Chaos.

Ever heard of anxiety? 

 "It is okay to not be okay, all the time."

 "And sometimes that numbness merely dissolves and gives way to emotions I didn't know existed, feelings I didn't know how to cope with and whilst the overwhelming emotions rise, the ground beneath me disappears. 

I fall, hands trying to reach out to hold anything...anything in reach but there's nothing...nothing to seek. 

And suddenly, I'm surrounded by nothing and I can't see or hear anything. 

All that is left is wetness on my face and soft-tap like noise of those misery-filled tears as the voices consume me whole, leaving me trembling, a complete wreck my self becomes and I realize; 

'I'm nothing. I haven't done anything. I'm no one. I'll never be enough.' 

And I beg for them to stop but they won't. They crawl at me, they chew away at me from within, like sharp claws digging at my skin, like thorns clutching onto my heart; I bleed and feel and none of it is out for the world to see. 

I cry out of agony, hoping the pain will lessen and hoping for someone to listen. Yet when the tears are no more left, when my eyes go dry and when my throat tightens up, I choke until I can't breath and my vision goes black. 

I sit there, I heart them tone out for the pain succumbs choosing to disappear without a trace, and the numbness returns, eating away at me whole, and it is only for the time being until it once again gets out of control, until the monsters decide to get back at me for not letting them take me sole."

"Our anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows, but only empties today of its strengths."

-C.H. Spurgeon

"It's not always the tears that measure the pain. Sometimes it's the smile we fake."

"It is me knowing that there is something wrong, but I don't know what...

It is me knowing that I'm not okay, but why am I not okay, I don't know.

It is going out, being surrounded by people, having their eyes on me filled with mockery and their words in my ears laced with criticism;

It is seeing those demons rise around me, from within me, and a small slip up of something as normal as messing up a wire of the project or something falling off my hands in public and making a loud noise.

It is feeling those demons surrounding me, holding me tight- their hands like fire over ice, instead of calming, they clutch at my throat and I try to breathe but I can't;

It is feeling dissociated from my body, not knowing who I am or what am I; 

It is waking up with a heavy chest; 

It is feeling the constant pressure at my lungs, their voices holding at me from breathing properly;

It is knowing that I'm at wrong even when I'm not;

It is seeing myself in the limelight with each of my faults on display;

It is any long-lost memory slipping up and rising to the surface just because something reminded me of it;

It is living life one day at a time, praying for everything to be okay and at the same time for it to end in an accident.

That is anxiety for me.

My hands are cold and numb, and I can't move. I sit and feel restlessness all over my chest like a cloud preventing me from breathing and nothing helps. Not music. Not reading. Nothing. 

Depression?

A whole other tale.

Together?

They make pieces out of me. One suffers yearning for death,  the other begs to stay alive."

"The worst kind of sad is not being able to explain why."

"I remember hours of crying and then acting like everything was fine;

I remember hours of pain and then the numbing ache;

I remember soaking tissues and never-ending issues;

I remember tearing up and sobbing only to wipe the traces off;

All that I remember is what I wish to forget;

But is it easy when it is all that you have?"

 "It is okay to not be okay, all the time."

The end.

The beginning of the end. 

"Hate is too great a burden to bear. It injures the hater more than it injures the hated." 

-Coretta Scott King-

Hatred is a petty thing, that comes easier than love and when it comes from someone you're close with, you find yourself wondering, 'Just what did I do wrong?' 

And when the hatred isn't justified, when you know, the sensible part in you knows you haven't done anything wrong, that's when guilt-trapping arrives. 

And that is quite a big deal. 

You feel trapped, a person's hatred towards you, that being someone you were close to, someone who was a part of your life or is a part of your life- 

With the trust you put in them and with the time you shared, with the feelings you felt together, with the pain you shared, it feels as if they're using it against you, trapping you within a cage, the shackles of which are born from the hatred they feel towards you- 

You're trapped, unable to breathe. And when the person blames you for things that went wrong with them, the sensible part within you, now a minor dull voice knows it wasn't you and it tries to get you to accept the same but you can't. For the part of you, the part that they saw, the part that spent time with them, it wonders and it wonders until it gets trapped. 

The time within the cage is hard, you get too close to the bars, the thorns prick at you and when you try to make sense of it, when you try to get out of it, it feels pointless and in turn hurts you again and again until you somewhere feel it coming from within, 

'It was my fault.' 

And that is the beginning of the end. 

"I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain."

-James Baldwin

Gradually you become blind. All you see is them, and their version of you. 

You blame yourself, you realize it's your fault, the voice, the sensible voice dulls away with time and the pure darkness of the hatred, the thorns spread all over you. 

They grow over you, constricting movement. They grow within you, constricting feelings- any good one. 

And you suddenly look back at yourself and that's when the hatred seeps in. 

The cracks are filled in by the darkness, an empty-overwhelmingly numb feeling, and when they return to check on you, when you pass by them accidently, when you see yourself in their eyes...

 You don't recognize who you are. 

And that...that is the ending of quite-so everything. 

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." 

-Martin Luther King, Jr.

Where the hatred that once started from just a single being, becomes divided and rules two. 

And you realize that it isn't only them...

You hate yourself too. 

A nightmare that is never-ending. A nightmare from which even when you wake up, it haunts you every time you think of it's beginning, every time you face it, every time you remember something related to it. 

And the thorns dig in a bit too deep again. 

But it doesn't hurt. 

Pain is painful only until a while and then...then it just goes numb. You become habitual to it. 

And being habitual to pain...is the worst thing anyone could ever go through. The worst reality anyone could settle for. 

