my friend - ramblings

[phantomatics]

YES THAT WILL ALSO BE COOL

[pari.]

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dear diary,

i watched him spiral into an abyss and i did not stop him. i should have, but i didn't. perhaps i was overrun with jealousy, and watching him suffer was a way to appease myself, or maybe i was afraid. afraid of contracting the same illness he had, as if depression were some kind of contagious, deadly disease. sure, i was young and naive, but that does not excuse me from watching him lose his way. he told me he was sad, told me that he couldn't stand himself and that sometimes, he wanted to leave it all behind, end his suffering. and what did i do? nothing. i patted his back, told him that that sucked, and carried on my way. three months later, his mother found him hanging from his ceiling fan and i, well, i blame myself.

movies and books always say that it's no one's fault, but i know differently. i know i was awful, i know that i was the reason. i remember him struggling through the three months and feeling amused from it. i wasn't the one undergoing the pain, and having lived in his shadows all my life, it felt like a breath of relief to know that he had pain. to me, it was a chance to take the spotlight, a moment to unleash my vanity and show that i was worth more. and yet, as i rose to claim my five minutes of fame, he was left behind; i left him behind. and i apologize. i know i am a coward.

i had the audacity to attend his funeral and kiss his casket. i kissed his casket and as they lowered it into the ground and he disappeared six feet below, i placed flowers from up above and ran my fingers along his tombstone. i had the audacity to tell him i loved him, in front of his family and my own, knowing that i didn't. not truly. not in the way he held my hands in his that one afternoon in autumn, his fingers trembling and eyes askance. and as he confessed his love to me, he pressed a fleeting kiss to my knuckles and brushed them against his cheeks. he begged me to love him back. promised me the world even though i knew he only had two dollars and a pack of gum in his pockets, promised to cherish me for the rest of our lives, but he was going and he's gone and how do you carry the word "our" when there's only "i" and "him"?

and now i feel the guilt. i feel it eat at me every single day, and somewhere in me, i know i loved him, even if i didn't at the time. even if i hated his guts and hated the way he made me feel, i know i loved him. but i was selfish and i ruined it. now, there are no butterflies in my stomach, no good morning kisses, no goodbye kisses, no late night phone calls, no sneaking around to hide from his mother. i watched as his eyes grew hollow, his frame grew thin, and his smiles grew sparse, and i told myself it was for the better. i lied to his mother when she asked if something was wrong, i told her he was fine, as if it were my place to speak for him. it wasn't.

and now, i'm sorry. sorry for losing the only person who mattered in my life, for treating him like shit and expecting him to still be around, most of all, i'm sorry that he met me. me, who he fell in love with and trusted, the one person who betrayed him the hardest. and i am sorry that i am a coward, for not being able to tell this to his grave, and instead, writing all this instead. i'm sorry.

[align=right]- beloved

[pari.]

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[spoiler=dark stuff]
21 july - log #1

being okay is a really hard thing to do.

summer is by far the hardest time to be okay cause i have so much time where i don't have to be okay. i can do what i want to do, and what i want to do is spiral and lay on my bedroom floor and stare at the ceiling. what i want to do is lay there and cry and cry and listen to sad music like james blunt cause i know that i'm not okay. and then sleep. i just want to sleep until oblivion. i want to sleep until the floor caves and i'm free falling into an empty abyss. but i know better. i know i can't do that all the time and i try to keep myself from spiraling.

i keep busy. really busy. i keep busy doing nothing. and this is where the hard part comes in. i try to do things that i'm supposed to love: i try to write, i try to read, i try to draw or paint, and it doesn't happen. i'll write half a paragraph and call it quits, or maybe read a page and then put it down, hell, i draw a circle and i'm already tired. motivation doesn't strike as easily and i tell myself that if i push through it, i'll be okay. and i know that i'm not okay, and i won't be okay, but at least i can pretend. so maybe i can't do something i love, i'll just do something monotonous. like work.

work is a good distraction, i suppose. work provides a different pain as opposed to depression and although i hate it, i hate depression more. work stops me from thinking, i can blank out. i can just sit and work and work some more and work until i drop dead and then maybe, after that, everything will be fine.

speaking of depression, since i hadn't dropped that word until now: i hate mentioning it or saying that i have it, as if it makes myself lesser. and i know it doesn't define me as a person, but i still wonder if it does sometimes. depression sucks. it makes me feel like shit, and makes me feel like i'm not good enough, and that no one would ever want me around if they could. it makes me feel like if i disappeared, everything would be okay and no one would notice and things would carry on. and they would. eventually.

but seeing as i'm a total hypocrite, i still think about my family when i think of leaving. i think of the devastation i will have caused. the waste of money i will be and how my parents will blame themselves, maybe. i'm stuck on whether or not they will actually care. i like to believe that they would, but i don't know. when i think of leaving, i think of them trying to figure out whether i would want to be cremated or buried because my mom doesn't know how to contact the people that can turn my dead body into the host of a tree sapling (which is definitely a thing, i know it is). i think of them and my grandma and my aunt at my funeral. but i think of the vietnamese word, not funeral. and i think that my grandma would be angry and sad. i wasn't supposed to leave before her. it's not fair.

i think of leaving my dogs and where they will end up sleeping. the two of them sleep with me, and if i leave, where will they stay? with my mom? but they can't sleep there without her dogs freaking out. and i feel bad. i feel bad because they wouldn't understand that they won't see me anymore. i also think of my friends. of whether or not they actually liked me. of whether or not i was a good friend or even a good person, cause i don't think i am. i think of writing letters to each one of them before i go. i think of apologizing. to everyone. 

