Journal entry #18

This is a small portion of a 4-month journal i wrote in 3 days which involved a chaotic war with sleep. (Casualties totaled to an ocean of coffee and the murder of a fraction of my sanity):

i have come across this post in facebook that goes:

“What is the saddest word in English?”



I was almost good enough for her. She was almost inlove with me. We almost made it

Its a sad word, i admit. It means being so close to something, but never being good enough to actually reach it.

But still, im glad this word existed.


I ALMOST died killed myself.
I ALMOST gave up.

Don’t kill yourself

I know, you think dying is easy and living is hard. 

You think everyone won’t even care. 

And if you go missing…

No one would probably look for you…or stay up all night trying to find you. 

But let me tell you what happens after you die. 

Those people that bullied you or hated you or hurt you–theyre gonna put on the best masks to show everyone how sorry they are for all the words they said and all the stuff they did. Bullshit, right?

But for those people who loved you, it’s never gonna be the same for them. Your mother, sisters, friends, boyfriend, girlfriend, teachers… they’re never gonna leave the daydream of saving you. Everyday, theyre gonna look back to the night you died and think about how if they were a better person, they couldve probably saved you. Theyre gonna endure everyone’s questions about why you died or how you died. (as if they care)

I had a friend who cried in front of me and told me he’s always thinking about suicide. 

I couldnt lie and tell him that life’s good. I couldn’t even talk. But I couldn’t leave him. I had to be a friend.

So to all of you who wants to do it, please don’t.  

Live for you dreams. Live for love. Live for the memories. Live for friends. 

Don’t kill yourself.

A story to break the heart

They said our mind operates in two ways when it comes to situations, its either we fight or take flight. But she couldnt choose.
The whole world seem to explode so slowly for dear Anabeth.
The moon played hide and seek with the clouds and the owls hooted the symphonies that haunted the living.
Nothing unusual really.
Nothing except for an empty bottle of tequila and a vial of undrunk poison on the bedside table.
So begins the game of life and death on the very bed where Anabeth lies awake- cold and shattered and breathing.
The mechanics were simple. Drink the poison and death wins. Or sleep for the night and life wins a little. But either way Anabeth loses.
As death gambles for life, Anabeth stares at the ceiling and the ceiling stares back. Slowly the ticking clock releases tension, creating this nostalgia of yesterday. It all came back to Anabeth…
The way she wore odd glasses to school every single day. Everyone made fun of her because they didnt know that those funny pair of glasses belonged to her mother- Anabeth’s mother: once filled with so much glee, radiating almost from every strand of her brown silky hair and eyes as blue as the Caribbean that drowns the beauty of flying and her skin…oh her skin like honey-through sunlight. Simply beautiful, now buried in the depths of rotting darkness.
Anabeth was only 5 when she saw the petrified body of her mother being lowered down to be forever buried.
No one knew this. No one knew why Anabeth cried by the lemon tree when they were joking with her glasses and broke it by accident.

Anabeth never knew her father, and up until now she wonders if such a man even deserves to be called a father.. She lives with her aunt Lysa and comes home to his drunk and wasted uncle George who slept with a different woman every night. But Aunt Lysa loved him anyway.

And by chance, Anabeth thought maybe forgiveness was the answer. And maybe if she could just summon every fiber of her body to walk up to her father’s door, she would be a little happier. So she did try. Knocked once, twice….

And to her surprise, the door opened… with such slowness that it rose the suspense through the roof.
“Hello?” says the man who left her 16 years ago…the man who promised his life to her dead mother. The man who couldve saved her but didnt. The man that in every way was also her.
He was many things to Anabeth but when the sun set on that day…all he was then, was was now the man who closed the door.
It hurt like hell.

So what’s left to fight for?
Live for love?
…when all she ever knew was rejection and pain?
Live for family?
….when she doesnt even have a real one?
Live for friends?
….you mean the ones who laughed at her and bullied her?
Live for herself?
…She was empty. Every beat of the heart and every breath of the lungswas a twisting dagger to her soul.
She had nothing.
She was broken…in every way a person can be broken. And nothing can ever fill the open fractures life has done to Anabeth. She ran out of fight. And flight was nowhere. There was no escape. So it happened.
It’s 5:58 a.m. and the winner is…

I saw myself die.

It’s strange how she takes each step with such hesitation. Why does she hide in her perfectly long hair? I mean, she’s beautiful. She’s smart. She’s everything. What’s wrong?

I watch her body lay crumpled in a pitiful state. Everything she lived for- gone in the wind. Everything her skin touched- now mourns in misery. I don’t blame her. School was driving her crazy.

Be perfect. Be smarter. Be prettier. Be thinner. Be wiser. Be stronger. Be faster. Be perfect..smarter..prettier..thinner..wiser..stronger..faster.. perfect. You’re not enough. Study more! You’re not fitting in. Diet more! You’re not perfect enough! 

It went on and on and on until finally she broke. And up on the edge of the building, she felt she could conquer everything. She spread out her arms..took one last breath..and smiled. Then fell. Still with the words ringing in her head. 

Blood! Dead girl! Call an ambulance! 

Her heart stopped. 

Poor her. Now I I leave as her blood drains. I cried inside and looked away.

I could not watch my own body-still not perfect.