A thing worse than death, is being used to pain just enough that when it isn't even there, there's no change and when it comes back searching for you, doubled somehow, there's no change either. 

The emptiness rises, the numbness overtakes, the darkness within grows like roots overtaking your very soul, and you die from within, you die before you really die. 

You die whilst standing there alive and breathing for the world to see, but only if they could see, they'd see the death within you too.

"Who taught you to hate yourself?" 

-Malcolm X

Learn to live with yourself before you choose to live with someone else. 

"Self-love is not about getting to a place where you love yourself. It's learning to love yourself in the place you are in." 

-Hannah Blum

Why do you think they always preach of self-love nowadays? 

-Because people are busy hating each other to the point where if not for self-love, we'll all be mere pawns held upright by hatred, moved and destroyed by hatred and there'd be no light to survive by. 

Whispers from the moon;

 

The stars in her eyes glittered;

Staring at the sky, a galaxy found itself in her vision,

Looking out of place and yet,

The happiness bouncing off her parted lips entranced the world for a second;

 

The moon watched, flushed with the attention,

And as she continued to murmur words,

Strings and threads weaving a note of music;

The stars danced along,

A merry of a night, the joy surrounding her from within;

 

She sat there, envisioning,

There wasn't much to say,

And yet as the ghosts of the past and the dreams of the future flashed through her,

Her hopes in the form of glittering pearls sliding down her cheeks;

The moon reached out, leaving behind the caress of itself at her skin,

The moonlight travelled off the sphere and at her,

Grazing at her heart like warm fingertips at cold skin,

Bringing her in an envelope of warmth;

 

The sky watched her,

Breathing in a sigh out of peace;

With Longing and love, cradling her- the earth held onto her,

Here to tell her she was needed, loved, wished, seeked,

 

A star took it upon itself to drop the message;

 

And as her eyes fluttered shut,

She saw it, a figment of her dream it could have been;

But the mass of sparkles and the trail of words the star left behind as it fell,

The shooting star that made her smile,

And the new-found galaxy in her eyes glittered once more from within.

Voices;

 

The surroundings are quiet;

Nothing to breach the peace.

 

But as I watch the flowers wither,

And the leaves that fall;

I can hear it all, clear and trying to interfere.

 

The silence continues;

But not for me.

 

As the words, and voices...

Make their way to me.

They say not to think about it-to not ponder and worry about it;

But what can I do, when they speak to me-when it scares me;

My own self,

Trying to make me believe.

 

It is hard-to get over them:

They are never tired;

Never afraid,

Never-all together,

In pieces, they make-

Like an army of insects...

They crawl at my skin,

They pull, and bite,

Me from within.

 

I wish for the quiet;

But not inside me...

Cause they continue to haunt-

And make me agree.

Ache.

 

It is too hard somedays...

To even breathe;

When I'm reminded of everything...

That I truly seek.

 

It is painful...

To reminiscence what happened;

The deeds I have done...

Oh lord! Wish I could change 'em.

 

It is tough...

To even hear my heart beat over all the throbbing,

As the slow ache takes over...

And leaves me settling for nothing but that sting.

 

Is it greed?

Wanting to be happy- no wanting to disappear;

As I'm faced with everything...

That wants to reappear;

 

I am tired of it!

Wish I could change...

But since I can't...

I kinda wan' end this game.

The pain won't subside and the heart continues to hurt;

In the midst of nowhere...

My chest, filling it up with everything but the words.

It is empty,

Inside me.

In front of me.

And yet as I think back...

As I look back upon it...

I am met with numbing ache.

 

Rain;

 

The sky weeps-just like I do;

Sitting in my room, I try to:

Keep quiet and not voice it out;

Just like the soft patter of the rain, the tears slither and fall to the ground.

It is, all in all, completely in sync with what the outside sounds.

 

As the rain falls without a break;

Like I cry-trying not to disintegrate...

It is hard-The feeling in my heart;

As it pounds and slowly drops from within...

Making me remember about all that I wanna stop-livin'

 

It has been like this...for quite a while;

And I know I have never been sufficient...

For those who move agile;

I wish it gets better...

However, I know-

Just like the rain-

For a forever, it goes.

The final chapter?

 

The ending?

I sometimes wonder. Really. Wondering is what I do half of the times, but this once, I've got some truth to wonder about.

 

You don't actually ever forget or heal from things that happened with you. 

You don't. 

Healing doesn't work like that, it doesn't mean you're over what happened, it doesn't mean you're over the trauma you had because it's something that lasts forever. 

The only meaning that 'healing' holds is that you learn to move on.

 Move on from everything that happened and you learn to give chances to no one but yourself. 

And there are days when that thorn digs in a lot too deep, enough to leave you yearning for relief from the pain, enough to leave you wanting to cry to settle the ache but overtime, the pain fades. 

And yet, the thorns remain there, stuck. And I feel it's better that way, to have them hurt when they're pushed or pricked at, but at least with the thorns dug deep in your heart, at least there's no hole for a fresh wound to happen. 

And the already existing one might bleed once in a while, but you know how to 'heal' it-you know how to move on. It'll remind you to move on, that you've done it before and you can do it again...

And shall you say, why the pain in the first place? 

It's how the life works, my dear. 

It's all in how life's supposed to work. 

'-and after all this time, maybe-just maybe we never heal. Not truly from the things that happened to us, we just learn to put them in the past and move on and whilst on some days they come staggering back to us, to haunt us, we eventually learn to live with them. Cause now, they make are part of us. They are a part of me.'