Day 33: Those Days, Those Weeks

There are good weeks. Weeks where you will be motivated and inspired to sit at your ever-so-quick-to overheat laptop and study and write and the words will flow endlessly as though you're a dictionary or a thesaurus.

But you're not.

There are good weeks. Weeks where jogging in the morning and running against the lowering of the sun drives you out of bed in the morning and your toes are jumpy and you are so incredibly healthy because every fibre in your body is screaming with positivity as though you're a proton.

But you're not.

Because, there are bad weeks. Weeks where the words just won't flow and glaringly white word documents stare back at you for hours and you're not even motivated to write in your journal and words just won't write and every day that piles onto each other agitates the growing irritation inside you.

There are bad weeks. Weeks where the morning feels like night and you have to drag yourself out of bed because your body feels like lead and you constantly feel as though the Sandman is constantly pouring sand into your eyes and everything feels so sluggish and you force yourself to smile because you don't want people to be worried.

There are bad weeks. Weeks where you just want to lock your bedroom door, cover your head with your bedsheets and just cry into the mattress because you're so fucking sensitive to every emotion and any little thing people say can make you so fucking depressed that you wonder if you're slipping back into that abyss.

But you're not.

There are just bad weeks and good weeks. And after the bad weeks, good weeks follow. You just have to trudge through and remember all the good weeks.

Day 29: Hung Over

Vertigo thoughts are inside my head
It's your voice I hear slithering within my skull
You're just somebody that I used to know
But you were my first
Like alcohol that won't vomit out of my system
I am still hung over you
And the promises that you didn't keep
Deep inside me, I'm missing something that you took
You left me with a profound sense of loss
I thought I found inner peace
But I am always thinking of you
What am I supposed to do when I'm afraid to love?
Every empty night is a hang over of yesterday
Of deleted messages, erased photographs
I was supposed to be over you
You were merely a season, a reason
But not for life

Day 22: 2011

2011 was the year where everything that could go wrong, did. It was the year where I was drowning in everyone's expectations but more importantly I was pushing my own head underneath the water. And I couldn't breathe. Every time I think back to that year, I find myself hyperventilating.

I'm afraid of failing.

2011 was the year where I let myself fall into temptation out of desperation. It wasn't love. And it wasn't quite lust either. It was just two lonely people seeking comfort in each other's warmth. At that far corner of my mind, I knew you were using me but I let you because I was using you too. I needed to feel my heart bashing against my ribcage. I needed to feel loved. I needed to feel alive.

I was afraid that I was dying inside.

2011 was the year where I died inside my head almost every night. I thought I was going crazy. I was losing a battle with the crazies inside my mind. I spent my days psychoanalysing myself. I was one step away from a mental breakdown. And I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want anyone to know that I was losing.

I was afraid of my own shame.

2011 was the year where I barely survived. I came out of that abyss with scars that would haunt me for life. It was the year where I met you and learned to doubt emotions. You told me what I wanted to hear. You tainted my precious words. Promises to you meant nothing: they were simply sweet nothings.

I'm afraid of promises.

Day 20: I won't let you win

This is to you, the douche who felt me up,

This is the only acknowledgement I will give you. Because you don't deserve this attention. I have saved a photo of you and I know that you know I took that photograph. And I will keep it and I will remember your face because the next time I see you, I won't be afraid. The next time I see you, you had better run.

I am strong. I worked so hard to become strong so that no one can make me feel otherwise. So that assholes like you cannot make me feel vulnerable. And I hate myself so much for not standing up to  you because no one, absolutely no one is allowed to make me feel fear. I don't want to hate myself for your actions. You don't deserve such feelings. I hate you for making me feel this way. For penetrating my comfort zone. I hate you for making me cry.

This is my promise to you, next time I see you, it is you who will cry.
And I always keep my promises.

Not Afraid

Screams bounce off the tilted paintings on the walls.
Fingers jab hurtful words at hurting chests.
Faults and blames counter each other's assault.
But somehow it's always her fault.
She said, "I'm not afraid of your anger."

Broken trusts slices at broken hearts.
Voices stomp on fragmented tears.
Slurred cussing followed home again.
It's her fault that he had a bad day.
She said, "I'm not afraid of your blame."

