Abyss

I am officially at the edge again. I had fallen into the pit, spiralling down. I had landed at the bottom, and have now started to sink further into it. Life is terrible when all you have left is the memory of what you used to be, the knowledge from past experiences, but absolutely nothing to mark you in the present. You think that you ought to be sad... so you cry. You think that a decision seems biased... so you get angry with self-righteousness. You see everyone laughing, eyes sparkling... so you assume its a happy time and you smile. So what differentiates you from a a machine? What is there to say that you still exist, if everything which you do is nothing more than a decision based on deep thinking and consideration and research and acute observation ?! What happened to the impulse of mankind? What happened to me...

I want to make a disclaimer at this point in time. I will behave as if no one had ever read anything beyond this paragraph. I strongly urge those who aren't resilient, confident, mature, aware, understanding and forgiving enough not to read any further. The contents are not by the fangirl of Atobe and Kazuki. They are by what remains of a person once known as me . They are the remnants of something which should not be aired in public, but is aired anyway because those who are resilient, confident, mature, aware, understanding and forgiving enough need to know. They will read, because they should know, and they knowing will open, not close the door between us. They will read, because they had felt the same way before. I will not apologise for any repurcussions of making this public, because they need to know. They need to know because thay are my friends.




Sometimes, I really hate my secondary school friends. ALL OF THEM. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM. NO EXCEPTIONS. EVEN THOSE READING THIS POST. Pure, unadulterated, unrestrained, unleashed HATRED. Why? Simple. They didn't save me. Aren't friends suppose to help you in times of need? Together through trials and tribulations? Well, mine abandoned me. For two months, it just so happened that I was falling, crying for help, struggling at the time they left. I did everything I could think of to get them to help me. They didn't come. I felt so alone, so lost, wishing, hoping, believing in them, until the very end. They never appeared. And one day, I woke up from the pain, no longer the same person, as if I was no longer in this skin. It was like my body had taken all the punishment it could take, and some switch had been thrown to stop all my nerves, to protect me while parts of me went burning down to Hell. Yes. Say that I'm exaggerating, say that I'm a Literature student practising hyperbole. Whatever. The fact is this. No one extended a hand in my time of need. No one could be bothered to salvage an old doll when there were new toys to play with. Oh yeah, the new toys were not as fun as the old rag doll, and they came back to play in the end, but the dolly had tasted rejection, had been trodden and damaged. Of course you can sew it back together, you can even hide the stiches behind the mega-watt smile, but can you bury the past so deep it can't come back to play games with you when you slumber? I didn't think so darling, I didn't think so.