound of her laughter is annoying–but some people used to love it anyway. She looks awful when she cries but she cries like a baby anyway–she’s lucky enough that her mascara is waterproof. She knows that people hate it when she cannot control her anger, but she does not care. She wants to show people what she feels at the moment, so people can read her. She thinks that people will kindly understand her.

But no one gives any single fuck anyway.

She finally got it, that nobody could understand her. Nobody seemed to care about her feelings. Or maybe, they just didn’t know how to understand her.

She finally understand that she cant control anything but herself. Even herself is sometimes out of her control. But she learned–or at least tried.

It’s not like, “Aw she looks sad, maybe I should comfort her instead of ruin her day even though i really need to say something that probably could make her cry.” Well, a few of people would be kind enough to wait for the right time to talk. But still, anyone could break her heart whenever the hell they want, even when she’s having a hard time, they could just make it worse. Anyone could make her cry whenever the hell they want, even if she already cries a river before. Anyone could leave her, or simply ignore her, even when she needs them the most.

She turned off her emotions. She has no expressions. She is then being heartless. Not because she is unloved or anything. The people she loves taught her that maybe it’s best not to feel anything, or at least, try to hide the feelings well. That is probably the best way to love someone. Even though it would be nice to have them feel what she feels, the truth is they will not understand her feelings. Everyone knows what sadness feels like, they just don’t know how sad she is. She does not believe when someone says, “I know how you feel,” or, “I also feel your sadness.” Because they don’t. They just feel guilty when she feels sad.

Then people tend to misinterpret her. People would like to assume that she is happy when the fact is, she sometimes chooses to laugh when she’s sad. They also would say, “Are you not happy?” when she doesn’t show a single smile on her birthday.

Aw, poor little shit.