Mornings wake to yesterday's forgotten.
It didn't happen.
Words washed away like chipped cutlery.
Yet the red in her eyes, the sobs in her throat: still there.
She said, "I'm not afraid of your mood swings."

Clothes thrown askew on the front lawn.
Suitcase half packed, half demolished.
Tired of his violence, tired of the cycle.
He doesn't deserve her home, doors locked.
She said, "I'm not afraid of you."

Red Spider Lily

We are a red spider lily, destined to never be.
Your leaves fall away, when my petals grow.
I live through summer and die in winter.
You thrive in the cold seasons.
I tiptpoe along this path of red,
threading pass gravestones.
There are connections that remain even into the next life.
And there are relationships that won't ever happen.
So why do we still love someone we can't ever have?
Even when we won't ever meet.
This love is only full of pain.
But even so, I love you still.

A place for peace

Voices bellow inside my ears.
They pull my limbs in different directions.
Be quiet, so I can think.
Left. Right. Wrong.
Morality isn't as simple as black and white.
Don't tell me how to act, like a puppet being pulled by strings.
I need escape.
Raise the volume. Crank up the stereo.
Because I don't want to hear the confusion that seeps through my cracks.
Windows are panelled in. Doors locked firmly.
A sign screams, "DO NOT DISTURB."
Leave me the hell alone.
My bedroom is my santuary.
A place for peace.
But even in my sleep, I'm haunted by your insanity.
You're a phantom that eats at my legs relentlessly.
Let me go. Please let me go.
Before I lose my mind.
And lose myself all together.

Ghost of a girl

Nails bitten unevenly.

Mascara stained tears.
My hair is a tangled mess.

I’m a ghost of the girl I used to be.
I’m haunted by my memories of yesterday.
You threw me away and watched me die.

My nights are no longer for you.
I won’t let anyone listen to my beating heart.
I’m satisfied with my drunken illusions and cigarette kisses. 

Drink me up, baby.
Let’s waste the night away.
Until, I can’t remember my own name, let alone yours.

I’m a ghost of the girl I used to be.
Fucked in the head. Screwed in the heart.
That naïve innocence was lost long ago.

Fractured bones.
Blood-stained lips.
Pain is better than feeling nothing at all.

I spend my nights with mashed up bodies.
Waking up to strangers in my bed.
They are all mannequins, a replacement of you.

 

I’m a ghost of the girl I used to be.
Forget promises. Forget those summer nights.
Because, that girl no longer exists.

All I need is silence and someone to hold

Sometimes, life can get overwhelming with all it's mishaps, constant obstacles and wave-crashing amount of pressure. It's during these times where it's easy to fall apart. Little things. Just a cycle of little wrong things can set you to tears and you spend hours hiding in your room crying because you can't explain to anyone why you're so upset. You just are.

You are physically, mentally and emotionally tired. There is a constant hammering going inside your head for days and no matter how much panadol you take, the pain doesn't go away. Your muscles ache from doing God knows what. You're sleep deprived when all you want to do is close your eyes and possibly never wake up. Your house has become a place where you want to escape from as often as possible. As soon as you return home, you're tired again. There's just so much noise. There is never quiet. When all you need is silence to calm your collapsing nerves.

All I need is silence and someone to hold while I try to recollect all my broken pieces.

Game

What is the difference between a man whore and a player?
You say there is a difference but I don't see any.
All you want is sex.
All you want is a challenge.
Women are not a game to play.
We are not a puzzle to solve.
Go play sudoku at the back of the newspaper.
While you're at it, go fuck yourself.
Don't selfishly decide to satisfy your primal needs with my precious heart.
Feelings aren't meant to be toyed with.
Don't say things you don't mean.
Don't make promises you can't keep.
And for pete's sake, not every man is like that.
Next time you want to play a game,
I'll make sure to break your stupid sword.
Who is crying now?

Midnight and Dawn

Part One

It was around midnight when I found her. She sat alone in the corner of the pub, nursing what I assumed was the remainder of a bottle of whisky and probably in her chest, heartache. Silently, I watched her as she sniffled and tucked long strands of hair behind her ear. Her dark puppy dog orbs eyed her glass and she gulped it down in one go. Her friends had told me. She was dumped last week and she saw her ex-boyfriend walking around with another woman this morning. Fucking loser. Only an idiot would leave her for some blonde bimbo. 

