When I was young and foolish and suicidal(typical), it wasn’t that my boyfriend(I don’t have that shit, kids these days… Are just..) of three days when I was 11 left me, it wasn’t because I don’t have friends(sure I’d probably kill myself tho if I don’t have any lol, but I do!! I swear!!) it wasn’t because my mother caned me(my tolerant of pain is quite high due to that or maybe I secretly love it) or rather it was the way my own mum emotionally destroyed(so dramatic oh my.. Maybe more of emotionally hurt me lol) since young led me to a person who both cared too little and too much. I cared too much, thinking of how people people thought of me, or how the other person would feel if I did this this this or this. It pushed to me to my limits, made me think suicide is the solution. Don’t get me wrong though, I don’t self mutilate, I won’t think it’s stupid if people does it, but there are definitely better ways to handle it. I often thought of how it would feel like if I had scaled the kitchen windows and just simply jumped. How free I would have felt.
”Dying won’t solve your problems, but at least you won’t have to deal with them ever”
At 11 years old, I was strangely tired of life.
At 11 years old, I no longer had energy to live any longer.
I told myself that I would die at age 16. How decisive right.
But years passed me and 19(2018, I’m now 23 this year) I would be in august. It’s always at the back of my mind but I brought it out recently, while saying it to God. Thinking, “Perhaps the reason why I’m still here is because I’m still stuck at 15 and have merely leaped to 19” I then told God, that hey, I don’t wanna die. Please don’t grant the wish that was made by the 11 year old me. The 7 year old me still feels that I’m made for greater things, that something Great and Wonderful is waiting for me. The 11 year old merely forgot. So perhaps the day I die, would be the day I figuratively turn 16. I hope by then, I would have already reached my goals and found my happiness.
I love injuring my hands. I would punch the walls and drag it across the rough surface of stone and let it bleed. It’s quite scary how good it feels. But I guess it’s better than slashing myself. That’s for me. Don’t do that. It weakens your bone and grip. Basically destroys your strength and hand. But for a person like who has too much strength(not muscle muscle strength but more of how you’re much bigger in size. You would have more strength than a stick skinny person? That) in her hands, it should be destroyed. I was playing with a childhood playmate(only a handful knows this but it wasn’t really important), till he decided to pull a childish joke a lil. Children don’t like to lose things, especially how a person like me had grown up- how deranged this child was, even if it isn’t theirs. I gave him a hard push. He fell against a corner of a wall. Hit his head and it began to bleed like an open tap. I am glad his brain wasn’t affected(not sure though..) but I am forever apologetic towards him. I’m guilty of hurting him and never saying a proper apology. Tried it once when he said hi, but didn’t seem like it went very well. Wasn’t sincere enough to me. Whenever I saw his mum, I didn’t know how to face her.
Since then, I was afraid of my own strength. Of how much I damage I could do with my own hands. My mum once grabbed a small table wooden leg(probably hard enough to hit a puppy to death) in anger, and raised it up to hit me. I was at the age where I was no longer afraid. But rather, angry. I took hold of the other end and just screamed back at my mum, asking if she wants to hit me to death. All she could reply back to tell me to let go. Sometimes, it’s things like this that make you realise what or how you are. Anger creates mistakes. Just like how my mum would have probably gave me a broken arm or a cracked skull if I hadn’t stopped her. It was scary to me how much stronger I was than my mum.
I blame my mum for my hot-headedness. If you knew me, perhaps you would only know the happy-go-lucky side of me. Quite frankly, I absolutely despise that side of me, I don’t give a damn about anything, and nothing really fazes me. A divorce would cause someone to be sad, but I would say “Oh well” and that’s it. But in the end, I don’t blame my mum either, it’s up to me how to manage this temper of mine. I can’t always hurt someone every time I lose my cool. I won’t allow myself to be like my mum, that if I ever have kids, I would never hurt them in any way. I would love them by actions and words. I would never emotionally abuse them. They would be extra ordinarily perceptive, accepting, loving, caring, nurturing, people my mother and I were not. It’s gonna be a task, bringing up people to be something I never was. But that’s in the future and will probably not happen. Let’s see how. Meanwhile, i have let loose yesterday’s worth of tears(was it yesterday?) and maybe even a lifetime worth’s. It’s hard to cry. I only cry after probably 2 years worth of build up. Other times, I could only tear. It’s suffocating. I have work tomorrow, and results of the posting and my salary would be coming in. It would be a 50/50 that it would be a good or bad day. I will work my ass off, study my ass off, and leave this place. This place where white walls all around, like a hospital, or a jail.