I don't like being confronted about my feelings. I'm just so used to being a person who appears to be happy and twinkly on the surface and have nothing inside. I'm comfortable showing people that side. In fact, I don't mind forcing a smile on my face just to avoid being asked, 'are you okay?'

Yes, yes of course I am okay.

But what happens when they don't believe you? Ah, just painfully explain the situation, exposing the hurt that resides in the very crevices of your soul. To tell a truth is to realise the extent of the pain. It doesn't make things better. You go home feeling worse than ever. It is so much easier to cover the truth with a lie; to pretend everything is all right, smile like you're programmed to. That way you cannot live with the hurt all the time. For a moment there, there's something else, something other than the pain. It will come another time, like when you're curling up under your blanket dreaming of sad tales, forsaken dreams.

I have also realised that I have hardly any emotional friends. I mean, those I feel comfortable conveying my feelings. That way I cannot rant, or spill out feelings because I pretend I don't have any. It's a sad life, but I just can't. And here I am, telling you about my thoughts, letting you into my world. Maybe I can't deal with a pair of eyes looking at me, as I'm being ripped apart, naked in the bright sunlight. Like being interrogated. I just cannot handle it. Oh how it hurts to tell anyone how much you're hurting.

This is so like Faolan. This character from a book I am reading. Distant, aloof, but he's suffering inside. When they made him sing, he felt so much pain, started recalling so many memories he had tried so hard to cast away at the back of his head. And he wept.

It sort of made you realise how hard it is to make the big ball of hurt go away. You keep the memories, the wounds inside, until it builds up into this big ball of hurt that makes you so bitter and hard. When someone tries to mould it with their hands, give it so much warmth that it melts into this concoction- it's evil. So evil to make you feel things and dream again. You're made to face those hurt, happiness, rage, love.

That is why I never let anyone in. It's so much easier to run. I read what happened to Faolan. He began to love again, but it had hurt him so much. Did it make him different?

I just know that one day I will not live like this anymore. I know you cannot run all the time, because someone can always run faster, and is bound to catch you, and shake you out of the daze. Someone already caught me. And someone caught Faolan. But, it made him love her. To know that she doesn’t love him, but another man, is another sad tale. And this is the tale that my heart feels so heavy to tell.

How I wish I would save my soul
I’m so cold from fear.

Labels: depressing, dreams, sad