    I snapped out of my thoughts when I noticed someone walking towards her table. I leapt off my stool and hurriedly weaved through people to reach her. The drunkard was latched onto her wrist like a half-starved leech. He lewdly gave her the once over and pulled her to his chest. I had enough of this. I tapped his shoulder, ‘Excuse me but the miss is coming with me.’ I eyed him and tilted my head towards the door. Either he left peacefully now or he was getting a broken nose. He released her wrist and shuffled away, looking sullen. I turned my attention to Lauren and wrapped my arms around her, ‘Hey are you alright? Why didn’t you resist him? Why didn’t you break his hand? Isn’t that what you usually do?’ 

    Lauren wouldn’t look at me. She merely held onto my jacket tightly and cried. I patted her head and waited for a reply. She was someone that always answered questions truthfully. I felt her muffle something into my chest. I pulled away and stared at her. She repeated her words, ‘I wanted to get back at him. I wanted to sleep with someone like it didn’t matter.’ I let out a long sigh and clenched my fists. If I ever see him, I wasn’t letting him live another day. She deserved so much more than this. I brought out my wallet, slapped down a fifty dollar note and gently tugged her out the pub, ‘Come on. I’m taking you back to your apartment.’ 

    Outside, we breathed in the cold air as we waited for our taxi. It was around two in the morning before we made it back to her apartment. I sat her on her bed as I went into the kitchen to make honey and milk. It was her favourite winter beverage besides hot chocolate and tea. I returned to find her asleep. I smiled as I gave her a light kiss on the forehead and whispered, ‘Goodnight.’ She opened her eyes and mouthed, ‘Stay.’ I shook my head. It wasn’t a good idea to stay the night when she was still drunk. She sat up and held both my cheeks in her palms, ‘Please stay, Daniel.’ She said as she brought her lips to mine. And that was all it took to unravel the control I had in my hands. A simple kiss.

    I woke up at dawn to her crying. I held her close as I apologised into her ear. We sat in her bed silently as we watched the sun rise over her balcony. It was that moment that I would remember for a very long time. I finally had her in my arms and I was happy even though, I knew she never once thought about me that night. We fell asleep again, to the warmth of the morning. I didn’t wake up until late noon. My arm blindly searched for her beside me but I felt nothing. I raised my head. Nothing. I called for her but no one replied. I pulled on my jeans and searched every room in the apartment. Nothing. No one. Lauren wasn’t here. Shit. I raked my hair in frustration. Then I saw it. On the kitchen counter was a note and keys.

Dear Daniel,

Thank you for everything but I am sorry that I cannot stay.
I need to leave and I don’t know where I am going but I need to be alone for a while. Please don’t look for me. My apartment, you can do whatever you want with it. Keep it. Sell it. Whatever.

Lauren

    And that was it. She was gone. All I had of her was a memory that I cannot let go of and an apartment that I would probably never sell. I never really had her. She was never mine. 

Too late

You realised too late.
If only you knew before you opened your lips,
that what you were asking of me was too much.
But I was the one that gave up something important for you.
I knew what I was losing.
You were only thinking of the finish line,
Not caring how you get there and who you hurt along the way.
And I was too weak to find an escape from your handcuffs.
It hurts that you're only starting to grasp the situation now.
You're just a little too late.
Nothing can return to how they were.
But it's better that you're late than never at all.

Hell

She says, I gave life to you so I can take it away.
That if I told you to sacrifice your life for me,
you should readily throw it away.
You should die for me and it wouldn't be wrong.

I don't know how to reply when you say that.
I am trapped in a room with a double edged sword.
I am damned if I don't and damned if I do.
Either way, I will be going to Hell.

I'm so exhausted; my bed is my only escape.
Wake me up when the world is sane again.
Or don't wake me up at all.

I miss you

It's a new year. A new day.
But I feel so old.
I smile with friends when I feel like crying but I don't.
Because this was a choice I made.
And nothing I do or say will change anything.
I just wish you were here beside me right now.
I only dare whisper it into my pillow.
Because, it is cruel of me to want you,
When I was the one who walked away.
I miss you.

