where is my home?

"I don’t really want to do anything anymore except to quit and return home safely. Yet, nowhere really feels like home."

- N

I'm doing this horrible habit of mine again: distancing myself from every friend whom I love. It's just really tiring, you know? I just don't feel like caring anymore. To them, I mean nothing any way, and even if I do, I wish I didn't.

It's easier to talk to some friends these days than others. Ha. Who am I kidding? It's most easy if I don't talk at all. The obligations and commitments of life are slowly wearing me down. Being in literature makes me feel autistic. I'm constantly struggling to convey my thoughts into words. I feel so damn dumb all the time I don't know what's wrong.

I joined three CCAs and now I'm suffering under them all.

But you wanted them. You're interested in them. Haven't you always dreamed of being a high-achiever? Now's your chance!

Chance my bloody foot, I'll die before that happens. The weight that's suffocating me is just getting stronger and the pain that keeps me grounded is slowly fading away. I just want to stop fighting. I want a damn break. I want to go home.

But where is my home?

I don't even know anymore. My house isn't my home. My friends are my comfort zone but they're not my home. My family isn't my home. Stray cats aren't either. I suffer through every social interaction and I'm praying so fervently for my heart to gain peace and my soul to gain rest and my damn self to go home but where the fuck is my home?

When the hell do I get my rest?

I just don't want to do this anymore. I finished reading Hold Still by Nina and all I was thinking about is how Ingrid is so fucking lucky cause she gets to 'off' herself by overdosing on sleeping pills, like where the fuck do I get sleeping pills? I want some. I wanna fucking overdose.

I just can't deal with this issues you know? I have self-esteem issues, friendship issues, studies issues... It's like everything in my damn world is crumbling down and I'm helpless to stop it cause I don't know how and I know I secretly don't want to either. I wanna watch my world go up in flames cause it's easier to witness the destruction of my mind and feel the pain and tears than to hide under an invisible facade and pretend everything is okay. 'Cause it fucking isn't and I'm tired of pretending. I'm just so damn tired I wanna go home.

But where is my home?

Where?

I'm tired.

Am I born in this world to suffer? I'm on this entire planet with lands and seas and yet nothing, absolutely nothing, feels like home in my damn heart.

And the pain just continues pumping through my veins, you know? Every single heart beat sending poison faster to my brain. It isn't living anymore. It's just breathing to die. I'm waiting for the day when I get sent to Hell permanently cause I know that's where I belong any way.

It's impossible to seek for divine intervention now. I'm beyond redemption. My friends don't understand this pain either. They don't understand that I don't want to socialise anymore. I don't want to talk. It doesn't matter if I do or I don't.

My opinions never mattered.

Learnt it the hard way and I'm still learning it till this day. You know, it fucking hurts when someone tells you that they love you through letters or cards and you read and reminisce and you're feeling so damn touched until you remember that those times no longer fucking exist and they're all just in your head and the pain just intensifies and you feel like you're dying but you really aren't and you hate the present but you can't go back to the past (broken promises and fucking lies) and so you're left wandering somewhere in between wondering why the fuck you chose to believe in something that was too good to be true for you should have known for all the folly you possess that fairy tale endings never did fucking exist in reality and you're just a damn fool who believed in something that was impossible to begin with.

I'm an idiot, aren't I?

Why did I let myself believe that miracles could happen? / 'cause now I have to pretend that I don't really care.

- when there was me and you, hsm 1