alter ego

I have never considered myself as a scarred or broken person. I sure do get my heart broken from time to time, I have felt a lot of shit in the past but then I bounce back. I sulk and the write down feelings and mull over things and eventually get over things. Way back, I consider my capacity to feel for others and at the same time use my  logic a gift. I think it’s one of the reasons why people confide in me. A lot of people I met has a group of friends whom they consider friends in pleasure, but they always brand me as the open who they can talk to anytime about whatever. Back then, I did not know if I should take that as a compliment or if I should feel bad because people only talk to me and need me if they haven’t got anyone else to talk about their problems and issues to.

But I guess as the years wore on, and after a major heartbreak (and gosh the the word heartbreak sucks bit there is no word ore accurate) it seems like I have lost the capacity to feel. I mean, for some people, feeling comes naturally, like you see something and you feel something. I, I see something and then blank. Just blank. I only think. I guess that heartbreak really got me bad. No, it got me bad. It shattered me. It was very painful i could not even write about it. I ignored it because I thought it was stupid. I ignored it because it thought it was my fault. I ignored it because I knew that entertaining it would only do me bad. I ignored it because I thought it was the only way through it. I had to ignore the emotion, the thoughts. I suppressed any tear (but then I was never good at crying anyways). I just ignored it, suppressed it. I did not know that it started to eat me up from the inside. I looked the strong and cool and the happy go lucky person that I always have been, but little did I know that those times when I go out to go to school but instead ending up standing rooted to one spot thinking where i should go and what to do but considering those instances as nothing but the frailty of my mind is the heartbreak gnawing and consuming me from the inside. I tried to move on, go through my normal life, but I just can’t. I had to stop. I stopped. I was looking for the reason on why I needed to stop but I could not grasp it. I know it is there, there is something but I can’t quite put my finger at it and it was because it is eating me from the inside. I stopped, I withdrew from people, I never dared contact anyone; it came the time when I had to return and I returned but still I did not know the reason on why I had to stop.

So i went on but then I never let anyone close again. I keep to myself. I cringe away from people. No, I run away from people. I disappear. But still i went on. I measure up people and things based on their logic and rationality because those are the only things I am capable of entertaining. Logic overrides everything. EVERYTHING. But still there are times when I get that feeling of standing rooted at a spot, deciding where to go and not knowing what to do WITHOUT REASON. The irony of it. But I had to go on, so I did, like a robot; someone always thinking but never feeling. But someone came along (and this is a different story down the road, the story I always loved to write about).

So here I am now. Until now I don’t consider myself a scarred person. But then maybe I am. I am scarred. No one comes out of this life unscarred anyway. I am scarred. Perhaps, up until now, I am still wounded. But then I know I got so good at suppressing everything I can just ignore almost everything. But there are times, in the deep of the night when it gets so cold when the scars hurt and some wounds even break open and it throbs. It throbs. it hurts. And so I cry. I cry tears that were long overdue. And there’s so much relief in that. So much relief. I slump down the surface and cry and later get up and get on again. But it’s better than feeling nothing at all. A thousand times better. I don’t know what will happen to those wounds, if they will ever completely heal. Well, I believe they will. They will.
As for now, I have to contend with the fact that I have a lot of nights coming, cold nights when my scars will start to throb and burst open and I just have to endure them.