Losing battle

I said that you shouldn't get used to disappointment;
But I've lost count how many times things didn't go our way.
I try to find the positives in these storm clouds but,
It's so hard to fight for a future that is so hard to see.
And that's what breaks my heart the most.
Because I really wanted this to work,
But we're only going to deteriorate.
And we'll hurt more than we do now.
I'm sorry.

Innocent until proven Guilty

Darling, it feels like it's only us against the whole world.
The ground is grumbling under our feet.
There is no where to flee.
We cannot escape this with our hands tied behind our backs.
It is a burning room with the exit sign bled out.
Air is suffocating around us.
Why are we in this situation in the first place?
What happened to innocent until proven guilty?
Isn't it enough that we found happiness in an abyss?
No, the world is still collapsing around us.
And angry hunters still hunger for our blood.
Darling, it's only us against the whole world.
And we have no voice to plead innocence with.
But I promise we'll survive this trial.
Because I believe in us.

Let go

I step out of the shower with water dripping down the bare of my back. I hold a towel to my head, ruffling droplets like rain onto the bathroom floor and glance at my glowing phone sitting above the sink: 3 missed calls. I ignore it and instead stand in front of the full length mirror, studying myself carefully. 

I trace my fingers up and along my legs, pinching at everything that could be pinched. Finally, my eyes rest on my stomach. I don’t stare for long. I can’t stand it. I flick my eyes to the nearest wall and count to hundred. I need to calm myself before it's too late. Before I'm blown up like a balloon. Slowly I count. One is for one lollipop can’t hurt. Two is for two puppies playing chasies. Three is too much of a crowd. Oh God. It’s too much of a crowd. Four is for I can't take this anymore.  
I can't take this anymore.

Slapping a hand over my mouth, I spin towards the toilet and hurl bile into the toilet bowl. I watch it swirl around with water like a python curling around its prey. It's a death match with only one winner. I'm always the loser in this situation. Inside my ears, his voice still rings a ghostly whisper: Let me love you. No, that wasn't love. This isn't love. I don't want it. No matter how much I scream, his voice won't go away. His touch still lingers, even though it was months ago. No matter how much I scream, no one helped me. It still happened, I can't change history.


I slosh water onto my face and rinse my mouth. I slip into a long shirt and walked to the kitchen to brew some coffee. It will calm my mind. I slump into my chair and watch as clouds flutter across the waking sky. The sun, showers flowers of peach and orange. It's going to be a beautiful day. I quickly sling my camera over my shoulder and pointed towards the sky. Click. Click. Click. I smile contently at the photographs. More to add to my personal collection. I flick a glance towards the calender that hangs on the cream wall. September 16. Next Monday, I'll be flying back to New York for Ian McKell's exhibition. Slight shivers run down my spine. I never want to go back there.


Rachel clings onto my right arm and whines, 'Do you really have to leave for a week? I will be so lonely!' I roll my eyes at her and pat her shoulder, 'Invite Hector over. It's important, I need to show my support. He taught me so much. Bye, dear' I poke my tongue out at her as I pass through the gates. I take a long breath and let it out. Here goes nothing. Somewhere along this trip, I will either lose my sanity or fly back home crying. I hope it is neither.


Once landing, I book into my hotel and collapse onto my bed. I sit up and scanned the spectacular view of skyscrapers. I got a suite thanks to Ian. He's much too generous, even though I was his student. I check my watch, only three in the afternoon and his exhibition isn't until tomorrow. I rest my head onto the soft pillow and sleep. I need to ready myself for the night. Either I coop myself in my room every night or I face the fact that I'm here for a week and accept it. Sighing, I assure myself that those long nights of self-defence classes will pay off need be. 


The night is warm with cool breezes like a soothing caress. There aren't many people out, I noticed. I quicken my pace. I want to get out of the streets as fast as possible. I flick a glance at every dark alley. He's not hiding there.At every crazed-eye smoker. He's not them.At every incoherent drunk. It's safe.Why was I outside when I could enjoy the warmth of my blankets inside a tight security hotel? Maybe I am the insane one? You are the insane one. I ignore the voice and open the door, Living Room embraced me with its loving music. It was my favourite place in New York. I scan the crowds and saw him, my New York lover, whose name I always forget. He smiles at me and quickly scoops me into his arms, 'You've returned.' He says in his low voice. I grin back, 'Of course, I feel safe with you.'

