Can my life get any worse......
I think so.....
Noboby can ever understand me. They even try to take away the things that are important to me....
I'm never given any freedom.
My parents want me to focus on my studies(like I'm not already trying to do that!). They want me to read nothing else but textbooks on science, math.....uhhhh.... BORING!!!!!!!!!!
They want me to put down my books of fantasy and entertainment. Is that really how they should treat me.. taking away the one hobby that I consider my only hope of leaving this troublesome world.
Books have always been taking me to places far from where I stand. Every time I read a great book I seem to take no notice of the world around me. I'm tangled in the words of the author. There is this wonderful feeling of being in the story itself and being able to witness the events face-to-face (or something like that).
Sermons I can handle but restriction of reading.....I'd rather DIE!!!!!!
My happiness comes from books. I'm already trapped in this horrid wasteland and with no books as backdoors, there's no more point in living.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
It's All Too Much
(I dedicate this to my dear father, who "inspired" me to write this entry)
Loath, turmoil, unhappiness, torture, devastation, anger, distress, sadness, horror, defeat.... and the like. They seem to come together forming the thing which I call my LIFE. Wrath, destruction, criticism, evil, discontentment.... and many more.
DETERIORATION...... of my soul..... into the bitter nothingness. But is it truly bitter? For such nothingness can become my own sanctuary. Empty, yet somewhat satisfying, peaceful, calming. Here I cannot be torn apart. My tears would cease to fall. Away from the world so cruel. Such serene silence.
DEATH......, oh how I long for it. To grasp it in my trembling hands. The hands rained down upon by excruciating pain. Those who know me well, my friends and family can easily say what my true wish is -- to DIE. But they shall only speak of it as humor.
I am not afraid of death. No one is. For deep inside, they too feel great resentment. The urge to escape their troubles. The word DEATH now means to me nothing more but pleasure. Leading me, away...away from the rest of the world. The world which beguiled me to think that I shall be protected, loved, cared for. A clever guise. It made me believe that I shall be led into happiness but the truth was, it was draining me. Exhaustion engulfed my body. It also filled my heart with aches, which I believe, as worse as anyone else's.
Whenever DEPRESSION -- my "dear friend" -- lurch over me, I'd cry. Cry in anguish, at a lone corner in my room, my cheeks sodden with tears. I'd stay there for quite some time, pale and sullen. I know no one whom I can turn to at such times. I feel uneasy in asking anyone. I dread they would just leave me behind, adding more grief to my miserable existence.
Tonight, as always, I'm depressed, I think. I can't really explain what I feel. All I know is that it's horrible. But, woe is me, my tears won't come out. And I need them to at least decrease some of these feelings of mine. Is it possible that I have shed them all? Well, it's not really a surprise. For I cry quite frequently, that I knew someday my tears might disappear. They say tears are precious and it would be a shame to waste them. If it is true, then I am a poor defenseless girl. Left to rot in a deep grave... if I'm lucky.
I have become a master when it comes to disguises. Everyday, I would wear a mask. Fixed on it is a great big smile. A cheerful face. I'd also bring with me laughter. Laughter vibrating through the ears of many. Yet behind the joy I show, comes the haunting face of a young girl who sobs every night. Crying herself to sleep. In fact, these cries have become a lullaby, sad yet helpful. For after weeping, it seems as if my worries were painstakingly peeled off. Reviving my soul. Feeling anew. I sleep with a lighter heart. Only to awake seeing, stretched before me, the world bombarding me once again with great hardships.
Loath, turmoil, unhappiness, torture, devastation, anger, distress, sadness, horror, defeat.... and the like. They seem to come together forming the thing which I call my LIFE. Wrath, destruction, criticism, evil, discontentment.... and many more.
DETERIORATION...... of my soul..... into the bitter nothingness. But is it truly bitter? For such nothingness can become my own sanctuary. Empty, yet somewhat satisfying, peaceful, calming. Here I cannot be torn apart. My tears would cease to fall. Away from the world so cruel. Such serene silence.
DEATH......, oh how I long for it. To grasp it in my trembling hands. The hands rained down upon by excruciating pain. Those who know me well, my friends and family can easily say what my true wish is -- to DIE. But they shall only speak of it as humor.
I am not afraid of death. No one is. For deep inside, they too feel great resentment. The urge to escape their troubles. The word DEATH now means to me nothing more but pleasure. Leading me, away...away from the rest of the world. The world which beguiled me to think that I shall be protected, loved, cared for. A clever guise. It made me believe that I shall be led into happiness but the truth was, it was draining me. Exhaustion engulfed my body. It also filled my heart with aches, which I believe, as worse as anyone else's.
Whenever DEPRESSION -- my "dear friend" -- lurch over me, I'd cry. Cry in anguish, at a lone corner in my room, my cheeks sodden with tears. I'd stay there for quite some time, pale and sullen. I know no one whom I can turn to at such times. I feel uneasy in asking anyone. I dread they would just leave me behind, adding more grief to my miserable existence.
Tonight, as always, I'm depressed, I think. I can't really explain what I feel. All I know is that it's horrible. But, woe is me, my tears won't come out. And I need them to at least decrease some of these feelings of mine. Is it possible that I have shed them all? Well, it's not really a surprise. For I cry quite frequently, that I knew someday my tears might disappear. They say tears are precious and it would be a shame to waste them. If it is true, then I am a poor defenseless girl. Left to rot in a deep grave... if I'm lucky.
I have become a master when it comes to disguises. Everyday, I would wear a mask. Fixed on it is a great big smile. A cheerful face. I'd also bring with me laughter. Laughter vibrating through the ears of many. Yet behind the joy I show, comes the haunting face of a young girl who sobs every night. Crying herself to sleep. In fact, these cries have become a lullaby, sad yet helpful. For after weeping, it seems as if my worries were painstakingly peeled off. Reviving my soul. Feeling anew. I sleep with a lighter heart. Only to awake seeing, stretched before me, the world bombarding me once again with great hardships.
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