Posts tagged "confessions"

Lack of causality

I have little clue as to how I can adequately explain how it feels to be detached from reality.
It isn’t quite like dreaming, where the absurdity of it all and total lack of causality is what makes them so confusing; but then again, you only notice the absurdity of your dreams when you wake up. While you’re dreaming, everything, however strange, makes perfect sense. Regardless, detachment from reality doesn’t quite feel like that. It isn’t quite like what a ghost must experience either, as people are directly aware of your presence whether they acknowledge it or not. Isn’t quite like feeling like an extraterrestrial inhabiting a human’s body, as confusing as it must/would be, knowing the names of all earthly objects as well as their intended purpose, but wondering why it is designed a certain way. It feels, perhaps, as much of a stretch as it is theoretically, like your consciousness exists in a fourth spatial dimension while your body resides in the third, with time being the fourth temporal dimension… but not quite. The sensation is, as best as I could explain it, like smoking at dawn, when the sun is just high enough on the horizon so it illuminates the skies but not enough that you can see its round, golden form. Smoking at dawn on an empty stomach and running on three hours of sleep in a restricted area no one is allowed in. That’s how it feels. Disorienting, uncomfortable, in an unpleasant daze, with that lurking feeling of not belonging, of imposing. Like you aren’t meant to be there, but it is impossible to leave. Then you begin to wonder if people notice you look through them instead of at them, or if they hear the hollowness of your voice, as if someone else is speaking for you, unseen to others. And you forget, at times, of the concept of consequences, and have to remind yourself that cars will not pass through you at high speed but would crush every bone in your body like stepping on broken glass. 

What scares me the most about feeling this way is how one day I may just lose touch entirely. 


Today was a great day. There just isn’t a poetic way for me to put it. My morning was automatically made when I woke up to FC Bayern Munich’s victory against Manchester United in the 2nd leg of the UCL quarter finals. The previous night was such a dream come true for me as the twitter page of Bayern FINALLY retweeted me after years of me vying for their attention.

I’ve been interning at a broadcasting station and I’ve loved every single moment of it since my first day. I’ll be sad to leave for another news station after my 150 hours at this one is up. I was able to converse with one of the news anchors where I intern who I’ve admired since I started watching her program at this channel. 5 minutes into the conversation, she paused for a moment and told me I should apply for an anchor position after I graduate because, at least in her opinion, I had all the qualities that makes for a good news anchor. I was thrilled, as she said this in front of one of my professors who was visiting the offices today, as well as my two classmates; and because I was so flattered that such a gorgeous, intelligent woman saw potential in me to join her rank as a news anchor. She was so encouraging, kind and gracious with her advice and her compliments and I look up to her even more now. It boosted my self-esteem and got me really thinking about my plans for the future and where I want my life to lead. I will take her advice and apply after I graduate and in the event that I am accepted, undergo training to be an anchor. 

Once I got home, my mother informed me that a letter addressed to me had arrived. Lo and behold, it was snail mail from my boyfriend, written in his incredibly stereotypical male handwriting and his expressive and raw use of words. My hesitance to admit my feelings for him ebbs away every day. 

I told my mother about what Ms. _____ had told me and she ceremoniously criticized me instead of being happy for me. It reminded me of what Ms. _______ and I talked about earlier that day where I quoted Eleanor Roosevelt when we discussed the occasional cruelty in the world of media. “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” I took that quote to heart and zoned her out, refusing to allow her to ruin my blissful day with her negativity. 

This was so badly written but I’m exhausted, overwhelmed and in dire need to rest, I just wanted to write this so I’d have something to keep me going on days where I don’t feel my best. 


Thoughts of you pervade my mind at ungodly hours when the silence is deafening and the darkness is absolute. I think of you as I stare at the veins on the backs of strangers’ hands as I sit on the subway, tracing the blue and green strings criss-crossing each other under a film of flesh. I think of you during the pauses between conscious thought when I zone out at work with my chin propped on the palms of my hands and my eyes glazed over. I think of your laugh, the feel of your caramel-colored hair through my fingers, the intensity of your urgent kiss and the strength of your arms as you pull me close. A sensation, deep inside me, blossoms and spreads like an electric shock throughout my body with every memory of your touch. And with every moment I catch myself unconsciously whispering your name, I realize that I’m slipping, regardless of how hard I try to keep my balance, and falling in love with you.

