0angstwriter

[0angstwriter]

Embrace the cringe.

Write weird fanfic.

Read weird fanfic.

[0angstwriter]

diary entry, 050124

I still like hurting myself in a way. I do not actively do it, no. But any injury that has happened makes me happy. Makes me think I’m still alive. I cannot comprehend why I chase after the bone-crushing, skin-burning pain; I cannot comprehend why the appearance of any wounds on my body makes me feel relived.

Maybe I can’t let go of my addictions after all.

Or maybe I was born this way, an incurable mind with an ugly heart.

[0angstwriter]

diary entry, 210323

Sometimes I forget I need to sleep. I don’t hate sleeping, it helps me to forget about the world I am forced to live in; however, I also find it unnecessarily time consuming. I could have been something else except sleeping. Sadly, humans require sleep to live.

I feel quite empty these days. Actually, it’s not these days only; I always had been live that. Since I have started questioning the meaning behind the act of living. These thoughts merged with my life experiences has brought me many emotions such as depression, disconnection from reality, hyper awareness and more.

Life goes on and everybody has a role to fulfill. It probably should not be that deep to simply exist, but as I always said, who are we, humans, if we are not to think and look deeper into any new information? Our intelligence and emotional capacity are what makes us different from other spices that lives in the earth.

Who are we, if we refuse to use this blessing?

What is the meaning of life? A question that had been asked since the beginning of time, I suppose.

Will we, will I, ever find an answer? Probably not. Will I ever stop searching for it?

Fuck no.

I can’t ever let my mind stop from trying to reach for an answer.

[0angstwriter]

my friends, 271123

i don’t think my friends realize that i owe my life to them.

i don’t prefer thinking this is like a debt that i owe to them, no. it is something that i cannot materialize or cannot let my mouth do the talking. it can only be shown in my actions, i’ve never been the one best with words in my opinion. my friends, they are, and always will be amazing people. i wish to do them justice by talking about them one by one.

her name is olinka, she looks like a true child of mother nature; her brown hair and eyes look like they hold all of the world’s warmth in them, but never too hot to burn your skin, melt your bones until ashes remains. however, she is not for the weak hearts, i would like to add. her gentle and cold hands will hold your heart, leaving you at her mercy. she is everything; the joy, the soil, the water, the peace; the sadness, the earthquake, the tsunami, the war. i think i left my heart into her welcoming hands when we first met. i had a feeling that she would treat it right; not that i knew what ‘right’ i deserved. if she had decided to stab it, make it bleed until no more blood was able to flow, i would have taken all the hits without complaining. she taught me what right was. her fingertips brushed over my all-open heart, healing the wounds that weren’t created by her, soothing hums leaving her dry lips. she may not notice her presence over me, but that’s alright. as long as my heart stays where it is, it’s okay.

orinta, or to call them shortly, ori. she is a book, a book that i got to know about every crack on its spine, every crease in its papers, every crossed out or highlighted words in its paragraphs. i like letting my hands traveler all over and inside the book, mindlessly, without putting any thought behind it. they are a book that i would die to read for the rest of my life. the thing about ori is, even if you read ‘her’ for the thousandth time, she will find a way to surprise you. their mind is one to be admired and their face is to be sculptured. one message from her is all it takes for my day to get better. ori is somebody you can see in the details. i wish to dedicate my life to them, just to be able to grasp everything about her. time is all you need with them. slowly but surely, they will allow you into their heart, letting you softly settle down, letting you draw on their ribs even it might hurt a bit to do that. she knows her limits, she knows when to tell you to stop. they will tear you apart even if it means to crush all their bones. but no, she is not violent unless you force her to be. my lungs feel heavy with laughter again, all thanks to them. at the end, it was such a simple thing to be happy.

now, to my younger sibling, lax. i never called them that, but that’s how i see them. even without paying too much attention, one can see lax everywhere. in a bookshop, in a coffee shop, in a theatre, in a garden, or in a street. they wear their heart in their sleeve, with a simple tug, it falls right into the palm. they are bright, like the sun. if you get too much, you will get overwhelmed; if you get too little, you will get sick. laxie is a sunny summer day; they make you feel bubbly inside and erase your shadows. their voice overpowers the ones in my head, saving me from my own torture. when they talk about the things they like, their speech gets faster, hands never staying in one place. laxie is a place that i never wish to leave, just close my eyes and sleep forever knowing i’m safe and warm. they are like a soft blanket, covering you to the fullest while making you cozy. they are home. my home. i never want to leave my home again, or ever.

