Sorry that I loved you.

How is it like to pretend to be someone you’re not? Tiring. To have so many things to hide from so many people. It’d be easy if there weren’t so many things to hide. So many different things to hide from different people. Having to always watch your own words, your own steps, it sucks. Sometimes I wish I were normal. Fuck it, I don’t even know what that means. Sometimes I wish I were ordinary. Less secrets to have to hide, less things to think about. I don’t want to always be able to wonder how I end up where I am. I don’t want to be able to decide whether I made the right decisions. I don’t want to have to care. It sucks, to have people saying that you’re so ‘lucky’ because they don’t know the story behind. It sucks, to know that one day if your existence is ever made known you’d be hated by many. It sucks, to know that you’re living a fake identity. It sucks to realize that something, someone that you’ve always thought belongs to you doesn’t only belong to you. It sucks to hate who you are. It sucks to hate what you have. It sucks to know that you suck because you’re being unappreciative but yet you still hate all these that you hate. It sucks to know that it sucks for everyone else too, in one way or another, and yet you are just too selfish to compare yourself to other people because the only thing that matters to you is that you think your life is sucking and you just hate it so much. It sucks to not know, even though you know that it sucks more to know. It sucks to know that you’re failing. It all sucks. When all you think about is yourself, everything sucks. That’s me.

I just want to breathe.

On the contrary, I don’t actually wish to breathe. How I wish I could just stop breathing, stop everything.

It sucks to breathe the air you hate, to hate the air you breathe.

Yet again, a peaceful, ‘ordinary’ life is just like a tasteless cigarette. It’s pointless. Why smoke if it’s tasteless? Why live when there’s nothing to fight for? Yes, I’m just going to go on and on contradicting myself, you may stop reading if you’re still reading. What happens when dreams collide? Are dreams not real just because they are dreams? If dreams don’t mean anything, why dream? They say one shouldn’t care about what others think of one. If so, what does the one live for? Themselves, oh really? I wouldn’t know how to live, then.

What am I supposed to do when I’ve made a mess and I don’t feel like cleaning it up?

Does it mean that it is okay to leave your mess right there because it is okay to not care about what others think of you? Even when they think that you are a just a mess that take a dump and leave it there and burden everyone else with the mess that you’ve made? Even when it means hurting everyone else around you because it is okay to not care about what they think of you? Even when it means being hated? Even when it means being left all alone?

It wasn’t a good even a good idea to have all the photo albums in the entire house to be in my room at the first place. Looked through all, yes all, of them in an attempt to figure out who I was, how did I end up like this. Who was I? Different faces in all of the albums. Apparently they are all me. Me. Guess we are just made to be ever-changing creatures, and there’s no point whining about who we have become. It’s a phase. We all change. We all have to change. We all will change. Indeed, it isn’t possible to live under the shadow of the past forever. It’s painful to look back, to regret. Don’t look back, since there isn’t turning back. Do whatever you want, cause we die anyway. We all go to hell.

Mama we’re all going to hell.

I’m sorry this post isn’t all that interesting. I was never interesting, you should have expected.


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