Well, sometimes I just want to run away. Where, then? I don’t have an answer for that. I wonder if there is even somewhere I can run to or can I even run? I can never be free because I am in a cage. Yes, I can never escape because that cage belongs to me and I swallowed the key already.
The heart hurts because the feelings are not digested well enough. The eyes hurt because they are torn apart by tears. The body hurts because I, myself, take the pain inside out. Seldom, I put my finger into my throat to vomit all the pain.
But I never put my finger deep enough because my unconscious part still wants to live in despair. The sadness can be addicting. Part of me feels pain when I see myself breakdown, pity myself for having such life. The other part enjoys watching me crying, burning, and sinking into the dark. It is like when you're addicted to heroin and you want to get out of it but still enjoy it at the same time.
I often wonder what it would be like to jump off from the twelve-storey building. I sometimes want to know if I can shout if my windpipe were squeezed by a strong rope hanging from the ceiling or if I find peace if I swallowed twenty sleeping pills. Am I mad? I don’t know.
I like to torture myself both physically and mentally. I scratched my lips until they bled so badly. I slap my own cheek as hard as my hands can swing. I felt much better when I hurt physically. I think about putting my fingers under the iron cutting machine. I put myself into my past, my unfortunate present, and force myself into sadness and helpless situation.
Nobody knows what I am like when I am alone. No one has ever seen this completely different part of me. Even if someone knows, will they understand me? I don’t think so. People will just think that I am crazy.
Why am I being like this? Am I somebody who is less than the normal person? I am a highly educated person with a high salary job. I am artistic, creative and funny. People think I am well organized, neat and tidy, smart and confident. Am I? Sorry for not being able to live to your expectation. So, why am I being like this? Who is at fault? I don’t want to blame anymore. There is no point blaming others when it’s too late to go back.
No more is enough because there’s no more heart to be broken. There’s nothing left on me actually. I can’t afford to lose anymore. So, spare me. If not, I have no choice left but to stay in the cage with the soaking wet pieces of heart.
What else can I do more? I swallowed the key already.