It's been exactly two months since we broke up. Days and nights pass and yet the pain continues to eat away at me relentlessly. I bury myself in work during the day to surpress the throbbing and make life bearable. But if you've experienced what a bad headache is like, you know it never really goes away. You just live with the pain and hope that it doesn't drive you insane.
In school it's still ok because of the many distractions. Anger and frustration and murderous intent can be channeled towards video games where nobody gets hurt. But it, nevertheless, is still an illusion. Sometimes the temptation to inflict real damage is so compelling that it really takes some form of insane willpower not to give in to it. I don't know how much longer I can keep it in.
The problem really arises at night during the short period that you lie in bed and wait to fall asleep. The dead of the night is the best time for reflection and contemplation. But it is also the time when I start to remember. Memories are the worst because you actually re-live each and every event when you play it out in your head. The agony of reliving it all over again makes me wish that I was a retard so that the fucking pain will just disappear. With each thought, despair and anger wells up. Until the point where I'm not sure if I ever believe in anything now. Vanity, vanity, everything is vanity. So what's the point in trying so hard sometimes? Why bother when others don't bother?
Sleep is not any better. Almost every night I dream of her. There's even once when I dreamt of her three times in the same night. The dreams were reflections of times from a better past, a past when I felt that I was the most fortunate person in the world. The beautiful dream gives way to an almost unlivable present the moment I wake up. The disappointment from realising that the past will remain so only serves to heighten the already implacable sorrow that threatens to drown me. Every morn of the new day is but a perpetual reminder of the loss that you feel and that you cannot escape from it; that you're destined to feel it in its entirety.
So the question that begs to be answered is "What next?" Honestly I don't know. Just as the abyss stares back at you the longer you stare at it, the number of questions multiply as I try to answer the question of "What next?".
I can't take it anymore.
In school it's still ok because of the many distractions. Anger and frustration and murderous intent can be channeled towards video games where nobody gets hurt. But it, nevertheless, is still an illusion. Sometimes the temptation to inflict real damage is so compelling that it really takes some form of insane willpower not to give in to it. I don't know how much longer I can keep it in.
The problem really arises at night during the short period that you lie in bed and wait to fall asleep. The dead of the night is the best time for reflection and contemplation. But it is also the time when I start to remember. Memories are the worst because you actually re-live each and every event when you play it out in your head. The agony of reliving it all over again makes me wish that I was a retard so that the fucking pain will just disappear. With each thought, despair and anger wells up. Until the point where I'm not sure if I ever believe in anything now. Vanity, vanity, everything is vanity. So what's the point in trying so hard sometimes? Why bother when others don't bother?
Sleep is not any better. Almost every night I dream of her. There's even once when I dreamt of her three times in the same night. The dreams were reflections of times from a better past, a past when I felt that I was the most fortunate person in the world. The beautiful dream gives way to an almost unlivable present the moment I wake up. The disappointment from realising that the past will remain so only serves to heighten the already implacable sorrow that threatens to drown me. Every morn of the new day is but a perpetual reminder of the loss that you feel and that you cannot escape from it; that you're destined to feel it in its entirety.
So the question that begs to be answered is "What next?" Honestly I don't know. Just as the abyss stares back at you the longer you stare at it, the number of questions multiply as I try to answer the question of "What next?".
I can't take it anymore.
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