There’s something about voicing out your feelings. When you hear your own sad words reverberate through your ears, the sadness seems more tangible and magnified…or maybe not magnified, but you actually get the intensity it contains.

Well my words kind of pierced through. I hate it that I’m drifting apart with one of those dear to me. Or can you really call it drifting when it’s just me fighting through the waves so I can reach that other person’s floating log in this sea of complexity? That I feel like I have to force my way into getting a real conversation where you show your heart? I don’t want to think that it’s because trust was lost with time…I believe it’s a different case. I hope we’ll go back to that setting where it’s your hand tapping my back, too; where you’ll take comfort in me again.

Happy Holidays

I express when I’m depressed…much more than when I’m happy. A friend told me a while back that melancholy means black bile in Greek –justifies the bitter temperament of a melancholic. I do my best to keep this bile away even if I always know that it’s still there lingering on the back of your smile. It’s neither cynicism nor pessimism, just a feeling you can’t explain…I don’t know.

Now the bile grows as I become a victim of circumstances. I’m selfish this way, I know. Maybe I’m not happy because everyone else is…or because I know I’m losing one of the few people who frown with me….and that you will be part of the laughing pack that I can’t join. It just sucks that I try my best to keep my chin up yet everything around me throws it at my face that there isn’t anything to be happy about. I am alone in a crowd. I’m getting tired of hoping things will change for me, yet it’s the only thing you hold on to or perhaps keep you sane.

It’s tiring to be sad so I leave this message to this universe:
Who is willing, no…
Who dares to be my Prozac?