Salvation

Sometimes, its not enough to just merely switch on the radio or plug in the guitar.
It's not loud enough to erase the screaming voices that's seeping underneath my door.
All I want to do is drown.
I want to hear nothing but incoherent melodies and words that aren't my own.
Not the booming pain of hurtful words. Don't soil my precious words.
Don't make words ugly.
They aren't meant to hurt or cause harm.
Words are my kisses, only more loving.
But I'm being kept imprisoned by the pain in your voices.
There's no way out from the trenches of broken glass and quivering tears.
Instead, in my room of old photo albums, I pray for happiness.
If not found in this life, please at least in the next.
Salvation is all we could ever hope for.

My brother

I'm worried about my younger brother.

Out of everyone in the family, he always goes to me for advice. Tonight, he told me something that made feel like crying. He wanted the world to end. Not because he's a sadist. But because if the world were to end, he would also die. He wouldn't have to live and continue to question his purpose, his meaning of life.

He told me that he finds everything boring. Mundane.
Even his hobbies. Things that I thought he loved dearly. But the only reason he does martial arts until his whole body is sore or strums on his guitar everynight or is attached to the computer screeen so much is because these activities gives him something to do. It passes time.

As his older sister, it worries me that my yet to be 16 year old brother is already tired of life. I don't know what advice to give him. What words will take away the numbness that he feels. If there is something that I can do, I would do everything possible to make life more enjoyable for him. So I don't want to ever hear such sad words from him again.

Like magic

 Note: It's been a while but this follows on after the post, Underneath my skin from that series of short stories I was writing before.

                                              ---------------------------------

I am running. Running. Running. I am running out of breath. Running with no place to go. Simply running, out of desperation and out of fear. My thighs ache. My heart clenches with each gasp of air I force down my lungs. I cannot stop. There is no option of resting. He is right behind me. I can feel him on the edge of my hair. I can smell his alcohol stench creeping closer to my pores. Suddenly, I fall. I try to stand up but I cannot feel my legs. I look down and realised that I am suddenly without them. And he is on top of me. He is inside me. He is everywhere. I scream. I scream. I scream. No one hears me. I am nowhere.

I open my eyes.

With the room spinning around my head, I rush to the bathroom and hurl my stomach into the toilet. I threw up everything: my breakfast, my lunch, my dinner then when there was nothing left, I spewed my stomach walls. I watch as blood swirls with half-digested food at the bottom of the toilet bowl. Disgusting. Repulsive. Even now, I can still feel his tobacco breath on my skin. Itching as though fleas are biting me, I crawl slowly into the bathtub. I close my eyes but do not dare sleep. I’m too tired to return there. Hell.

I walk into the lounge room after ensuring that I was thoroughly clean by rubbing until thin layers of skin peeled off. With one hand holding my towel to my body, my other searches through yesterday’s mail. Most of the letters were either for Sally, my room-mate or scams for poor misguided fools. Finally, my eyes are caught by a flamboyantly decorated envelope. I flick a glance towards the calendar and let out a small smile. Was it that time of the year again? I rip out the letter and merely examine the first sentence for confirmation: Darling, you are invited to Chris’ 25^th birthday!  I knew it. 

From experience, I have about two weeks until the birthday party; plenty of time for gift hunting. I tap my fingernails on the dining table as I stare out the window while thinking with an absent mind. I listen to the predetermined ticking of the clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. In the near distance, Sally is quietly snoring. I hate early mornings almost as I hate the night. I hate waking up before dawn, where the morning is a carbon copy of the night. In my mind, there is no difference. It’s dangerous either way.

I pull out my mobile and dial Neal’s number with practised ease. It takes a while and I listen to the mechanical ringing. He finally picks up and groggily tells me that if calling people so early in the morning was an act of crime, I would have been put into jail many times over. I laugh and ask him whether or not I could come over to his place then later go shopping together for Chris’ birthday gift. Begrudging, he replies, ‘Go ahead, I’m awake now anyway.’ I slip into my flower-print dress and grab the keys before escaping out the door. Without breakfast.

