I wrote this impulsively, thinking I would be okay.
But as I finish this, everything wouldn’t change.
And it will remain the same.
I just want to leave, and go on with life. I’ll fly 9000 miles away from here, to live with greater opportunities
that would bring much happiness that I’m longing for so long. But I’m so tired from waiting. Waiting for quick progress so I can escape from the reality.
Everyday, I walk more than 500 meters,
Passing through thousands of vehicles,
Crossing five streets that could kill me anytime,
Wandering how everything would possibly change, for the better.
Anxiety eats me up, when I woke up in the morning, doing my boring routines, staying in a small home in a normal day alone for less than eighteen hours, eating and studying alone, fighting with no armors. Because every time I think of the things I wanted to do, negativity kicks in and even the smallest hope I got, vanished so quickly.
I got friends but I can’t share my problems, or should I say, I don’t know if they treat me as one.
I got a family, that has no time for me, but is ready to give what I want, only with some sorts of agreements, like pushing me to be the highest one, but I can’t.
I got my dream, that I was so sure before, but it turns out to be my greatest downfall last year. And I just asked for a sign, sign that could give me realizations that It wasn’t for me.
I got myself, whose so depressed and lonely, that can’t think properly, that create things impulsively, that decide on things that ut shouldn’t be happening.
I can’t understand myself right now, I’m trying to be okay, but I can’t. I’m good at cheering up someone but I can’t do it on myself.
There are so many killer eyes that are staring at me.
There are so many knives stabbed in my back, and I didn’t know who put it there.
There are so many opportunities I’ve lost, because of my difference as a person, as a student, and as a daughter.
I need to let this all out, the possibilities that I would feel better isn’t going to happen. But I’m still happy, because I had the courage to share this with you, reader. This may sound pathetic but I really don’t know how to express my true emotions, only with writing.
I’m still looking for my genuine happiness, that kind of satisfaction that I would never ever cry again over smallest things, and will forget all the reasons why I’m broken.