Feel

I’ve never realised how much I talked until I found someone who listened. I guess before I always listened instead of talked, and I was regarded as someone who was quiet, timid because of that. But when I talked, I talked. Non-stop. I could talk to you until your ears fell off, I could talk for hours and hours on end, with just a few sips of water in between.

I haven’t written much lately, and that’s probably because I hadn’t been feeling at all. Nothing felt right, as I put a pen to the paper. It felt forced, I felt as though I was telling myself what I was supposed to feel instead of what I was actually feeling. The feeling of nothing. You never realise you feel nothing until you feel something again.

That spark of happiness, pain, anger, ignites inside you again, and you wonder how you managed not to feel anything. And I guess the reason we hurt ourselves is because we want to be reminded of what feeling, feels like. To remember that we’re human and how we once were. Because feeling pain is better than feeling nothing. Being empty and wondering what on earth was wrong. Because all you hear is that hollow thump thump in your chest instead of excited squeals or cries that your heart emits when you feel. 

And god damn does it feel good to feel again. To break a smile to thin air, to look like a psychopath whilst thinking about things that make me happy. To talk to people, and feel fulfilled after conversations with them. To actually write what I actually feel. It’s been a damn while. To have people who listen, and people who care is one of the most important things. You don’t have to posses the ability to fix problems, because not all problems have a solution, but them knowing that your presence is a choice, not an obligation is the first key step to being there for anyone. And it makes me smile, that I have people like that in my life. People who listen, people who care, and people who are always there for me.

And I promise forever and always to be there for you too.

– H.E

 

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problems

I’ve built up courage to tell people about things they could probably hold against me. I’ve given some people access to it, to know about my life in words. To hold the knife against my neck and keep it there.

I told myself, they can wield the knife to kill but only if I give them my neck, and I want to believe that there’s no issue in showing the people I love around me this part of my life. I was opening up. Trying to show people a part of me that I’d always been scared to show. My wounds. My scars. My life.

But when I speak to people, I have to be cautious. This was the one place, where I didn’t have to watch what I was saying because it was my hideout. It was my safe zone. It was a secret. Somehow, I feel that I have to be more cautious now, think about the consequences of my writing and wait for these people to look me the in eye and run their knives across my neck.

But I can forgive them, because they do it without realising. Without realising the consequences of what they inflict upon me. I’m not sure how to put this without sounding ungrateful. I cherish the people around me highly, I love them and will forever be loyal to them but my feelings aren’t stories for you to read. It’s my feelings, my most treasured feelings. I don’t want to be asked if it was about you, I don’t want to be told that you feel sad because I felt this way. I felt this way once upon a time. That is true, but I don’t feel that way now.

I write to set these feelings aside, and when I’m ready I let the world see what I overcame. My problems are a fleeting occurrence, which soon go because new emotions overtake it.

– H.E

Letting Go.

Letting go isn’t easy. It will never be. If you’ve genuinely loved someone, you’ll understand. Your life depends on it and you enter denial when you come to realise.

It’s easier said than done, but it can be done. It’s not impossible. It takes time and persistence to let go. Persistence and a constant reminder of why.

You’ll miss them, but you learn to live with it. Eventually you come to understand that you need to let it go. It’s poison to your blood. Fire to your veins.

Letting go is for the best.

– H.E

Beastly

The beast inside feeds off anger, insecurities and pain. When I feed it, it feels heavy, like it’s about to rip my chest and pounce out. When I starve it, it cowers away and stays silent until the next time because it knows. It knows that it will get fed one day, whether it be in two hours, a week or a month. It slowly waits inside, knowing. Smirking.

That’s why I write, I write because the screaming in my chest quietens down after I pour it onto a page. Instead of letting my heart bleed, I bleed ink onto a page. Little by little, I let out what is supposed to be kept inside to calm the beast inside. To tame it. Because if it gets too much to handle, it means the beast has won, I’m left in pieces and I have to slowly piece myself together again. Alone.

Because it is my battle, and mine alone.

-H.E

happiness

Happiness is a weird feeling. It starts in your chest then explodes in your soul. There’s just something about the feeling of happiness that is so addicting.

But happiness is short-lived, and it always will be, because in the end something will wreak-havoc and create a storm in your wake.

We do not think about happiness the way we think about love. We want to be in love, but we forget to be happy. Maybe we think that happiness comes along with love. It doesn’t. Love hurts, and so do people. 

People say that love is fragile, love isn’t fragile, happiness is. 

Happiness is like a thin string balancing your love, your hopes, your dreams and some days the string can be knotted twice over and other days the string can be just one strand, ready to break. 

It drives us insane, why we can’t find happiness in love, but we can’t find happiness in love because we’re not happy ourselves. We live for those moments where we’re happy momentarily and not happy inside because it feels good to laugh. It feels good to abandon all sadness and drown yourself in happiness. Happiness is a drug, and you are addicted.

-H.E

Ashamed.

So, when I first started writing, it was something that I was slightly ashamed of. I’m actually ashamed of admitting it now. It just wasn’t something people did, and I felt like I was the only one. It was only a few years ago that I saw a friend so open, and she was outspoken. I wasn’t.

Everything I write is very personal to me. It’s my thoughts and feelings that I feel deeply about. I was uncomfortable with others reading it. It made me vulnerable and I never did vulnerable.

I hated feeling that people could look inside me and make their judgement. I only felt that way because I was scared to be judged for who I truly was. I wasn’t looking for validation, I was looking for acceptance. 

For a very long time now, I’ve always felt like a standout. I stuck out like a sore thumb, someone once told me. So, my journey went on. I constantly found ways to be like everyone else, to fit in. To find validation. This carried on for years and I had friends, yeah, when I became like everyone else. But I didn’t know who I was anymore.

It was hard. At first. Telling myself there’s nothing wrong with me. And I found out that others people’s acceptance was incomparable to my own. My own acceptance of myself was the most important. 

So, I started writing more, reading more and I slowly became happier. I’m happy with myself now. Of course, I still have insecurities but I live for the things that make me happy. I want to be happy.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve been ashamed of writing for so many years but it made me happy and helped me accept myself. Shame is not an organic feeling, it’s something that you feel because you think you’re supposed to feel it. 

I’ve been more open about my writing and what I do. With help of friends who actually care for me, I’m starting to accept myself and I’m not as confused anymore.

Writing has helped me, and I’m no longer ashamed or embarassed. I enjoy it and without a doubt, I am a lot happier.

-H.E

Things….

So, if you’ve read anything on my page, you must’ve seen my series, things I like. I enjoy writing those, and I feel like it actually helped me. So, I want to start writing several ‘Things I…’ Series, whatever comes to mind really. Things I hate, things I’m scared of etc.

And even if no one reads these, I hope that this will somehow help me heal and be more comfortable with myself.

It’s somehing that I’d really recommend for people to do, mainly because it’s shown me what I should be happy about, what I shouldn’t be ashamed of and what I can change and how I can heal. It’s a healthy way to get to know yourself. 

-H.E