[0angstwriter]

the way you love, 011023

silence,

too loud to bare it,

too sharp to hold it,

too unpredictable to fight it.

she calls out to the lost souls,

promising light

when it only contains darkness.

she cuts into your skin,

making you bleed,

making you addicted to the pain,

showing you no mercy.

but the silence believes

that she is the light,

the source of living beings.

maybe she is right,

maybe she is horribly wrong.

she chases a dream,

her weight crushing others.

however i know,

while she may not be the light

for me she is the moon.

silent but elegant,

my one and only.

i bath in my own blood

i enjoy your silence.

i will be

the noise to your silence.

always near you,

never let you go.

never let me go.

[0angstwriter]

140923, late night

i want to die because i wish to live. my desire to live is still there, it exists. my unrealistic expectations of life are also present, smiling to me with pity painted in their eyes. knowing that i can never achieve my goals or dreams, watching myself break and fall apart like a broken doll who had been played with a bit more force than usual. sometimes the sudden confidence and ignorance wash over me, blinds me, carves themselves into my flesh. but they never stay for too long, the bleeding stops and the scars remain. more and more lines covers my body, burn marks, sliced skin, deformed arms. and i wonder how much more space i have felt on my skin for more scars. what will happen when i run out of it? maybe i will simply create more fresh skin. smooth, silky smooth skin. or maybe i will use another person. i will tore them apart, even though they scream and beg for me to not to. even though their eyes are teary and fearful. i am merciless but i am too merciful. i have too much hate stored in my soul because i am able to love so much. where is negative, there is also positive. everything exists with the polar opposite version of it. somebody dies, somebody lives. someone cries, someone laughs. everything comes back with something, whatever you do always have consequences. you hit a wall, you hear the noise from the wall. you hit a person, they hit you back. you kiss someone, someone kisses you back.

it starts and ends with you.

[0angstwriter]

The moment I felt guilty for eating was the moment I knew I fucked up. My desire to have “the ideal body” had started killing me. Slowly, but surely, I’ve turned into an empty shell without a soul.

[0angstwriter]

050723, dreams

The night comes as sneaky and silent as a cat, and I find myself laying down in my bed. My face presses against the soft pillow, my eyes sometimes open themselves, sometimes they prefer the soothing darkness behind my eyelids. I don’t care if the sleep wishes to whisper in my ears or if it simply wants to deny my existence by not visiting me.

At nights, even in the mornings, all I wish is to dream.

I let myself imagine. One time I’m a vigilante wandering within the shadows, another time I’m a side character in another person’s story, or I’m just a university student who has a cat.

The dreams come to me easily when I’m awake, however, nightmares are faster than dreams when I’m asleep. They poke me with their sharp nails, their hands caressing my hair as I wander around in the lightless realm. When I wake up, I find myself questioning.

Am I still in a dream that I’ve falsely created for myself, or am I inside of a nightmare that was created from my reality?

Some days, the answer doesn’t present itself in front of me as fast as the other days. And it leaves me scared. Scared that one day, I’ll get lost between the reality I’m trying to escape from and the dreamland I have created from the scattered parts of my soul.

I know that one day, the shadows from my past that linger near my feet will eventually going to drag me down,

Into the abyss.

[0angstwriter]

“And then once again, the earth was left for the people who did not know what love is.”

from a short story i wrote in my notes years ago

[0angstwriter]

010723/2, mirrors

Mirrors meant nothing to me, until they did. At first, they were simple tools that helped me throughout my life. Fixing my messy hair, wiping the food off my lips, checking my outfit. They were simple and effective, always silently watching me.

