20 years old and never been loved

20 years old and never been loved.

humans are social beings. i learned that when i was 11 years old. i was reading a biology book in my seat and my friend were rummaging her notebook for notes that we were supposed to submit that day. it was almost our first break. i underlined the sentence with my neon yellow colored highlight pen.

someone from another class asked me out through a text. my motorola buzzed after his first two texts. i said yes and we played hide and seek the day after. my friends cheered me on but they wondered why i wanted to be with him. he was funny and a little bit of a douchebag. he looked at me from afar after my first basketball match and his many many football matches.

my crush went out with my very own best friend after i asked her to get me together with him. days of messy snarky comments, unnecessary glares here and there, and friendship breakups. i felt betrayed. then come a pang of realization that it was one useless crush that i had. because friendship was all that mattered for me.

i had countless crushes after that.

i started to wish that i'm somehow special in some ways. i craved for validation. i wanted to be touched so bad that i lost sight of my own reflection. and so i carried on.

i was drowned, dumped in my own blindness.

that i believe

i don't deserve to be loved.

i am not worth of love.

when deep in the sea, my sea of covet,
my fingers long to be touched,
my chapped lips yearn to be kissed,
my legs crave for all the playful kicks,
my eyes are eager to be teased by the desire to be starstrucked like i'm the only blinking star left at the sky,

not like a 20 years old and never been loved.

i want to be like other people. to be able to love and not afraid to fall. to be able to step out of my league and try to gush away the fear of rejection. to be able to act like my self and be honest with it.

i want to be able to assure my self that it's okay to want things.

i want to tell you that i want you and you can want me.

i want to be the comfort after all those busy days you have.

i want to be the pillow you seek in every sense of being at home.

i want to be your only place to make you throw your pjs and nap around.

i want to be the only one you look at.

i want to be someone special, someone significant in your life.





i want you to look for me. not look at me. but look for me.

here,

i am.

On Mental Health and My Stream of Consciousness

March 7th 2018.

I cried. I remembered of that thing inside of me. I left it locked. On January 1st 2018, I promised my self that I will not go back to that place this year. I have to be brave to move on. I have faith, I know that I have it, so I can walk my feet again to a better place.

For those who have known me in real life, whom I have opened my heart to, I want to say thank you. I want to thank you for listening to what happened to me these past few years.

I suffered from depression for three years. The first time I experienced the symptoms was when I was in second year of junior high school. I didn't have the knowledge of my mental health instability at that time. I thought it was just because of the pubescent age. I locked my self from the outside world. I didn't let anyone in.

The second time, I experienced my first episode. It was when I hit high school. I began to notice the dark clouds piling above my head. I began to reek of stinking black shadows gathered over my shoulders. I began to feel the tight-fitting invisible rope around my neck. Obviously, I began to practice putting on variety of masks before I go to school.

As the time went on, I noticed something terrible had happened inside of me. I wanted to die. I didn't have the capability to get off my bed as I wished for my lungs, my heart, and my brain to stop working altogether. Living scared me. No place belonged to me, I thought so.

I cut my wrist. I strangled my own neck. I drank a bottle of painkillers as if the invisible pain would wash away.

I dissociated.

My thoughts, my will, my dream, my being, all began to engage to numbness.

February 2015. I was introduced to the world of medical treatment for my mental health. The world finally confirmed that I was unstable. My existence was loose between the line of living and dying even though my being was set to keep living in default. The expert told me that I was diagnosed with depression. It surprised my family but it didn't to me. I was paralyzed in my numbness. I still wanted to die.

July 2016. A new milieu was written in my book of enigma. I told my mom that I wanted to live by my self for a while. My new friends said hi to me and I said yes for them to let in. I believed that this may be my new beginning. A blank book that I have always dreamed of. A set of customized pages that I can paint anytime I want with my favorite colors on it.

September 2017. I denied its existence. I lied to my self. A year of faking nirvana into my consciousness. I had learnt to create my artificial self that is fake, false, and fallacious. Everything went back to zero. I fell down to the ground wishing that I should have died years ago.

