This all feels too foreign to me now, this site, this keyboard, the sound of me typing—I had told myself somewhere between the last two years to just start writing true—to stop leaving behind details or scratching the surface clean. But alas, this girl, as she always do, have been defeated by fear and crumpled with anxiety that she hasn't written anything genuine or even remotely constructive for the last year but rather just a number of unfinished attempts to nurse a broken heart. Here's another one of those. See, i'm getting there.
* * *
So where do i start? The last year has been crazy, intense, wonderful, beautiful, sad, all kinds of adjectives, good and bad. I read somewhere that people are able to write the truest when they are sad—i guess I'm not one of those people. When i found myself crippled to an almost death with self-loath, I tried to put my feelings into words but my hand remained in pause and my mind caught up in jumble of lousy words—perhaps in a sly state of declination. I have so many drafts in this blog that i couldn't publish because i was scared. And so that started my long relationship with unwritten words.
You see, even if I knew I wasn't okay, I didn't want to be a burden. I was mum about it, because i thought the more people know, the more it has to be true, and i was still in a place of complete denial then. But if there's one thing more constant in this world, that's curiosity, right? No matter how much I want to hide it (and I think i did so well with that), the cut turned out to be deeper than I realized...
...I needed to be honest with myself, I was heart broken.
