look at me now.

Tuesday, 22 December 2015

lights off.

When the low starts to sink, mind's blank,
despite the emotions no longer in your control.

Guess your mum's right, that you're never the opposite of sad,
but you already know that. You have always known that.

You try and try. Each night's the same again.
Everything's clear when you get through, you make yourself believe.

Deeper than suicidal thoughts and the sadness you have no reasons to,
it's nothing. It's nothing. It's never anything.

Just like you.

I get it that nobody does.
I get why things come to pass.
I get that I'll never be who I was.
That I'll never be how I want.


Tuesday, 15 December 2015

september's email.

"I am thinking of and do worry about you"
1 hour's never enough.

Wouldn't know where to start or what to say when I've left out so much of what I wanted to tell. So much has happened but looking at it it's as if nothing had, maybe it was all in my head. Perhaps the feelings I feel inside and emotions I had made it seemed as if so much was going on. Maybe so much had, maybe half of me is in denial. Always am. Somehow thinking of everything makes me feel annoying. It's irritating to believe anything that happened meant something when it feels like you mean nothing. As if by bothering, sinking into these thoughts and all these disappointment or devastations and heartache caused by people is rather selfish, it's no one's fault. I put myself in such a situation, screwing up everything I lay a hand on.

I'm sick, sad and an inconvenience. Should have stayed heartless. Not that it was easy, not that it hurt any less but it was vital, to not make myself believe I have an importance to anyone, to any life. Putting everyone above me and blocking out my feelings, caring to a certain point only and all the rational thinking, made it much bearable. Though it could only last for so long. Shouldn't have been so brave. Everything you've kept inside for years eventually surfaces to punch you right in the throat. You can't hide what's real, whatever that makes you human. This depression has always been all on me. Every deranged thought is my own. Everything bad has been from my rotten excuse for a soul.

Is it that state of mind, before you let go of who you became, what used to be so close to who you were, to become as cold as you wished you weren't but would be in order to get through? It'll be those weeks or months where you stare into space, watch and hear but not listen or comprehend your surroundings. You're alright, fine one second or a few hours- now holding in the urge to cry, wishing you'd die each night, every morning when no one's there, every afternoon/evening before they come home- and then they come home. You're you again, or part of what you kept, for them. You can never shed a tear. No matter how desperate you get with the urge to tell, you can't. You never have.

It's always been just "I feel sad" "I'm sad", like a broken record "why?", you stay silent. It never seems serious enough to be worried about, it never gets any easier to explain. Not that you don't know what's going on in your head, what's it all about inside, it's them. They wouldn't. You know how general it sounds because talking about suicide is unacceptable. You've mentioned it before, you learned never to again. Not everyone knows what it's like to be in this state of mind, you're just 'sad'. It's not always them, sometimes barely or never, it's just your mind's a bit unwell but they don't want to know that, they don't try to understand and you can't blame them. It's difficult to be with someone having them believe they make you this way when you have never been another way even before they came. It doesn't make it any easier to try so hard and still get put aside, and on the days where you fail to, as if you don't already feel bad and worthless enough you get reminded of what you've become.

That you were better before. 

If it were true why'd they let me go, made me go through it all alone. If 'better' meant nobody gave a shit because things were dandy maybe it wasn't as much different as deteriorating, when with you disheveled they're no different. Still I noticed every moment, every second when anyone genuinely cares, noticed, or asked concerned and every time I had to lie because it would break me just as much as it could them. Or every time I tried telling but couldn't, as they let it all pass. It gets to a point where I honestly believe nobody's interested and that maybe nobody should be. I've started restricting again. Comes the overpowering urge to lay and rot, stay in bed, curtains closed, radio on, eyes on the ceiling, moving from your hand to the window to the door and all the shit you kept in your cupboard. Food gets me frantic, the sight of myself gets me nauseous. I don't think I'l ever be able to recover.

I can never be normal, I will never be 12 again. Every year I get a lot older, with less shine in my eyes. Every year's smile's different. Every moment in every photo could have me breaking down when every moment and reason it was taken for, how I felt, where I was in life, every little thing is reminded by it. It gets louder everyday, everything so tempting. Some days it gets so loud, enough for you to get up and make it happen, these thoughts they come more often these days. It's easy to make fun of the suicidal thoughts, just because it's not you, or anyone close enough but to live with it, to restrain yourself from acting on it, is agonising. Every day's a day closer from it happening. Every day's another day of completely losing it. There are still moments where you want all the help you could possibly get, you keep waking up for it, you go on, for everyone you still have, for everything you haven't lost yet but then you relapse. Just another lost cause. 

And everyone thinks you're still there. 


Saturday, 12 December 2015

a little's enough.

Walking around, talking, laughing, sharing inside jokes, living in it, I guess this is it. This is all that I have and maybe all that I would ever, until it's gone. It's not much but it's more than enough. I might never get out of this, I don't think I have to. This is not my safe house, there is no peace of mind but I'm nowhere now remember? Half up the sky but chained to the ground, I'm always in the middle. A start that has no end, or maybe too many. Still, this is all that's left and it's okay because just like everything else that went, it can all be gone in a blink of an eye. So would I.


Wednesday, 9 December 2015

lighter shade of black.

I think that maybe you're just eager to be someone else. You're sick of what you are now, what you see, what you know. Aiming to change certain things completely, or so you thought. I think you're sick and tired, you want to play. You want to act. You want to pretend. I think you're taking way too many steps back, just to stay here. You're retreating, you're losing.