But after a while, their silence became torture.

I started imagining their voices, how they laughed at me, how they pointed their invisible fingers at me. They judged me, their ear-piercing giggles made me cry.

And then, mirrors were my enemies.

They made my friends shine, they made my friends appear angelic. The mirrors always seemed to hold my friends above me, favoring them. Their skin looked like glasses, their clothes felt as if they were alive and hugging them calmly.

Mirrors made me cry, they made me bleed. My chest burned as if I was getting stabbed relentlessly, my warm blood tickled my skin, covering me up like a barrier. It was such a peaceful feeling and I no longer cried. I only allowed myself to bleed.

My sadness and my anger turned into hate.

Hate that devoured me alive.

I stopped looking at the mirrors, having no courage to see my silhouette. My eyes were only allowed to stare at the faint blood that trailed behind me with my every step. I died and came back. Again, again, again, and again. My soul scattered all over the earth like a broken glass.

And the bleeding never stopped.

To this day, I still cannot bring myself to look at the mirrors as I hear their voices faintly in my head.

[0angstwriter]

"As long as their interests are not crossed, you are an untamed hero, a flower that blooms alone. But the second your voice differs from theirs, you've lost your mind, ignored morality, and have walked the crooked path."

from, Mo Dao Zu Shi (Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation) by MXTX

[0angstwriter]

010723, myself

There are times when I feel like I can’t breathe anymore. My lungs refuse to work, my mind slows down, my eyes burn, my ears ring and I lose control of my body. I become limp, my vision gets unfocused and blurry.

And I want to give up.

I wish for the tears to drop, I wish for the scream that had been making my throat itch to come out.

When I feel low, my brain doesn’t take pity on me. It starts hating me. It forces the forgotten memories into the sunlight, not letting them rest in the place of darkness, the place where they belong. I wish to forget everything sometimes, I wish to disappear.

I wish to be free.

I want to be free, I need to be free.

But I can’t. Because I know if I were to let go of my memories, no matter how painful they are, I would have to let go of myself. I despise the fact that I like myself, I despise the fact that I still want to live.

One day, I want to kill myself.

That is my biggest wish.

[0angstwriter]

300623, humans

Humans, as we like to call ourselves, are interesting creatures. We eat even when we don’t feel hungry, we sleep even when we don’t need it, we laugh even though there is nothing to laugh about. We lie. We deceive. We kill, mentally and physically. We kill someone’s soul, we crush their will to live, we stare as they fade away. We kill someone, with our guns, knives, hands, words.

One word can kill a person’s soul, yeah.

But one word can also kill thousands, even millions of people.

By far, words are the deadliest weapons that humanity ever made. They don’t leave any evidence behind, they vanish into thin air as soon as they are spoken. It’s hard to track them, and even harder to find the ‘real’ words that had been said. Because humans, we, like to twist things.

Maybe it’s in our nature to be twisted.

But what is our so-called nature? Is it the emotions? Is it our soul? Our brains? Without emotions, neither the brain nor the soul is useful. Our feelings are what make us, us. Happiness, sadness, jealousy, acceptance, denial, hate, love and,

Greed.

We are greedy, more than a creature can ever be. It feels unnatural, but it’s in our nature. We always need more, want more, crave more than we already have. A burning itch appears at the back of our throats, begging us for more. It’s a never-ending cycle.

The weird thing is, if a person were to not feel those things, we call them monsters.

Cold-blooded, animalistic, insensitive.

We call them out for not feeling the same as us. But what use is to feel? Being ‘sensitive’, letting your emotions control you, only leads to chaos. That’s how fights, murders, wars, and discrimination starts. Yet we still cling to that thing, our emotions.

Because it makes us human. Because we, humans, are naturally flawed. We are the enemy of mother nature by birth. Yet we still insist on living.

What weird creatures we are.