It’s been awhile. I know. I find myself torn in two, in both relief and dread that I’m writing again. Relief that I’m doing something to vent, dread that I even needed to vent in the first place.
Even after all these years, you’d think I’d get used to it by now. But the dull ache still throbs under my skin. The tears still threaten to spill forth. The wrath and hatred still brewing within me. And the worst part is, all of which are directed to no one else but me.
Recent trigger, I realised, is a book I just finished. Reading it left a distaste in my mouth thinking how the male lead kept saying “You will do this for me because you know you want to,” and the female lead despite not wanting to do it will end up doing it because she knows deep down that she does want to. That somehow she knows he knows better than her but refuses to admit it.
I find it disturbing that I could relate to the character in so many ways, more than one. I guess that was what drew me to read the book in the first place. I tried to comfort myself (or delude myself) that at least I wasn’t obsessed with counting, at least I could still socialise. I also pushed it out of my mind how close to the edge I could go if I let my guard down.
This month has been a struggle with coming to terms with myself, the beliefs that I hold close to my heart and the lies I tell myself to persevere through each day. It’s struggling to keep myself held together and not crumble apart. Cause I find it safer to be numb and indifferent, just gotta keep myself distracted for the most part.
And with that, so ends my rant. I guess negativity is still ingrained within me. I still strive to find the silver lining every time.
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