A bit of masochism keeps you going

How often do you have the urge to run away? So desperate to skip the following seconds, minutes, hours, days, or years because the moment is getting too unbearable?

The sudden absence of someone dear. The emptiness getting louder.
Unintentionally break something unmendable and being left with guilt and the dread of uncertainty; the few horrible seconds before someone either shout at you or being big and forgive you, which in both you'll be helpless and vulnerable.

Feeling an embarrassment overflowing your body after saying something wrong to a group of people you want to impress. Or worse, tongue-tied and blanked mind in front of them. Their looks and smirks keep playing in your mind for years.

Being so overwhelmed by all the things you have to do you barely get any sleep at all. 

The endless redoing of mundane things that will get you nowhere. 

Being in a physically painful state, every inch of your body starts to give out one by one you don't even know whether you can make it anymore. 

But you will. You made it this far, despite the knocks and kicks life throws at you generously. Sometimes the urges to escape, to press a fast-forward button in these scenarios are inevitable. But we humans grow over these painful edge-of-the-blade moments. Choking, gasping, flailing. Washed over by sweat, blood, and tears. The fast-forward button we desperately want to own is a curse; a life without these moments is a life not worth living.

The House of Desperate Souls

I am an open house
A friend lurked from the yard,
watching me go about my day
I smiled and flicked a small talk
Watching me closely with a sense of longing in his eyes,
a joke cracked between us
and we laughed until our stomachs hurt
He made his way inside
His movement was a rushed one,
some unnatural gestures in the eye of an amateur
Blurred the line between a stranger, a friend, and a lover
I went along with it
At night I couldn't stop asking myself
Am I the last resort, a house people like to stay at when all the hotels are booked?

People come and go as they please,
leaving the door opened each time
Each time it is doubting my own foundation,
it is tearing apart my own walls to see what I am

I never knew what I want,
so I kept letting them in despite the uncertainty that loomed silently in the dark
But now I do,
I finally do know what I want

(On being a late bloomer: It feels really weird to get something for the first time when you're way past age. Just when I think that I would be this stuck and numb for the rest of my life, time throws a gift of growth that keeps life moving.)

Mind Branches

IV.
Tension
   we know it's there right underneath us -
   it's all we can think about at some point of our lives
   a monster with the ability to wipe all of us out
   yet we pretend there's no such thing
   going about our lives,
   we make noises about everything
   anything
   except that.

III.
New faces, new places, sky with different colors
   I miss blank slates already.

II.
Fear is a bitch
   Everybody is supposed to have a success story
   Why can't I conquer mine?

I.
Admiring you from afar is a new kind of sadness.

Your Cave

What is your choice of self-destruction?
Running until you're collapsed — numb limbs, gasping for breath, struggling to keep a bit of air in your lungs?

Burning your insides with countless packs, waiting till the day it gets you?
Going out to dangerous places alone at night, feeling high and impulsive,
Or is it driving at 100 on highway, your body getting lighter as you float with the wind — for the sole feeling of freedom, of spontaneity, of assurance?

Is it eating as much as you can until there's no room anymore for pain, until you're this close to exploding?

Is it avoiding sunlight, locking yourself in with LCD screen exposure 24/7?
Is it sleeping until you can't take it anymore—looking emptily as the clock ticks by, or is it painting all night for the 3rd time in a row?

Is it staying out late as far from home as possible — drinks in hand, crowds to drown your thoughts?

Is it scratching your skin, sinking your nails deep inside your flesh to move the thoughts away even for just a few seconds?
Is it taking shower with ice cold water, scrubbing away those cells for hours until your whole body is red, irritated, and swollen?

Is it laxatives, is it pills, is it bleach?
Is it dangerous hike and dive in some foreign country?
Is it working for 18 hours a day to avoid some thoughts?

So bare with me,

What is your choice of self-destruction?

siklus self-doubt

ketika kamu (seharusnya) dapet 100 di kuis satu-satunya matkul yg kamu menguasai. lalu iseng ngelirik kiri, kaget karena jawabannya beda semua, ganti 2 jawaban yg ragu, dan berakhir dengan nilai rata-rata.

i dont understand why i let this kind of thing happened to me more than once. why cant you learn from your exact past experience like everyone else goddamnit. congratulations, you deserve a frickin medal to be this spineless, flip-flopping lil piece of shit. enjoy the taste of unfulfillment in your mouth for the rest of the week!

Dogville: My Entire Humanity Crisis in One Movie

ten thousand blades striking at once

But if you have no part in the world, no matter how diseased the world is, you are dead. It is not enough to earn your living, do no actual harm to anyone, tell no lies, help a few people with money or kindness when the occasion presents – and without too great a hardship to oneself. It is not enough. It is okay. It is not dirty. But it is dead.

– Martha Gellhorn