You just want to lose touch with who you are again, you want to forget. You're giving up in order to live through each day. So contradictory, so familiar, so so sad. I'm sorry for the things I couldn't undo and all I'm about to do.

This time,
I can't save you.


Tuesday, 8 December 2015


Think it's time to tell someone but I don't want to, and every person I've told it to is trusted not to. From my legs to my stomach to my throat and my head, I'm failing. Every day now every night, whenever I can, whenever I do, now so frequently and constant it's frightful. I'm going back to my cave. I'm going home to nowhere.

I don't want to be saved,
I just want to sleep, I just want to leave.


The signs are clearer now, everything makes sense.
Some days I think I'm dying without believing it.
But knowing the fact that I might over what I keep on doing.

Sunday, 6 December 2015

opened eyes closed heart.

I think I heard my heartbreaking.
I think I saw it shattered to the floor.
However, I didn't. It hadn't.
Another crack. It's gone.

A gift of feeling, and these feelings.
A blessing and a curse.
I knew it in the core of my heart.
I knew it was time to part.

Empty seats. My emptied mind.
I did it alone again this time.
Reasons reasons they all give me a reason.
Time to cut it off, let it go. Reasons aren't excuses.
It has always been obvious.
Now stop making excuses.

Jangan pulang.
Dah tiada ruang.


Friday, 4 December 2015


Been 2 weeks or less now.

To think of all the effort and work I've done for myself going to waste over just these few days is, absolutely astonishing. Congratulations, months then lost, now weeks lost once more. It shows on my face, skin, eyes, body, throat, voice, digestive system, heartbeat. My hair's falling out, my head's elsewhere, it's getting exhausting each day past 8 and days are pointless.

It's back now. Weeks or months maybe I can't quite remember much at all nowadays, it was dreading the pain of it; what an inconvenience I thought, remembering the soreness, the stench. Now it's the irrational fear of ignoring the urge and what it would do to me, oblivious to what it really does with me acting upon it. That's the thing about bad habits, it dies hard. Easy to quit with enough will power, long enough you'll loath to ever begin again yet once you do, you're not in it to stop. Going back and forth, back and forth back and forth, thinking you'll get better, thinking it'll fade away, leave your mind to rest in peace but then comes relapse.

You're back to where you begin.
Secretly here now, to stay.


Thursday, 3 December 2015

lost lose loss.

Hours later to find out I lose a bit more.

Feels like things are going to get drastic this time but I wouldn't know.
Am I losing everyone I've held so tight to or are they losing me?
Sometimes you look back or read back but I don't. I see it as it is and it breaks me.
I don't think about it. But I'm starting to feel the distance. Pulled back, behind.
Although the urge is there, I can't quite exactly cry about it. That shit is old.


Wednesday, 2 December 2015

it could be wrong.

1.12 am
Sometimes you meet the one that's right for you, but he isn't right for you. You keep falling for the wrong ones, giving each one the chance to ruin you. Sometimes you wish instead, that the one you're in love with was right, but you're not the one for him. It's funny, funny that it hurts. One day it won't, just like every other person that came and went. Now nothing.

But sometimes it gets you thinking, maybe you were too. Nothing at all to them. Then you remind yourself some people aren't worth it while some can't see how much you are. Some people don't love you enough or never really had while some loves you, they're just not in love with you. Then there are the slightly odd kind, ones that loves you, so much, yet know themselves or you enough to know that they don't deserve that. Thinking they don't deserve you. Sometimes they want you so bad but that's not enough for them.

In the end, you tell yourself if their words were true, feelings genuine, despite the fear and insecurities, they would choose you over and over again. You're a risk they're willing to take because nothing overpowers the fear of losing you. It's not the same terror as to being afraid of losing someone who doesn't love you, it's the sort of fear of losing someone who genuinely does. The way you do.

Everyone's taught to let go and throw out the things they have no use for, as if they've never known what it's all about. You're left with less and less pieces of you, of the person you knew you were. Yet you're self taught to accept things, to have faith, to believe in Him. Keep it positive despite all negativity. That for a pessimist you've become rather optimistic.

Excuses aren't reasons. People let go for a reason. People walk away for a reason. Then again I've always hear people telling me where there's a will, there's a way. That if you want it you go get it, work for it, earn it. If you let things slip so easily, it mustn't have meant as much as you claim it does. New lesson, if they keep pushing you away, they don't want you there. So move along even if it still feels wrong.

And it still feels wrong.


Tuesday, 1 December 2015

it rules, still.

Pink. Yellow. A bit of noodles. Some Spice.
Legs trembling. Head's spinning. You got it on your feet.
Two mirrors. Butt naked. Hatred for your reflection.

The bones won't convince you, your face does.
The stomach, the thighs, your cheeks.
No numbers, no scales, just your mind telling you how it is.

I wish you'd stop controlling me.
I wish you'd stop controlling me.
I wish you'd stop controlling me.
I wish youfuforujf nfkewjfn



Maybe one day there will be an Omar, just for me. Someone that might not exactly be like me or would understand completely but love me, the way Omar does Lisa. Maybe one day I'll be someone's Lisa. Better yet I'll be me and whoever that person might be, they'll be them. Our own story, our own ways.

Maybe one day I might just get to meet and be with someone who would actually love me. That one day I don't have to make myself believe people's promises to stay but leave. Or maybe it just doesn't happen to people like me, maybe not to only me.

I am not Lisa. There's no Omar.
I'm just that distant memory.
The one you let go for someone else to find.