Glorified Version of A Stranger

I dreamt about her again. ~_~ It really sucks to wake up feeling worked up and queasy because of some dream that you’re trying hard not to dream of. I just can’t find it in me to be forgiving after all that happened.

Funny, she sent me a text message saying that she was sorry and that she knew that I would someday be able to forgive her. Good news! That someday maybe EONS away. ^_^

I still glad that friends are here. Support comes in truckloads so whenever I feel crappy, Botchai, Pot, or whoever else is near me manages to make me smile. I admit, there are times (especially at home-alone) when loneliness overcomes me. Most of the time, my cellphone would go oink-oink, and I would be surprised that someone’s trying to cheer me up. When it comes to times when there’s no one else, I just take a quick trip to a convenience store, get myself a six-pack, and get wasted. Of course it isn’t enough to get me drunk, but at least I feel good about myself, being with myself.

Vanet always cheers me up. Ummm… either she cheers me up, or she reminds me of the things I neglect to do at work. Dianne’s always there. She notices when I’m gloomy. After that, it’s a trip to the 8th floor. Pot’s always busy, but notices my little quirks and mood swings and lets me be. Sheryl’s always busy too, but manages to make-epal when she has the time. Finally, there are the agents, the people who roam the floor, the people who are in a state of suspended happiness. These are the people who inspire me. Whenever I see them, I am reminded of where I was before I got here. I took in calls too. I knew what it felt like to be idle, to be pulled out. It was utter bliss!

But then again, after all the inspiration, after all the laughter and fun, after all the booze and jokes and the singing, I am left with myself again, to take the silent trip home, to open the door and see our clutter welcoming me back. I think this explains my alcoholism. When I’m wasted, I feel numb. All the frustration, the pain, and the bitterness goes away. What’s left is the savory feeling of numbness, the feeling of bliss, the world of surrealism.

And what of my tattoos? Pretty, yes. Astig, yes. Painful, definitely. Why? I think I welcome the feeling of pain. I welcome the numbness I feel after 2 hours of being pricked by needles. It’s like my life re-lived in a couple of hours. First the initial pain, next, the numbness, next the torture, lastly, the beauty of the design. When I see my Shiva, I smile. I smile because someday, I know that I will be able to smile again - genuinely. Someday I will learn to take away my cynicism. Someday I will again wake up to a beautiful day, having dreamt splendid dreams. Someday, I will hear my heart beat again.

But for now, my heart pumps dark liquid, black as ink. For now, I am a cynic. For now, I wake up and feel tight as a knot. For now, I live the dark, vengeful person. The same dark and vengeful person that I am scared of. Love me. Hate me. Feel my pain.

Rawr~

Tags:

Popularity: 4%

Add and Bookmark this article!

This work, unless otherwise expressly stated, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.