It’s 11: 21 pm and I’ve logged into Facebook for the sixth time today. I lied, it’s actually six plus ten, that’s how much it was. As usual, I see people’s updates in my feed- people, not friends (with the exception of my siblings and my mom). I often wonder, why do I keep all 169 people in my list when none of them count as my friends? I think I see the good side in people despite my cynical disposition in their motives, but in all honesty, none of them really care about me.
However, what they love to do is to “like” my pictures, my occasional rants of begging for company, my inspirational quotes, but none of them likes to dial my number to call me or to even write me a “how are you?” on my wall or my inbox. Even with the so-called friends I’ve gotten to know more closely, they haven’t been in contact with me. It seems that alcohol was the only thing that connected us all.
But anyways, it has been like that today and every day. My phone vibrates endlessly throughout the day and the only thing close to having a communication with the rest of the world are spam e-mails on numerous discounts, demanding Facebook requests in fueling people’s obsession with Candy Crush, nagging updates for my phone and Ricky’s texts messages. He’s the only one I’ve been communicating with other than my family’s requests. I mean, it sounds like I should be contented with that, but I’m not.
Recently, my dreams have been weird. Every night, I have been sent back in time when I used to go to school in the Philippines. I was hanging out with my childhood best friend, Stephanie, who was the only person I enjoyed hanging out with before I left for America. Spending time with her was almost realistic, yet surreal. I didn’t want to leave because my mind was feeding off from what completed me: her friendship. However, my subconscious mind drew a strong parallelism with the reality and my dreams to the point where it all clashed into a twister of confusion and then I was in the verge of not wanting to wake up until it brought me to the edge of reality: my sadistic thoughts and every piece of my worries rushed back to my body to wake me up. It has been like this almost everyday but sometimes, I wouldn’t remember my dreams. I would sleep for hours, sometimes nine to ten hours and I wouldn’t want to wake up. I would set up an alarm to wake me up at exactly eight hours of sleep time, but I strongly urge myself to go back to dreamland. Dreaming was my escape from reality, from loneliness and the pain of being alive and incomplete. It was my numbing addiction and it has kept me sane so far.
Sometimes, I question my sanity. I over think and try my hardest to cheer myself up. However, it’s not always pretty in my head. I envisioned stabbing myself with a knife, wondering how it feels like to have that blunt stabbing pain pressing onto me, puncturing every organ, while my blood trickles down to a huge bloody puddle on the floor. My thoughts of suicide become more vivid when I realize that there isn’t something I’d live for or when I feel the dull silence of loneliness. No one cares as much, except maybe Ricky who half-listens and who half-understands. I tried battling my depression but my inadequacy in terms of my hiatus in my career and failed friendships have led me to be weaker. I lost my spark to look forward in life as if my embers have been scattered elsewhere or have been frozen with the occurring harshness of life. It feels like I’m in a dark tunnel with no end and no signs of light. I tried my hardest to push forth, but it’s all very repetitive. I’ve posted quotes on my mirror and on my walls encouraging me to push and to hope harder- but I happen to see past all of them. The words in those quotes are redundant and they begin to sound empty to me.
I’m trying to find my light- that light that I imagined at the end of the tunnel. I think the main reason why I haven’t given up it’s because I still have a tiny bit of hope- a small, wavering light buried underneath all the frozen embers-still lit but very fragile. I imagine myself- bigger, boastful and certainly satisfied with life. I see myself working in my dream job, meeting co-workers who would eventually become some of my friends, and standing tall and prideful to those who have forgotten me completely when I was weak.
I know that all of these sufferings are temporary because eventually it will all pay off. Not now, not tomorrow, but soon. Life is a cycle and I’m glad that it is or else, how are we suppose to live without going through hell first and then surviving it to make it to heaven?
In this very moment that I’m typing this, I want to be thankful that I’m still living and experiencing this sad part of my life. People are worrying for far greater things than me and they have a million reasons to end it all, but most of them still chooses to live. I want to be a person who becomes a prodigy of success from my depression and not a reminder of pity and of giving up. Right now, I want to accept every inch of my loneliness, every empty space in my heart, and all of my inadequacy. I want to lay out this ugly side of me and all my vulnerability to the world. This is who I am and this is what I have come to accept before I get to the end of the tunnel. I accept all of this because honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass about it anymore.
So, to my reader, thank you for patiently reading my rambles. I hope I could shed a light into your life no matter how sad or happy you are right now.
Thank you, you’ve made a purpose in my life:
To tell you all my misery that were driving my sanity off the edge and all my hopes that are still keeping me in touch with you.
I sincerely thank you for everything.