Holes

It feels like this~

So this is how it feels like having a void in your chest. I never knew I could feel so…restless — lifeless — as this. It literally feels like having a big hole and you just can’t feel anything. It feels so dark in here, like someone has taken all the life and light in you that you feel nothing now. Nothing.

I would wake up, stare blankly into nothingness and think about what other things will I do today aside from constantly turning the television off because everything doesn’t interest me, frequently taking a pee from drinking too much water because my appetite doesn’t seem to function right as well, lying in bed all day and eventually doze off while hugging this little inanimate thing in red.

I feel empty.

You know it’s getting worse when you spend your afternoons, looking outside the window and literally think about nothing, that you’re too tired playing numb and dumb that you’d choose to sleep it off instead. To waste time. To not feel too much that the world seems passing by you too slowly. That you’d wake up at sun down, wasting a good couple of hours, realizing you did yourself a favor instead for not thinking about it.

I still laugh, though. But it was more countable and controllable now. Before I feel like laughing even at small things, I was that shallow. People tease me for being too shallow. Well I guess I was too damn happy and free then. It’s totally different these past few days. It’s like I care less what the world thinks is funny. If I don’t find it funny then maybe because I find it stupid and shallow. And I’m not shallow anymore.

I still cry, too.

The first days were the hardest. I’d lock myself up in my room the whole day, thinking, stressing over what I’ve done and what happened, hopeless that nothing — no one — will come back for me. Can I do this? I can’t — over and over again. I couldn’t help but revisit my memories of him, of us, of me and I it would hit me hard like a hammer in the chest, sending out pain through my system, and then I’d cry. Cry until my eyes sore, my nose drips, until my hands start to tremble, until I can no longer breathe. Then I would sleep again. It felt close to dying. It was terrible. Couple of days I acted like that. Couple of days I was in pain. I still am, however. But now’s a little different than the past ones. I would watch the television or scroll through my networking sites’ feed and I would randomly tear up because I’d come across something that would remind me it actually still hurts. I could still feel it inside me and it’s continuously tearing my soul apart. I don’t tremble anymore. The tears are silent, the sobs less louder, the pain’s starting to create craters after craters.

I guess it’s just the way it is — getting used to breaking. It’s like slicing yourself with a cutter. The first cut is the deepest. And then you cut yourself one more time, it doubles the pain. Until it happens over and over, you cut yourself on the same place with too many times and it just feels nothing anymore. It hurts, yes, but you’re starting to feel less because you’ve adapted.

My mom called me in this afternoon, asking me how I was doing. The storm just hit the area. It was dark, the wind rattles the windows and the rain’s pouring hard. I was alone in the house. No one to talk to, nothing to do (nothing worthwhile doing), nowhere to go. I felt stuck, with my emptiness and the fact that I’m a fucking bum going through a fucking heartbreak.

“Okay ka naman dyan, anak?” she said.

“Yes, ma. Okay lang po ako.” I’m not.

I tasted bitterness on my lips.

“Wala namang problema dyan sa bahay?”

Wala naman po, ma.” I’m the problem, ma. There’s nothing in the house as broken and in need of help as me.

Osige. Basta tumawag ka lang kapag may problema dyan. Tatawag-tawagan din kita para kamustahin kayo. I love you.”

I love you po. Bye.” I started to cry.

*Ako yung may problema, ma. Hindi ko na alam gagawin ko. Gusto kong mamatay, gusto kong mabuhay. Gusto ko na makaalis sa posisyong ganito. Kasi ang hirap na. Hindi ko na alam paano na yung gagawin ko para makalimot. Wala na akong ideya. Paano ba ‘to? Ako yung sira, ma. Wala sa bahay. Ako yung hindi nagana. Ako, ma.*

I wanted to talk to my mom so bad. I wanted her to know I am going through such a catastrophic downfall, and I wanted her to hug me and tell me “It’s for the better, it’s going to be alright.” But she’s happy right now and I don’t want to spoil it since she just got herself into some serious reconstruction of heart too — such a long time it had been. And somehow, I sort of want to keep it all to myself. I don’t want to bug any other else with my own drama, everyone has their own problems. I don’t want to add up.

This is me now. Scars. Lifeless. Incapable. Blue. Nothing. I may probably not be restored to who I was before — sunshine and neon-colored. But I guess, within the process of my own reconstruction, I know what materials to use for better and stronger concrete. I’d make new light, new flame, one that I’ll protect from winds and rains.

But for now, the hole’s still growing and I can’t control it.

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