An update on my life for strangers who vaguely care; and also to my future self

I submitted my last homework assignment for the term yesterday. It was a documentary script for my Writing for News and Public Affairs class, and when I hit that “sent” button I felt the figurative weight on my shoulders lift. I’ll be a college senior in a few months. If all goes well and I don’t fuck up too much, I’ll be graduating around this time next year.

Another thing I did yesterday, attend intern orientation for the #1 News and Public Affairs network in my country. I actually didn’t even apply, they requested me. I’m also not only interning for them, but another rather new but blossoming news network which I am thrilled for because all the news anchors are women I admire endlessly.

I am working on a thesis with Kyla, my thesis partner, on sex trafficking of women. After the topic proposal defense, our Communication Research professor gave us the good news that our first choice of thesis advisor accepted us, which was a rather big deal considering many other groups wanted her and she was only taking on one. We still have a long way to go, but this is something I am genuinely interested in and am willing to endure the stress for.

My boyfriend and I haven’t been able to spend as much time together considering I’ve been ridiculously busy. But we make it work despite everything that seems intent on accomplishing the opposite. I may just be falling in love with him. 

I spent my birthday getting shit-face high with my friends, swimming, watching movies, doing normal girl stuff. I love all my friends.

I self harmed for the first time in years a few days ago. It was the only thing that got my to stop crying. It left multiple bruises, the most prominent one being a heart shaped one on my thigh. I don’t regret it. I just have more battle scars. (No, I do not encourage or glamorize self harm, I just find it necessary for myself sometimes). 

I am typing this while in bed, too sick to even get out and make myself some dinner. I’ve been sick for about a month and a half from constant stress, sleep deprivation, and my stubborn refusal to quit smoking. 

I’m still unhappy, I’m still negative and cynical, but my life is going somewhere. I’m going somewhere. And one day, maybe, I’ll be completely happy with the life I made for myself. 

I’m hopeful, but still young with a ways to go.


“I’d kiss you until you don’t taste like them, and keep kissing you because I’d like the taste of you.”
—when I told him my lips taste like apples

I find it funny when I have friends who fan girl on guys and I’m sitting here laughing to myself thinking “omg I made out with that guy”

I introduced him to my mother today.

It went so well, she might like him more than I do. 

While I’m on the topic of death- I broached the subject with him,and at this point I’m fairly certain he’s sick of me talking about it so casually. I told him I never planned on dying at a ripe old age. Live fast, die young, as the cliche goes. I told him I’d probably live through my 20’s, and who knows? He promptly responded he might be able to convince me to extend that a little longer, to which I replied fine then, my 30’s, asking him how long he wanted me to live anyway. Then came the, 

"I don’t know. The world would be a darker place without you, though."

and me saying,

"Oh, believe me, I’m not exactly the light of the world."

and lastly, 

"You might be to some people."

And I felt tears stream down my face at that because he is so, so wrong. 

Half-empty pillbox

I don’t know why it is that I’m unafraid of death. I think all of us are, usually. Our brains have to constantly be in denial that you could die by walking down the street. Or eating. Or by falling asleep. If not, we would forever be in a panic just thinking of all the ways we could die the moment we wake up.

All that aside, I’m not afraid to die. Maybe because I just don’t care anymore, and that life has lost its meaning to me. It’s odd, how sometimes, other people value our lives more than we value ours. It is, after all, other people who come to your rescue and hug you and wipe your tears when you tell them you want to take your own life. Perhaps because they see the beauty in you that you never will. 

Every day I test my luck, flirt with death. Little things like cross the street when five lanes of cars are going at full speed. Little things like walking too close to the edge of a roof when its windy. Little things like maybe taking more pills than I should. 

Because when someone has to push you out of the way of an oncoming car, or yell at you to step back from the ledge, or question why the pillbox is almost empty, grabbing you back into reality while you’re on the cusp of dying, the adrenaline coursing through your veins reminds you that you are, in fact, alive. 

Flirting with death is the best kind of flirting, and every time you do you can’t help but wonder if it would be your last time.

That is what makes him the same as the others but yet so different. Because my feelings for him come and go. The ebb and flow of my emotions are constant, I doubt him, then I don’t. I want him, so bad, so desperately, then the longing fades into apathy. But what makes him different from the rest? My feelings for him come and go like waves meeting the shoreline. They never stop coming back. 

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