Misery

I feel wretched.

I can’t help wondering why people like those even exist in this planet. A planet such as Earth which is already filled with hate, lies and betrayal. A place that acts much like a prison cell, entrapping you inside until you reach your bursting point, after trying to keep all the stinging sentiments to yourself. The inevitable misery, eh? Why, why do they have to subsist by your side when all that they’ll give you is pain? That sort of pain that cannot be removed by any method, the one that is etched on your heart for the rest of your life. Forever, in short. They aren’t doing things to you directly, and yet you can feel that the dark motive is there—it is pretty evident; they treat other people in such a charming sort of way, but if it is you, the treatment will be hideous. They won’t yell at your face, kick you or something equally blunt. But if you’re someone like me—a person who, most of the time, prefers to think than to speak—you’ll realize how pertinent every single details can be, that each action might convey a hidden meaning: one that will only cause you to sadden. I’m not being hit by paranoia, just so you know. If ever you thought of that, then I guess you don’t experience what I’m feeling. How lucky of you, then, if that’s the case.

I just don’t understand them, period. And I guess that they will never understand me too, because if they did, they would have been better individuals in my eyes.

They are the kind of people that just make you feel plainly miserable. The kind that hinders you to fulfill your aspiration.

Miserable.

I guess that’s the word. Forgive me, I can’t explain any better than that. Because if I even try, I’m afraid I just might say something unpleasant, which I try to avoid as much as possible if I can.

Oh, how wretched I feel right now.

I’m not talking about several persons. No, not one either.

I’m not going to tell. Go figure.

The Weighted Pain

 One that makes your heart beat faster, sting with a sharp sensation, the heavy feeling… 

The suffering.

Why do people treat me this way? I’m getting tired of it, you know. I’m human too, I’ve got a heart, not a stone. Every word you say, every mocking laugh you produce gleefully pains me. That sort of look in your face as you ridicule me, do you know how it makes me feel? Stupid. I feel stupid for being unable to protect myself. I mean, why should I let a pathetic person such as you treat me this way? Oh, then again, perchance I am the futile one, since I cannot defend myself against you. Well, I’d rather not. Who are you that I’d waste my breath, my voice, my saliva? You’re not supposed to be talked to. Yes, you’re popular with almost every single person in school, but who the hell cares? I don’t give a damn with your fame. That doesn’t give you the right to treat me the way you do. You’re shameful. Go learn a life.

I hate school at this time of the year.

School was unimaginably boring, period. I figure that’s all you’ve got to know, since in reading that reasonable statement of mine, you’d immediately be able to make a mental image of what is on my mind. Pressure and sheer hassles enveloped our blazing day; the mere possibility that you might not take the future examination should you let your ennui overpower you was disturbing in itself. Fighting something that you cannot see is way harder than one can possibly think. Do you get that irking sensation when humidity combined with chaos strike at the same time? That tiresome activity of fanning yourself with a useless piece of paper to relieve the heat until your arms became sore, only to aggravate your annoyance? It’s futile, and that’s what’s making everything worse.

Done ranting.

I thus conclude: heat plus pressure (Uh, no, I’m not talking about a protolith being transformed into a metamorphic rock…) equals pure irritation.

Thank You

Hey there. I don’t think you’re ever going to read this; but you might come across this particular page. If ever you do, well, good luck. Change, at least? It’s not that difficult, considering that I managed to do it. I have altered my perception of you and I came to the realization of how rotten you are becoming. I mean, come on, have a life. Well, it’s your choice. In the end it’d be you who’d suffer with such actions. Don’t worry, I don’t hate you; I’m not angry with you either. In fact, all I can say is thank you. I give you my deepest gratitude for all the things that you’ve done, and have failed to do. Thank you for disliking me, for showing that you take pleasure in my getting embarrassed. You don’t like me, that’s what I am certain of, despite your comfortable words… There’s a hidden motive inside. I’m not dim-witted, you know, not to notice. Sometimes I can see that every time I fail, you enjoy. Every time I progress, you frown. Thank you for making me feel so degraded and pathetic. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t have been what I am now. I guess that attitude of yours is what’s making me stronger. So, despite all my thanks, I want to apologize. I’m sorry that your goal to make me go down has actually become otherwise. Your deceit has made me distinguish what’s genuine and what’s not; it made me realize that there’s more to a person than the eyes can see. It made me want to stand up and prove that I can be a better individual. Thank you.