October 2017. The people I trusted began to question my truth. Was I insatiable that I hurt them the same way I hurt my sense of being? Was I in the position of torturing my self? Was I purposefully hide what actually had happened to me? The third week of the month, I confessed to them that I was ill. I admitted that I have a disorder. From that moment on, I took a seat to acknowledge its existence.

My depression.

I have depression.

December 31st 2017 - 23.58. I experienced one of my worst episodes. I was standing in the middle of a celebration of a new lifetime. I was dressed in one of my best look. Glittering eyeshadow adorned my eyelids, bold maroon lipstick to show how presented I was, not to forgot the false personality that I show to enliven the party. The ocean wind passed through my hypocrisy. I sung, laughed, and yelled out loud how amazing the night was.

January 1st 2018 - 00.01. I slumped down at the back of the beach house's bathroom door. My tears ran down the same exact time the wave unable to swept my pain. My episode started to worsen each second. All I did was crying. I have lived years of wishing my physique to be swept off the sea and never be found.

The ocean woke me up from my nap under the afternoon sun ray. In the middle of lined up cars, we were stuck timelessly on the road. That was the horrifying impact of spending the new year's eve at a beach house. To go back home felt like the longest drive we've ever went through. It was also the longest hours for me to ever zoned out observing the beauty of the sea. I love long car ride.

As I built my own fictional scenario, it got me. The depression talked back to me.

It spoke to me. She spoke to me. It was me. She was me.

It was—she was devastated. She felt empathy. She pitied me. She cried for me.

She wanted me to be happy. All along it was her, as she told me. It was her who invented my messed up enigma. As she caressed my invisible blanket that I used to hide underneath,

she spoke to me,

"There is only one thing that I wish.

It's not death.

It's a sense of contentedness."

//

I discovered that it wasn't a new book that I need but a sense of belonging. A visible smile painted on my face as I turned the next page of my enigma-tarnished book to continue.

February 1st 2018. I lived.

March 1st 2018. I lived.

March 7th 2018. I lived.

I accepted her—

my own being,

my enigma,

—my depression.

Then, I live.

Why I go back to Him

Because of my mother. My mom is the person who is always been there since day one. When all the people you believed you can trust turn into a bunch of hypocrites and leave you astray in the dark, she is the only one who'd rather make me a cup of tea than a cup of tiresome caffeine for herself. Recently, I got my illness back due to peer pressure I had to bear—notable thanks to college for that. I went to start seeing a doctor a year ago. Laid in my bed, vomitted out of nowhere, just right two hours to my birthday. I remember having someone wiping my face off with a warm handkerchief. It was none other my mom.

Long story short—as I don't want to cry while typing this post, my mom apparently asked me to go back to Him. She said she's scared of losing me, scared of something bad might happen, scared of time will not save both of us and this family. Of course I did really want to cry at that time but I joked it away. Completely laughed it off, "don't worry, mom. I will even pray for ten times a day!" Some things haven't been going well at the college with me lately. Yes, it's not about the academic stuffs. I do have fear while committing my effort on it but it's not as big as the worries I have in my circle of social environment. Some certain people have disappointed me. To put it simply, I trusted them, but all I got in return was bitterness. I used to think I could spend my college years with them. Now it has gotten to rot and dust. I told my mom about it—for the first time I opened up about my social issues—and she told me something along like, "You should leave them. You don't deserve people like them." Before making assumption about this, let me deliver an interesting fact about my mom; she never told me something like that before no matter how bad the problem I'm facing off. She'd usually tell me that maybe it's my fault or it's not a thing that is necessary to be thought about. So, I could make a conclusion that this time is real shit. My mom finally understood and wanted what is best for me. Once, when I got home, my mom greeted me with a hug and told me she cooked my favourite food. I was a little bit bewildered because this kind of thing never exactly considered to happen before. "What is it, mom? It's rare to see you like this." "Ah, nothing. I just thought that you deserve the happiness you were supposed to get."

