Journal

Fe(el/ar).

I’ve been told many times that I shouldn’t have to control every aspect of my life. That I shouldn’t have to protect myself from the unknown. That I need to let things change my life.
But I’m in love with my life. And I don’t want it to change.
And I guess that is where I go wrong. Because without change, there is no love. No growth. No expansion of feelings. Nothing.
And the worst part for me is that I have no idea what I would do without the constant fear of strange things in this world.

Fear.
The hardest part for me is being alone.
No, it’s not loneliness, it’s being alone.
The feeling of being helplessly alone in a room without my cries for help being heard.
That’s the difference.

Alone time is often feared for the risk of mental and emotional destruction caused by overthinking. Those aren’t my demons.
I am not afraid to overuse my emotional overthinking. This is only a tiny speck in my fears.

My fear of alone time is my physical safety. Where I cannot feel safe even in the four corners that keep me isolated from the whole world.
I am haunted. And it’s not by the ghosts that hide under white sheets.
I am constantly reminded of the harm that can be possibly inflicted upon me.

I’m not scared of the dark, true.
I’m scared of the person I fear the most that might be in the dark, true.

I fear for my safety rather than my emotional health.
And that’s when I can’t comprehend how someone can leave such a scar.
When will be the first time that I will ever feel safe?

Poems

Quicksand.

I’ve hit a brick wall.
The kind that laughs at your naivety.
I will recollect myself, I say.
Maybe not today, but I will.

I’m clueless.
My hands don’t look like they belong to me anymore.
My life doesn’t feel mine anymore.

I’m searching left and right for a sign.
A path that will guide me.
I’m not ready.
But I will have to pretend I am.
I tell myself that I am okay.
But in all reality, I’m everything but.

And the longer I wait, the more I sink.
This hole of darkness confuses me.
I should be terrified of it.
But I can only find comfort.

Poems

War.

Our relationship was built on battles.
I always fought you.
It was an endless tight rope performance.
Balancing my freedom with the treacherous cage you had for me.

Nothing impressed you.
Nothing worked.
It just tore us apart.
With time, we were both tired.
Exhausted of the passive aggression.
We grew tired of having the constant need to prove ourselves.

This was not who I am.
I drove myself crazy trying to bury the sharp ends.
I hated you being mad at the frenzy.
And I hated you being content with the stillness.
You didn’t love me.
You loved how you could control me.

The harm wasn’t worth it.
The tears, the restless nights, the fear.
None of that was worth it.