leave, before you get left.

I need to fight off my addictions. But I love how they take hold of me, like I have something that belongs to me, that will never let go.

I don't wake up on a morning without a craving for my caffeine fix. I want to go bungee jumping, I want to go skydiving, I want to go river rafting, I want to get an adrenaline rush every second of my life. I'm addicted, to the things that would make me feel high, that would make me feel that my heart is actually still beating, that would make me feel, a little less than myself now.

And my newest addiction is seeing my hair stylist chop off more and more of my hair. I get a kick out of seeing it getting shorter and shorter each time. And I don't know why.

And that's all I can change. No matter what I do to my outer appearance, does it actually make a difference. It's like I'm trying so hard to mask the insides that refuse to bulge. We're all just deluding ourselves, over and over again.

Sometimes you have to forget how you feel, and remember what you deserve.

and i realized, how easily erased i was.

"By the time you read this, I hope to be dead.
You can't undo something that's happened; you can't take back a word that's already been said out loud. You'll think about me and wish that you had been able to talk me out of this. You'll try to figure out what would have been the one right thing to say, to do. I guess I should tell you, don't blame yourself; this isn't your fault, but that would be a lie. We both know that I didn't get here by myself.
You'll cry, at my funeral. You'll say it didn't have to be this way. You will act like everyone expects you to. But will you miss me?
More importantly -- will I miss you?
Does either one of us really want to hear the answer to that question?"
-- Nineteen Minutes

How, could you make me cry so hard?



If you were drifting with a thousand other people, could you really still say you were lost?

it chills my heart so

hey you, ludic lover

And this is how it feels like having nothing to say, having nothing you want to tell to others. Since I only like to scream and shout when things aren't going my way, when I do nothing but complain and whine but not doing anything to make something better, and apparently I'm an emotional wreck that gets uncontrollable and scary, then why not just keep everything inside. But I don't do it much anymore. Maybe I just can't be bothered, maybe I've zen-ed, or maybe I'm just plain tired.

You don't know how phobic I can get, how I experience a distaste so bad with those words. And I end up getting disgusted with myself, but I just can't brush that feeling away. It just makes me want to retch. I'm done trying to be another person, so done. If it's come to this, what's the point? What am I still holding on to? I would love the thrills, the adrenaline, without the fucking stress. You'll never notice, never comprehend, never try to make anything better. Everybody's just living in their own locked up world, seeing nobody else but themselves.

Yes, I'm done being somebody else. But I want to really be somebody else. I want to be unrecognizable. I need a bloody change. I want to look into the mirror and see somebody else, other than myself. Nothing that can remind me of everything I had been.

No, no baby steps. You can't afford to. Nobody ever waits for anyone. The whole bloody world moves on.

只有身体在狂欢, 心就没负担. 耳朵被音乐塞满, 抛向云端.

And I love how we can sing as loud as we like, knowing that we'll never see the people ever again anyway. Just like how we can dance as much and as crazy as we like, because once you step out, it's another world altogether totally. And when the lights go low and the music blasts the walls, that's the only time when I feel I can be anybody I like, because nobody knows me, because there's no glaring lights exposing everything you wanted to hide. And I'll only hope my head remains light-headed and maybe, maybe it can really never stop. And I swear, that's the time when I feel that nothing, really nothing matters anyway.

And I wake up these days, with the same images going through my mind over and over again. It's like I can't brush them away, because every time when I try to shut my eyes to shut everything out, that's the time they appear, over and over again. How do you choose between haunting dreams that make you hope your heart would crash and waking up to a place where you don't want to be anymore? Well, you can't.

where does it end, you say.

Because I'm glad, for days like this.

I'm supposed to do my term paper, on Happiness. And what can I say? Nabei. I really don't know what to write. Nothing remotely related to the subject inspires me. The more I think about it, the more bewildered I am. It has become strangely unfamiliar to me. Hello, what is it again?

.... . ._.. ._ _.

Why does it only take a small thing to trigger everything I'm trying so hard to push back down. It only takes a word, a thought, to bring me to place where I can't pull myself out of. Why does it have to bring out everything in me that I never ever wanted others to see, that I never ever wanted to feel. Why does it have to make me hate myself for becoming someone I hate to see myself becoming.

Can't you see my calculated steps, my patronizing smiles, my faked laughs and how everything inside me is threatening to burst although I force myself to be seen as otherwise. And how the very best I could do is still to keep on smiling. If not I'll at least try to shut my eyes and hope my tears won't fall and shut my thoughts out and not say a word.

Because I still feel, I still think, I still see. But I won't say, because I know those are selfish thoughts, because I know those are not totally logical thoughts. Or maybe my expectations are higher, maybe I expected otherwise. But it doesn't matter, because nothing's changed, because at the end of the day, they still cut at me, over and over again. Because I know I'm losing, and not to anyone else even though I tell myself it is. Because I should know better, it's a battle I'm fighting with myself.

And when you realize you can't be yourself anymore around your friends, something's terribly wrong. And because sometimes I really really feel tired and have no sense of where to begin, I end up giving up and throwing the thoughts away. But maybe it doesn't matter after all, when it's only yourself.

And it pains me to even write these, when I even don't have the courage to write simply, when I only know how to do what I do best, writing like nobody else can understand except myself. But don't give me the words I hate hearing, if it's going to do anything, it's going to make it a million times worse than make it a little better.

I need the very very last thing I can do.