Right now would be the time to leave my mind alone and go busy yourself with something else. I’d like my thoughts back after having to deal with you invading them this whole time.
— Miles
I won’t be posting writings here anymore.
Go to
http://www.itsmilesagain.blogspot.com
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It’s 5:30 and the sun’s coming up.
I remember always writing right at about the break of dawn, or just when I got home drunk with the smell of bar and the loud ringing in my head caused by overplayed club music.
Lately, I’ve been coming home with good memories and no urge to write, because I’ve been busy just telling myself to make the most out the night and to leave the memory alone.
Lately, I’ve been going out way too much and drinking way too much.
Lately, I’ve been in constant denial. About everything.
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There is no decision to be made, only reality to be accepted.
As my senior year’s end draws closer by the day, the repercussions of my twelve years of education are finally surfacing. Twelve years of hard work, some would say, twelve years of being good at what I do best. Twelve years of sucking it up and making the most out of everything that came my way.
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Maybe it’s time I write it down. From experience, women tend to externalize more, and writing it allows one to be able to purge one’s self of these emotions that have been bubbling inside so much to the point of explosion. I’m at a breaking point. Well I’m passed it, really. After weeks of alcohol drenched veins and bloodshot eyes, sleepless nights and empty stomachs, it finally feels as if the lightbulb finally flickered over my head.
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So as this peculiar wave of heat radiates through my entire being, warming my hands up as if I took shots, a lightbulb is slowly flickering somewhere over my head. And I can’t help but smile.
This whole disconnection with everything emotional has led me to numbness towards everything that involves me. I guess it’s good. I hear myself say words, I see myself do things. Without any emotional attachment. Which should be good right? I’ve dyed my hair twice in a four days. I guess I don’t like it, but I couldn’t really tell.
All that I know is that I’m lost. And admitting is a step closer to recovery.
Scratch that. I’m a drink away from an emotional breakdown.
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There’s this red censoring flag in my mind blurring out all thoughts I’ve been needing to put into perspective. I can’t get a hold of things in the middle of this despair, hunger, lust, desperation and guilt. What am I doing? What am I thinking? This isn’t me. What is me?
Images flash in my mind. The past, the present… the future. My mind is on ecstasy; everything is just nice to touch, to hear, to taste. And yet there’s nothing to satisfy those senseless needs. I don’t have an elevated sense of touch, taste nor hearing. Just an elevated sense of hunger, need, lust, pride. Everything is moving so fast with a regular pulse and I’m just stuck trying to fight for air.
My imagination is running a marathon with the stamina only athletes wish could achieve. I just want it to stop.
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Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
—Invictus by William Ernest Henley, submitted be wearediamonds(via quote-book)
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So here I go, on a fire spitting spree of words that have been bubbling in my mind and eating me slowly from the inside. I guess I should spit them out before I’m completely consumed.
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❝
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When I look under my Tagged Notes, I realize I seem like such an angry and emo person. I’m not, really. Not that much.
These past few days have been slow torture. There is no good and bad, there is no cool and uncool, there is no lucky and unlucky… It’s all about perspective. Resorting to liquid courage, false friends and terrible advice and wallowing infront of a screen that will never answer back was never the right option.
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When the slap in the face and the cold rush of realization hits, it’s nothing in slow motion. It’s a swift breeze of guilt, shock and disbelief at your own stupidity and naivety. With a less dramatic effect, it lingers in your mind: the trail of the thought of all the things you should have said and done before everything was lost. Lucky enough for me, the speeding eight-wheeler bus ran me over before I lost everything. A little bit late i must admit, but not too much at least.
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