Neal opens the door with his eyes half-open, welcoming me. I hesitate before passing by him with a quick peck on his left cheek. He clenches onto my wrist and growls into my ear, ‘You should know by now what happens if you come over my place with eyes that scream hold me. I am only a man after all.’ I know. I know him very well and I came here expecting as much. It doesn’t matter if it’s only for a moment. I want to be held by him. I want to feel safe. I let him cling to me as we kiss, even though in the corner of my eyes, is a photo of her.

I watch him button up his shirt as I stir the scrambled eggs in the pan. I add a pinch of salt and pepper for flavour and scoop it onto his plate. He eyes me warily, ‘Where’s your serving? Have you already eaten?’ I shuffle my feet nervously, there is no point in lying to him, ‘I don’t have much of an appetite.’ Neal lets out a sigh and eats, ‘Ever since you came back from New York, I haven’t seen you eat. You do eat right?’ I give him a slight nod. I could never tell him what happened during my trip. He would book the first flight out of Australia and slaughter every man on the street of New York.

‘Did something happen while you were there?’

I drop the glass of orange juice I was holding and watch in shock as it broke into shrapnel oblivion. I quickly try to clean up my sudden mistake but Neal was on the ground in an instant. He gathers me into his arm and plops me onto the couch, pointing his finger at me he barks, ‘Stay! I’ll clean it up.’ I watch in a nervous shiver as he sweeps all the broken glass and dumps them into the bin. 

He returns to me and sits down beside me, ‘You’re hiding something from me.’ I look away, not daring enough to answer, fearing that once I open my mouth, everything will spill out. He touches my shoulder and I flinch. Not good. I’m starting to feel ill. A sickening feeling builds up at the bottom of my stomach and I know what’s going to happen. Before Neal could utter another word, I run into his bathroom and lock myself up. He shouts from the outside, ‘Emma, what’s wrong?’ I don’t answer. Rather, I couldn’t answer.

All I could do was vomit bile and blood into the toilet. 

I don’t know how long I spent inside the bathroom, but eventually I stumbled out and sleeping next to the door was Neal. At least, I thought he was asleep. He turns his head at me, ‘Tell me what’s wrong. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.’ I walk into the kitchen and poured another glass of orange juice, ‘I don’t have to tell you everything that happens to me.’ I know that he cares but he is the last person I want to know about the incident. He stalks up to me and places the glass down and pulls my wrist until our faces are inches apart, ‘I have a right to know.’ I push him away and this time I glare at him, ‘Like hell you do. You are not my boyfriend; you are nothing but a fuck buddy!’ Immediately, I regret my words, I touch his arm, ‘Neal…I’m sorry.’ He storms into his room and I follow him, I watch helplessly as he seizes his keys and walks out, ‘It’s best that we buy Chris’ presents separately.’ 

I fall to my knees crying. Why does it always end like this?

At the party, I don’t see Neal. After weaving through mashing bodies of sweat, I end up at Chris’ private bar. Scanning through his collection, I pick the bottle of scotch and walk off with it, much to the protest of the bartender. I escape into the balcony and watch the stars. The only time, I can safely enjoy the night is when I’m distanced from it. 

I hear footsteps behind me and turn to see one of Chris’ friends that were introduced earlier. Adrian, I think his name was. He nods at my bottle of scotch; instead of passing it to him I take a long hard swig and glare at him. He chuckles at me, ‘You know, drinking too much isn’t good for your health. Especially, a whole bottle of scotch.’ I give him a side-glance, ‘What are you, my doctor?’ He laughs and combs his moppy hair with his hands, ‘No but I’m a psychologist, so a doctor of some degree.’ I let out a sigh, great he’s a shrink. Probably thinks I need counselling.

Instead of pressing my issue with alcohol, he looks at me carefully, ‘You know, I didn’t see you eat at the dinner.’ I watch him with tired eyes, ‘Please stop. I had an argument with someone earlier today about my appetite.’ He tilts his head as though to peek into my mind, ‘Your lover?’ I shrug my shoulders, ‘Something like that.’ He smiles and pulls out a packet of skittles and offers them to me, ‘I often find that eating some sweets when you have a poor appetite helps relieve your stomach. They’re like magic medicine.’

I grab a small handful and pop them into my mouth.
I grin back at him, ‘Like magic.’