but i suppose none of this really matters.
[/spoiler]

[Legends]

pari, you beautiful poet, you wrote such dark things so eloquently, and i relate to a lot of what you said. i promise you're not alone. you're such an amazing writer and person <3

[pari.]

thanks leggy, it means a lot when you say that cause it's easy to forget that we aren't alone and i hope you know that you're not too! and really though, thank you so much <3 <3

[woodsy]

pari,

you are so welcoming and friendly to everyone, you're like speckles of stardust and sunshine on freckles, whiskers on kittens if you will. honestly, there's probably no better song i can think of to describe you as perfectly as "my favorite things". you are so charismatic and charming, despite everything you go through, so perserving. you inspire me and your writing is just waiting to be published somwhere. every rose has its thorns but there is no rose sweeter than you. i know you probably don't believe any of this, but i hope that you'll remember it. it's okay to be depressed, it's normal, people try to make it sound like something crazy but it's one of the most normal things to feel down sometimes. thanks for being there for me. i'm always here to return the favor.

little things will make you happier, i promise, little things like tea, little things like watching your favorite movie. take the world 10 seconds at a time and eventually you'll find your peace on earth, better, happier, brighter people will enter your life. you'll work through any issues you have had, you'll let go of grudges, and in a few years you might even forget that you felt this way and feel thankful that you made it. you're making it every damn day, keep making it. struggles make us stronger, make us more confident and okay with ourselves. people who don't like you don't matter if you can love yourself. it's cliche but true. i got through it, you'll get through it, and you'll be so fucking happy that you did. bad days will come but bad days will go away soon enough, especially if ypu know what causes them for you and remove that from your life.

[pari.]

jesus crhist you're making me cry
in other words, i already cried and i'm trying to stop crying goD why would you do this to me??
but honestly, thank you so so so much, i honestly don't know what i'd do if i never met you, you're one of my closest friends and it means a lot that you're here for me (i'm always here for you if you need me too, don't forget) and just, yeah. i'd write more but i'm already on the verge of crying again so i'm not going to but just know that i love you so much.

[pari.]

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[spoiler=dark stuff]
16 august - log #2

i tell myself to breathe. take in one deep breath and relax. let out a breath and relax some more. i tell myself that i'm making a big deal of nothing. i tell myself to push it down and to push it away. push it down, push it down, push it down. "don't let it rear back up and terrorize you," i say in the mirror when i'm alone. and the only way i know how to push it away is to pretend it doesn't exist. ignore it with all i've got, use the strength and the force i've exerted in keeping it away to hide it in the deepest parts of me so i can act like it's not there.

i breathe in. i put pencil to paper in hopes of writing what i can, let the negative escape through the scratches of graphite on tree. i write beautifully so i can focus on the words and focus on my feelings. a strong reason as to why i ramble when i write. i let my mind flow so i can focus on something else. focus on my grip on my pencil, how the wood digs into my finger, i think of the pressure of the nib against the surface of lined notebook, i try to move on. but the more i write, the more i feel, the more i feel, the less i can refrain from spilling my feelings. spilling my feelings is like spilling an ink cartridge on a spotless surface. when i spill, i feel as if i ruined something.

i breath out. all of my walls are crumbling and the water seeps through the cracks. sometimes i can mend it, but sometimes the leak is too big for a one person job. sometimes it's hard to be alone and say that i'm okay with it. but i do. i say that i'm okay like how i say i'm miserable: often and repetitively. i know i'm a walking contradiction, but sometimes repairs fall to shambles and i don't know how to fix it. so i wait alone and i wait and i wait as if pretending my problems don't exist is better than dealing with them. i am not afraid of fighting my demons. i am not afraid of a couple little leaks against a big strong fortress, but what do i do when it's more than a couple cracks and super glue doesn't work?

i breathe in. i don't like to talk about my feelings. i despise my feelings. i despise showing honesty in myself. i hate saying that i'm overworked when i am, i hate saying that i don't like something when i really do and i suppose that makes me a liar. and i'm sorry. i don't mean to lie, i just want to be good. i want to available when i'm not, i want to go with the flow when i really don't want to. i'm afraid that no one will like me if i am not agreeable. as if it's my only redeeming trait. and maybe it is and maybe i'm right. i'm right, i'm right, i'm right. i am not afraid of ghosts or monsters or the dark, i'm afraid of losing the people i love, i'm afraid of losing love and comfort and care. so instead i sacrifice my opinions and my self-worth and my self-love for the love of others.

i breathe out. i'm at war with a body that complies to my mind's every whim and desire. a mind that i possess and that i control and that i abuse because i don't know any better. and my heart tells me it's wrong. but my heart doesn't work the way my mind does. i don't follow my heart, i follow a misguided brain in the hands of an attention hungry teenager.

i breathe in and i relax. i breathe out and i tense up. and the cycle repeats.
[/spoiler]

[Legends]

pari, you lovely poet, i love your writing and it's beautiful and relatable and makes me feel like i'm not alone. i hate knowing you feel like this but i also feel comforted that i'm not alone. i know what you're going through, at least, i do to as much of an extent that one can who is behind a screen. things will get better, i cannot promise you when or how but i know it will. you deserve the world and all the hugs and love, and one day you will be able to breathe.