Dull. I am this close to shutting myself from everything I knew. So I try to keep myself sane through drowning myself in work, reading, going here and there, and most of all, writing here AGAIN. I had been working on my diaries for five years, but this has been replaced with my interest of pouring online, where strangers can read my intoxicated thoughts.
I'd like to believe that there's nothing much happening to me lately, despite the truth that I kept obscure even to myself, that there are actually pressures right now under my nose--my impending resignation, my agony of waiting for the thing I have been long hoping for, my complete lack of foresight, the thrice as much loadwork I put on myself, the constancy of my choice to be alone, my complete state of lethargy and the pool of undetermined and unresolved feelings that seem to be gradually and incessantly devours what's left of my heart, which has never healed since.
I tried to redeem myself going as far as changing myself, and trying my best not to be the better person. And when I started doing things I really don't do, and be people who are not really me, thinking that by doing and being so will make me a whole different person so that I'd never have to hurt again and no one can ever damage me again. But right there and then-it snapped right back at me, hard. "What am I doing burning myself?". I just realized that I became what hate wanted me to be. I stopped breathing my usual dose of enthusiasm and started gorging on pills of insensibility and indifference with people, with myself. One thing's for sure though-that I am a complete emotional wreck inside.
The next thing I know, I am in a complete state of disinterestedness. Withering, overworked and underfed. Sometimes I would go force myself to go out like the usual but I end up at my cave, hibernating in the scorching weather and writing about these things that people would think nonsense and never really understand; maybe HE can, he would largely comprehend how my impaired feelings have made my sentences overrun like these. How mutely broken I am and how I have never honestly forgiven. But of course this don't stand a chance. No matter how long my tale of pain and obscurities goes on and on, it will never be heard or at least read. Because long ago, doors were shut. From then on, I still found myself on that same spot. To my dismay, I have never let go.
Dull. I am this close to shutting myself from everything I knew. So I try to keep myself sane through drowning myself in work, reading, going here and there, and most of all, writing here AGAIN. I had been working on my diaries for five years, but this has been replaced with my interest of pouring online, where strangers can read my intoxicated thoughts.
I'd like to believe that there's nothing much happening to me lately, despite the truth that I kept obscure even to myself, that there are actually pressures right now under my nose--my impending resignation, my agony of waiting for the thing I have been long hoping for, my complete lack of foresight, the thrice as much loadwork I put on myself, the constancy of my choice to be alone, my complete state of lethargy and the pool of undetermined and unresolved feelings that seem to be gradually and incessantly devours what's left of my heart, which has never healed since.
I tried to redeem myself going as far as changing myself, and trying my best not to be the better person. And when I started doing things I really don't do, and be people who are not really me, thinking that by doing and being so will make me a whole different person so that I'd never have to hurt again and no one can ever damage me again. But right there and then-it snapped right back at me, hard. "What am I doing burning myself?". I just realized that I became what hate wanted me to be. I stopped breathing my usual dose of enthusiasm and started gorging on pills of insensibility and indifference with people, with myself. One thing's for sure though-that I am a complete emotional wreck inside.
The next thing I know, I am in a complete state of disinterestedness. Withering, overworked and underfed. Sometimes I would go force myself to go out like the usual but I end up at my cave, hibernating in the scorching weather and writing about these things that people would think nonsense and never really understand; maybe HE can, he would largely comprehend how my impaired feelings have made my sentences overrun like these. How mutely broken I am and how I have never honestly forgiven. But of course this don't stand a chance. No matter how long my tale of pain and obscurities goes on and on, it will never be heard or at least read. Because long ago, doors were shut. From then on, I still found myself on that same spot. To my dismay, I have never let go.
I'm Gixx. I started this blog two years ago when I tried to go about my insanity through documenting my musings in the night. I am now 21, graduate, again studying in law school, and I am still floating and fleeting from my existence and unconventional personality and way of living.
I maintain at least five websites but this is where I write about anything random. I read a lot of books. I love travel and I'm a sucker for zeal and wisdom.
I like to take risks. And that's where I learn. Then I write.
This blog space is owned, managed and updated by MARIA GICEL T CAMBRI. Unless with prior permission, no portion of the contents may be directly or indirectly copied, published, reproduced, modified, displayed, sold, transmitted, published or redistributed in any medium. I mean it.
Encodegixx@2010
