People see my sadness like it's a
manageable disease.
Turn compliments into prescription drugs.
Every night out an appointment.
Medicate me with noise
when all I wanted
was silence.
And in these moments when I'm overdosed
with the quiet and the delirious,
I interrogate my own thoughts.
Question them as I lie in bed, soaked in sweat,
with only the faint whir of the electric fan to tell me
I'm still alive.
I cross-examine every exit wound.
Play both the witness and the jury.
Go through every detail of each presented evidence,
again and again
and again.
Searching for clues
Searching for traces of alleged self-sabotage.
I tend to do that to myself, you know.
I anticipate despair
even if there's nothing out there.
Like how I used to check my closet twice when I was a kid before going to bed,
thinking
that monsters were lurking.
So maybe
that's why sometimes
I feel as if they're all
just inside my head.
A self-inflicted melancholia out of nowhere.
But my nowhere
is everywhere.
And I swear to god,
sometimes,
I can hear them say,
"I'm here.
I'm here.
Zuela, psst!
I'm here."
As if asking for permission to be felt,
to be real.
Always begging for the slightest chance of validation to be lonely.
Always needing to ask for the key
to this body.
To this home.
To this recurring affliction,
reduced to, "iinom na lang natin 'yan!"
Reduced to, "malungkot ka na naman!"
"Si ano na naman 'yan no?"
Reduced to,
"Alam mo, mas maraming dapat problemahin sa mundo.
Hindi dapat kinakalungkot 'yan."
Reduced to, "kaya ka malungkot,
kasi pinipili mong maging malungkot."
Reduced to, "ano na namang hugot 'yan?"
All of a sudden it's now OK to make fun of someone's breaking.
or how other people call it nowadays,
a '#Trend'.
You don't know how many times
I've wished I could just deactivate from the world.
Just to escape the throbbing.
The swelling self-doubt.
This sharp piercing fish bone stuck in the back of my mouth
digging deeper and deeper each time I say a prayer.
And when I finally decided
that I've had enough,
I mustered all my strength and tried to fight myself.
You should've seen me.
You should've seen me.
How I turned all of my anxieties into a huge fist
and put it inside my mouth.
slowly
pushing inwards.
And I didn't care.
Even after I heard my jaw lock, I didn't care.
Then I can feel my mouth being ripped apart,
its sides burning.
My tears, trickling down,
begging me to stop.
But I kept going,
kept pushing, and pushing
and pushing, up until I choked on it.
and took it out.
I couldn't do it.
I couldn't do it.
So,
people tell me that I should smile more.
Go out more.
took myself out there more and not seek comfort in the dark.
Tell me how I should feel. How I should be.
How I should pace my crazy.
Like how your mom forces you to chug down consecutive glasses of water
just to cure the fever.
And even after you told her you couldn't anymore, she tells you,
"but it's for your own good, anak."
"Nanay mo 'ko. Alam ko 'to."
But
this only left me with a bellyful of confusion.
Paralyzed, tied to my bed.
With the simplest of FB messages, sending me seizures.
So,
So I made sedatives out of alcohol.
Sought for light in the brightness of my phone at 3AM.
Turned strangers, who didn't give a single fuck,
to high dosage of antidepressants.
What I needed were just over-the-counter.
But the symptoms were still there.
And all I can hear is, "How do you plead?"
How do you plead?
To the times you said, "everything's fine"
"and maybe you're just overthinking things, just making things up."
How do you plead?
Not guilty.
To the times you said you were sure
that this time the Universe will be kinder to you.
but only found yourself
vomiting your words on the side of the road.
Intoxicated with frustrations.
Spitting senseless jokes just to divert the conversation.
How do you plead?
Not guilty.
To the times you made an effort to feel beautiful.
That this time you'll practice self-care.
Self-love.
But still wanting to smash every window pane every time you see yourself.
How do you plead?
To the times you wanted to tell your brother that you miss him.
intensely, but you couldn't. How do you plead?
To the times you wanted to tell someone you were lonely,
but didn't have the right words to explain why.
So you kept it all to yourself.
How do you plead?
Zuela,
tell me,
how do you plead?
How do you plead?
See, I thought I needed something potent.
Like a potentially fatal dose of constantly lying to myself just to fit in.
So I kept pleading, "not guilty".
"Not guilty."
"Not guilty."
I started to lose myself.
My hands didn't feel like hands anymore,
clasped in other people's reality.
I was worse than lonely. I was numb.
I forgot
that painkillers were not made to be a cure.
that you don't need a doctor's prescription for self-abuse and I took advantage of this.
That medicine is just a pill away from becoming poison.
And after months of withdrawal,
when I finally got to recognize the sound of my own voice.
The troubling echoes from this hollow.
The summation of all my fears.
And finally asked,
"Are any of these worth it?"
Are any of these worth it?
And the universe heard it
and answered through the most beautiful people covered in battle scars to tell me,
to save me with a simple "yes".
"Yes."
You finally forgive yourself.
Finally admitted that, yes, you may be guilty of vulnerability,
but all of this is worth it.
You are worth it.
You are so much more than this.
And you finally whisper, "I am here."
I am here.
I am here.
Sometimes, this
this is all you need.
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