Another year has passed, and I’m standing on familiar ground. It’s the chill of autumn that I fear the most. It’s the bits and pieces of the season that hint of a storm about to ensue. I’m scared. That’s always been holding me back. I used to be able to take risks and see what happens. When I used to take those risks, I managed to discover new things and enjoy those experiences. However, the bitter scent of this season scarred me deeply. And so, here I am cautiously treading the ground I walk upon. I’m careful in taking each step. I’m trying to hide my feelings up sleeve. I’m trying to mend my broken heart.
Mentally unstable? I figured I’ve landed in that position months ago. Here I am, just recuperating. And yet, I feel that when I take one step forward, I end up taking three steps back. I’m trying to find the courage to move forward. I’m trying to stop myself from self destructing. I’m trying to heal without hurting you.
Two years ago, I wouldn’t have thought that I’d be in this position. The old me would’ve hated what I’ve become. In fact, she probably would have done something in the past to stop myself from becoming this way. But what did I know back then? I was sheltered and oblivious to what was happening around me. I had such a narrow mindset. Surely, I had my beliefs, and those contradicted mostly how others thought. I heard what they said, but I never truly understood what they meant.
In the back of my mind, I’m probably bothered by something. That I’m not exactly sure. It’s no wonder I’ve always been tired even after eight hours of sleep. I haven’t been sleeping properly for the longest time. I miss feeling at peace.
Acceptance. That’s what I need.
There are questions I want to ask and realities that I need to face.
Maybe it’s possible for people to care about me.
Maybe it’s possible that people won’t always leave.
Last Saturday night, I got hurt again by something stupid. Just like I used to, I breathed it in and told myself that it’s nothing. “Nothing”. I try my hardest to breathe in the sadness and tears welling up in my eyes. I always tend to convince myself that it doesn’t matter. That the little things that bother me don’t matter. Either I toss it to the side or shrug it off. Eventually, I end up believing myself that it didn’t matter. Those feelings usually end up in a pile. And if I don’t vent, well, you know where there end up eventually.
And then, there he was… Trying to hold my hand as lifeless as it was. I couldn’t look at him straight in the eye. I can faintly recall what I murmured in my delirious state of mind.
“Why should it even matter?”
Then he said those words. They were hesitant, but he said them. When I heard them, it almost sounded like it was amplified in the space between us. They were words I didn’t expect to hear. These were words strung in a way he’s never said before.
“Because I care about you.”
There was a tinge of that four letter word I felt in his voice. His glasses were fogged up, and tears streaming down his face. I didn’t know what I was doing.
“Why are you crying…?”
“Because you’re not going to do anything even if I care about you…”
He doesn’t usually show how he feels. But when he does, I seem to see it now. To know when it’s sincere. Genuine. Real.
What was I doing? I was hurting the one I love. I never really know what I’m doing. I always do stupid things. I want to stop hurting him… Somehow, I should stop hurting myself.
It hurts me to think that he thinks why I’m always sad and crying is because of him. He’s said that… That’s not true. But it seems like it, huh? ‘Cause I’m always crying in front of him. Every time I’m vulnerable, I breakdown in front of him. Actions… They do speak louder than words.
There’s so much sorrow in my life right now that even the greatest things that make me happy get clouded by my doubts. I don’t need to convince myself that he’s made me happy. As self destructive as I am, I can see it and feel it… There’s a part of me wanting to reject those moments, telling me that I didn’t deserve them. You know what, maybe I didn’t. As wrecked and confused I was, I can still picture him wanting to hold my hand. I was going to get my bag and leave the apartment not knowing what I was annoyed or mad about. And yet, he held my hand, wrapped me with his jacket, and told me to “be warm”.
As undeserving I was of those gestures during those moments, he still was there. Now that I look back on them… How could he have made me sad? How could he have caused me my pain? If anything, he’s been there to pick me up again.