Conscience 

Sorry. I have been feeling such way to everyone the whole 22 years of my existence. Sparing people’s feelings is one of my favorite pastimes. Taking other people’s feelings into account when saying something has become a habit of mine. For once I just want to be spared. I want to be able to show my true feelings. I want to be allowed to be upset, mad, angry, and the list goes on. I want people to take my feelings into account. I want myself as well as my feelings to be considered. I want to be given the benefit of the doubt. I want to be understood. I want to be told “I know it hurts”. Is it too much to ask for? Gosh, I am only after all, human just like the rest of you.

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Life is a Constant Dysmenorrhea 

It has been ages since I last poured my soul out in words. A lot has happened over the past months. I found myself completely trapped in a Hotel California like slump for months which I received tremendous loathes and mockeries instead of support and encouragement from those who I consider or considered to be my people. I was perpetually depressed and hating on myself for feeling so useless. I sought after shoulders to cry on but as usual, everyone’s life was far more interesting than mine for anyone to take a minute and listen to my never ending crises. No matter how hard I’ve tried, it will never be enough. My decisions in life will always be according to my family’s convenience. My problems will always sound petty because everything is a bloody competition to everyone. Living is indeed, a formidable thing to do. Particularly when you’re not a heartless opportunist who constantly takes pleasure in utilizing other people’s abilities to satisfy your needs. Which is why I have decided to be more selective in doing favours for anyone and not end up like my generous father who perpetually finds himself mercilessly used by those who know him, from now on. I realized that I should’ve stuck to writing in journals rather than venting out to people who could give two shits about me and my so called petty problems. At the end of the day, it’s every man for himself. Innit?