getting it all out!
I dont talk much. i dont talk about my feelings. no one knows what i feel most of the time.
i smiled. i shed tears. i laughed.
but my face doesnt show what really is happening inside me.
i have a bestfriend. i have someone to talk to. my mum is the one that i share most things. happy things. great news. wonderful events. no sorrow. no frustration. no dissapointment. no sadness. no negative feelings.
i found myself unable to talk to people about things that upsets me. i cant bring myself to share my unpleasantness with others. not even my mum. i wonder why... its torturing not able to let it all out. its a burden.
that is why, i write. when i'm angry. i write. when i'm frustrated. i write. when i'm sad, devastated. i write. when i feel like being left out, outcast. i write. when i feel like i couldnt hold it anymore. i write. i write.
i have a black book. yeah. black. i write things in there. but sometimes, once i finish writing about my feelings, unwanted feelings and thoughts, fear come to mind. fear of somebody finding the book and reads everything that i wrote. my feelings are very private to me. they're my weakness. i dont like people knowing my weakness. i cant bear imagining others reading, knowing my feelings, my weakness.
with that fear locked in my mind, i would secure the book with my life. i hid it. somewhere i hope nobody will find. but another voice whispers in my head, 'what if i die? what if someone, my mum perhaps, come to my room, suddenly found the book. mothers always found things that their children wish they wouldnt find. mysterious mothers are sometimes. what if she found it?'..
my mind would constantly be bombarded with these questions, these 'what ifs'.
in the end, i would always end up doing one thing that would shut the voices up. i took out the hidden book. open the recently written page. i would tear the pages to small pieces and throw it away. far away from my mum. far away from my life. then. then. calm is my friend again.
this struggle repeats itself. from time to time. i dont know why i couldnt bring myself to let others know my anger, frustration, dissappointments... they're my weakness and i just couldnt bear people to see me weak. i cant and wouldnt let anyone see me weak. i cant. just that.
i smiled. i shed tears. i laughed.
but my face doesnt show what really is happening inside me.
i have a bestfriend. i have someone to talk to. my mum is the one that i share most things. happy things. great news. wonderful events. no sorrow. no frustration. no dissapointment. no sadness. no negative feelings.
i found myself unable to talk to people about things that upsets me. i cant bring myself to share my unpleasantness with others. not even my mum. i wonder why... its torturing not able to let it all out. its a burden.
that is why, i write. when i'm angry. i write. when i'm frustrated. i write. when i'm sad, devastated. i write. when i feel like being left out, outcast. i write. when i feel like i couldnt hold it anymore. i write. i write.
i have a black book. yeah. black. i write things in there. but sometimes, once i finish writing about my feelings, unwanted feelings and thoughts, fear come to mind. fear of somebody finding the book and reads everything that i wrote. my feelings are very private to me. they're my weakness. i dont like people knowing my weakness. i cant bear imagining others reading, knowing my feelings, my weakness.
with that fear locked in my mind, i would secure the book with my life. i hid it. somewhere i hope nobody will find. but another voice whispers in my head, 'what if i die? what if someone, my mum perhaps, come to my room, suddenly found the book. mothers always found things that their children wish they wouldnt find. mysterious mothers are sometimes. what if she found it?'..
my mind would constantly be bombarded with these questions, these 'what ifs'.
in the end, i would always end up doing one thing that would shut the voices up. i took out the hidden book. open the recently written page. i would tear the pages to small pieces and throw it away. far away from my mum. far away from my life. then. then. calm is my friend again.
this struggle repeats itself. from time to time. i dont know why i couldnt bring myself to let others know my anger, frustration, dissappointments... they're my weakness and i just couldnt bear people to see me weak. i cant and wouldnt let anyone see me weak. i cant. just that.
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