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Please don't click this if you don't want to get depressed. Really.
It's difficult to get through sometimes. There's nothing one newcomer can do against years of priming to be bitches, of a pair that's been around so long and had so much more than you ever will. There's nothing one can say to the excuse of being "Oh so busy" when it comes to lending an ear yet having all the time in the world for the vices. Lastly, there's nothing one can do against being left behind.
I can't even say, "Sorry. Never mind. You must be busy" without wanting to turn and just run, run away, and lock myself up somewhere with pillows that I can tear the stuffing from. So I end up wrapping myself up in the silence and not meeting their eyes. Not looking anymore, so that nobody will see the hatred in them.
That's the scariest part of it. Imagine waking up, standing, breathing, walking, talking, but everything is on fast forward and you're not moving. Then the silence will kill you. It will turn the words to slabs of lead and they will sit on your tongue, heavy as marble. Something took a .45 and blew a hole through your chest and now you're walking around with the wind whistling through your ribcage, and nobody can see it. Nobody will believe you when you tell them you're perfectlyfinejustdandywheeIneedsomeCoke because you haven't been quite right lately. And you want to apologize. But nothing will come because you can lift the word weights off and against the roof of your mouth.
They're playing cards again. They're winning honors again. They're fangirling again. And you're nowhere there. Try to speak. Try to tell them something new. They'll nod and smile but they're not listening. And you know it.
Purpose has become a joke. The only thing left on one's mind is the potential repose lying just ahead in the form of summer, but to get there you'll have to hurdle the deadlines and the grades and God knows that isn't simple anymore in a world where Big Brother doesn't just watch you. He sings, he dances, he hoards mp3s and spits out gibberish through SMS.
College. It should have expanded your horizons. It should have changed things. But the more things change, the more they stay the same. You've forgotten the wise man who told that to you first. Or maybe you read it somewhere. When you photocopy your material and don't have the money for the books that should define who you are, it's hard to tell.
And some people make it seem so easy. Not their fault, not their sin, but since it's not yours either the blame will hang up in the air at the center of it all to drip tears on the floor.
I've waited too long. I've let this fester, and I'm the only one to blame. A friend told me it's creative differences. Another friend told me that maybe I should get away or distance myself. Yet another friend told me that I need my rest (I was really grateful for that one). But it's not that easy anymore. I could be the whining brat, the virginal martyr or the twitchy sophomore, and that would still be the truth.
This Pretty Hate Machine will Eat You Alive.
Would this be hypocrisy? Maybe. And yes. I need to talk to them. It never did resolve the way it should have. I just said I was sorry and left the bitterness where it was. I'm the hedgehog that way.
Have I confused you? Don't worry. I've confused me too.
It's difficult to get through sometimes. There's nothing one newcomer can do against years of priming to be bitches, of a pair that's been around so long and had so much more than you ever will. There's nothing one can say to the excuse of being "Oh so busy" when it comes to lending an ear yet having all the time in the world for the vices. Lastly, there's nothing one can do against being left behind.
I can't even say, "Sorry. Never mind. You must be busy" without wanting to turn and just run, run away, and lock myself up somewhere with pillows that I can tear the stuffing from. So I end up wrapping myself up in the silence and not meeting their eyes. Not looking anymore, so that nobody will see the hatred in them.
That's the scariest part of it. Imagine waking up, standing, breathing, walking, talking, but everything is on fast forward and you're not moving. Then the silence will kill you. It will turn the words to slabs of lead and they will sit on your tongue, heavy as marble. Something took a .45 and blew a hole through your chest and now you're walking around with the wind whistling through your ribcage, and nobody can see it. Nobody will believe you when you tell them you're perfectlyfinejustdandywheeIneedsomeCoke because you haven't been quite right lately. And you want to apologize. But nothing will come because you can lift the word weights off and against the roof of your mouth.
They're playing cards again. They're winning honors again. They're fangirling again. And you're nowhere there. Try to speak. Try to tell them something new. They'll nod and smile but they're not listening. And you know it.
Purpose has become a joke. The only thing left on one's mind is the potential repose lying just ahead in the form of summer, but to get there you'll have to hurdle the deadlines and the grades and God knows that isn't simple anymore in a world where Big Brother doesn't just watch you. He sings, he dances, he hoards mp3s and spits out gibberish through SMS.
College. It should have expanded your horizons. It should have changed things. But the more things change, the more they stay the same. You've forgotten the wise man who told that to you first. Or maybe you read it somewhere. When you photocopy your material and don't have the money for the books that should define who you are, it's hard to tell.
And some people make it seem so easy. Not their fault, not their sin, but since it's not yours either the blame will hang up in the air at the center of it all to drip tears on the floor.
I've waited too long. I've let this fester, and I'm the only one to blame. A friend told me it's creative differences. Another friend told me that maybe I should get away or distance myself. Yet another friend told me that I need my rest (I was really grateful for that one). But it's not that easy anymore. I could be the whining brat, the virginal martyr or the twitchy sophomore, and that would still be the truth.
This Pretty Hate Machine will Eat You Alive.
Would this be hypocrisy? Maybe. And yes. I need to talk to them. It never did resolve the way it should have. I just said I was sorry and left the bitterness where it was. I'm the hedgehog that way.
Have I confused you? Don't worry. I've confused me too.
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From:
no subject
thank god you don't study in DLSU. i can't ever seem to emphasize that enough, no matter how hard i try.
maybe you should consider taking temporary leave of absence, pam. to distance yourself from these people, to find yourself again, and to attempt to rid yourself of any feeling of caring you have for these asses. but maybe that's just me.
From:
no subject
hope things work out..
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
It's god you are able to let out at least what you intend to let out. That's one major good sign, and a step to overcoming the obstacle.
Good luck! I know you can do everything you want to do. :) I like their advices, btw: take a rest, or at least do anything you haven't done before in your life - that's bound to give you a new/different perspective on things you might just need.
And sorry if my words aren't very helpful. >_>