God damn it, I love my mom so much I regret of every moments I yelled at her! The next week, I got through unimaginable hellish. The only remedy I could pull into was remembering where my home is. If I could express my feelings these past few weeks, I am going to say that I feel upset. I feel disgusted of these people who broke my trust. My wicked side would swear that I wish they would drive off the road and break some of their bones. My fine side would swear that they experience karma. I'm not a good person everyone wish themselves to be. At least, I have tried to be honest. My favourite line from my mom's lecture would be, "Shrug them off. Focus on yourself, focus on your growth." A growth is not always be that beautiful greeny sunflower getting showered by cute sky blue colored watering pot. Sometimes, it starts with undesirable affliction and hazy distress. Then, you get through of that storm and the gray cloud starts to disappear and all you are able to ponder is, "I know the storm won't last forever, after all." It makes me to think. I turned my back away from Him for too long. Good things happens MOST of time. Then, I started to think that maybe it was okay to 'take a break' from Him. But then again, when I remember my mom's touch and how my family believes in Him, I just want to thank Him for keeping my family in faith. Sometimes, the only thing that keeps my family going is that they believe in Him. Belief. Faith. Trust.

I have experienced many trust-breaking moments in my life up until this old. I thought maybe this time I could thank and appreciate Him again. I'm not your stereotypical easy believer. I'm one of those hardest devotee who likes to question the universe than "just believe in Him." I may not be one of your rebel that goes repent for Him. Just like how I did it back in my years of believing devotedly, I have my own way to believe in Him.

And that is to thank Him for keeping my mom safe and alive. Thank you.

State of Heart

Nowadays, I have spent some of my nights staying up to 3 a.m. wondering how does it feel to be in love. All of my friends have made it like a walk in the park. Met somebody, talked to them for a few months, and framed it official by the time they felt comfortable with each other. It's not rocket science I understand. To be frank, I want to experience things that way. I have always wanted to be that way at least once in my life! My ability to handle a relationship is like a can of worms. It's unnecessarily complicated. I have to talk with someone, pull-and-push them, and completely denying the fact that I *want* them to stay in my life. I feel like I'm a forest of muse that a distinct single soul would consider to cast off the woods. Every time me and the other person are already getting to the 'comfortable' zone, I tend to blow my own chill wind to give them false signals. I feel like I'm the one who ruins the house of cards. I would have blamed my unhealthy ball and chain. Once, I decided to ask my friends the how-to book on running a relationship in a more acceptable way. I followed everything by rules. I divined the manual. I failed. I found my self heartbroken at the end of the day. In all of my honesty, I have met 3 to 5 people that have a potential to build a romantic relationship with. So now, can someone give me a clue, what the hell is wrong with me? Is it my fault? Is it.. is it not the time yet? I don't have a good grip on this matter. Let me be selfish and talk about what I want. I want to find someone, talk to them, and it's not just me who's talking. I want to find someone, stay with them, and it's not just me who's staying. I want to be paid attention at least once by someone whom I look up to. I want mutual sense of belonging. I want to know how does it feel to go walking around the mall just for the sake of holding hands. I want to know how does it feel, how mesmerizing it is, to look at someone's eyes and feel like home. The question I have always been asking is, am I not good enough? Do I don't deserve love? The whole time I'm typing this, the one reason that keeps me questioning and wanting all of this is, I feel like I'm not good enough to feel that way. I haven't pass the standard of experiencing things my friends—people have done. Though I know deep down I feel like I deserve to be loved.

The Ugly and Untold Story of A Woman's Irony

Bra straps are the new crime
Murder and violence are considered fine
There is no such thing as a stigma
It is only her fault, oh, her karma!

Of sacrality, of these people
The color red screams an oath
Of legality, of an example
The "appropriate" men-designed troth

Should she smile, she did not
And her only fear is the bigot
She would wear black on Sunday
As if they will not call her out anyway